Review
America
Culture
Film & TV
Race
4 min read

What do we want from our stories?

New film release American Fiction satirises storytelling and the expectations placed on authors. Jamie Smith records his reactions to watching the movie.
A man sitting at a restaurant table turns and looks aside.
Jeffrey Wright as Thelonious "Monk" Ellison aka Stagg R. Leigh.
Orion Productions.

This article was first published on the author’s Substack Quid Amo, December 16 2023. 

On a recent visit to Los Angeles, my wife Deanna and I went to see Cord Jefferson’s new satire, American Fiction, playing in only seven theaters nationwide right now. The film is a smart, beguiling adaptation of Percival Everett’s novel, Erasure

Part of the fun of watching movies in L.A. is being reminded what a company town LA still is. We were slightly puzzled when, as a production company splash screen opened the film, a ripple of hoots and applause bubbled up from the audience. When, at the end of the movie, we saw an entire group video-recording the rolling credits, we realized a production team was in the house, seeing their work on the public screen. 

Watching this particular movie in L.A. was especially entertaining because of its meta commentary on our storytelling industries, including film. The winks & nods about screenwriting, adaptation, and philistine studio executives occasioned knowing guffaws in the audience. 

The movie asks important, uncomfortable questions about the stories that “we” (scare quotes will become obvious in a second) want to hear today, and why. 

What’s supposed to be a farce is embraced by white marketing executives as the latest Black trauma porn for awards season.

The key facet of the plot is relatively simple: a Black novelist (Thelonious “Monk” Ellison, played cagily by Jeffrey Wright) has published several works of deft, critically-celebrated literary fiction. But he can’t sell his latest novel. His agent informs him why: “It’s not Black enough.” The Black novelist is puzzled (“But I’m Black!”) until he wanders into a reading from a new bestseller, the latest by a Black novelist celebrated by some famous white woman’s Book Club. Written in dialect, with flat characters and tired tropes, the novel panders to and perpetrates horrendous stereotypes dusted with a hint of redemption. But it does so with just the right dose of guilt-induction for white readers to feel morally assuaged just by reading the book. The publishing industry has seized upon the mad, pretzeled formula: You can sell a lot of books to white people by offering them the thrill of a little enlightened guilt that actually depends on their continued racist stereotypes. 

In a fit of disgust, rage, and desperation, “Monk” begins banging out just such a novel, determined to play a kind of Sokal-hoax on the publishing industry. Just one problem: the market clamors to buy this dreck and even turn it into a movie. What’s supposed to be a farce is embraced by white marketing executives as the latest Black trauma porn for awards season. You can imagine the comedic possibilities here. It’s a funny movie. 

As a white viewer of this movie, if I laugh at all the right points and get all the inside jokes, am I being offered a little absolution?

But it is also tender. What’s playing out on screen—the story surrounding the creation of the novel’s story—is a very different kind of Black story. Monk, it turns out, is the black sheep only because he’s a PhD in a family of MDs. Here is a Black family with a massive Victorian home in Boston and a beach house on the Cape—which is just to say, they are a family of accomplished professionals like so many others. Are we surprised? Like any human family, of course, their life is not without pain, loss, heartbreak, and animosity. But like any human family, there is also achievement, pride, joy, connection. 

Here’s a Black family. Here’s their story. Is this a “Black story?” Is it “Black enough?” What do we want from our stories? 

Jefferson’s endeavor here is fraught, and he knows it. The last part of the movie “goes meta” as a way to concede that there’s no “clean” way to raise these questions without slipping back into being part of the problem. As a white viewer of this movie, if I laugh at all the right points and get all the inside jokes, am I being offered a little absolution? To his credit, Jefferson never quite lets a viewer like me off the hook. Something about this story will, and should, remain unavailable to me. 

But also to his credit, Jefferson had me thinking of the Roman poet Terence when we walked out of the cinema. Homo sum: humani nihil a me alienum puto. “I am human: nothing human is alien to me.” Jefferson tells a story that, in this climate, is willing to risk a claim to human solidarity. 

Review
Art
Culture
5 min read

The dot and the dash: modern art’s quiet search for deeper meaning

Neo-Impressionism meets mysticism in a quietly radical exhibition

Jonathan is Team Rector for Wickford and Runwell. He is co-author of The Secret Chord, and writes on the arts.

Van Gogh's painting of a sower, walking across a field as the sun sets.
Vincent van Gogh, The Sower.
Kröller-Müller Museum. Photographer: Rik Klein Gotink.

When Helene Kröller-Müller was introduced to charismatic art teacher H.P Bremmer in 1905, she came to view art as the conveyance of a spiritual experience. With Bremmer as her art adviser, she built an art collection and museum intended as a centre for spiritual life, set in the tranquillity of nature. A significant part of that collection is currently on show at the National Gallery providing an opportunity to see connections between modern art and spirituality which were always there but generally had not been highlighted by art curators or critics of the past. 

The focus of Radical Harmony at the National Gallery is the Neo-Impressionist art of Georges Seurat and Paul Signac. However, Kröller-Müller and Bremmer were also early collectors of the work of Vincent Van Gogh, an example of whose work is included in the show. As the Neo-Impressionists were artists who used small dots of paint to create their images while Van Gogh used broad dashes of pigment, this exhibition is an exploration of the spirituality of the dot versus the spirituality of the dash. 

Neo-Impressionists painted in small dots of pure colour. Viewed from a distance, the colours blend to create nuanced tones and an illusion of light. Now known as pointillism (although this name was not liked by the artists themselves), this technique simplified form and played with colour in an entirely new way, verging on the edge of abstraction. 

The Neo-Impressionist's dots of colour were carefully and deliberately placed to sit still on their canvases creating an overall sense of harmony and calm. It was this quality of peacefulness in their work that attracted Kröller-Müller. She spoke of these works being 'light and delicate, spiritual in content and style' and of Seurat's work as expressing 'emotion of religious-poetic disposition'.  

That was not how Seurat himself viewed his work. He viewed his approach as being more like a scientific method, but Kröller-Müller’s perceptions do have synergies with the work and religious inspirations of other Neo-Impressionist artists whose work is included here, particularly that of Jan Toorop and Johan Thorn Prikker. Both Toorop and Thorn Prikker also made works in a mystical Symbolist style, while Toorop, around the 1930s, became one of the most reproduced artists of his time, through his prints of Roman Catholic iconography. 

By contrast with the stillness of the Neo-Impressionist’s dots, the dashes used by Van Gogh possess a much greater sense of energy and movement. Each dash shows the direction of the brushstroke with which it was created and the cumulative effect of the dashes, set alongside each other, leads the eye across the image. Many of Van Gogh’s images, as which ‘The Sower’ included here, have a central sun forming a halo effect, with its rays, depicted as dashes, emanating from the flaming yellow orb and infusing the remainder of the image with its divine light and energy. Van Gogh viewed Christ as a ‘glowing light or blazing sun’ and used the dashes in his work to imply the divine presence in the world and its landscapes. 

In the exhibition, the contrast with dots that is provided by dashes is also apparent in a series of three heavily abstracted landscapes by Thorn Prikker, which draw on the approach of Van Gogh to create movement and energy throughout the entire image in contrast to the calm and stillness of landscapes created using dots of colour. Within their mystical Symbolistic images, Thorn Prikker and Toorop created a similar effect using continuous flowing sinuous lines. 

The contrast between the two styles was clearly apparent in the museum that Kröller-Müller opened in The Hague in 1913. There, in the spacious front room, Van Gogh’s paintings hung ‘powerful, dramatic & heavy’, ‘like life itself, like our reality’. In an adjoining room, ‘she created a lighter and more mystical atmosphere’ by hanging the works of Seurat, Signac and Théo van Rysselberghe. She wrote that as you came from one into the other, you would ‘suddenly stand in a completely different world’; being among the Neo-Impressionist works was to be where everything was light and tingling as ‘a French sun rises’. 

Bremmer and Kröller-Müller were early collectors of work by Van Gogh (as, too, was Anna Boch, an artist who also features in this show) regarding him ‘as the ultimate example of an artist who was filled with a sacred respect for everyday reality’. They also viewed Pointillism as ‘a spiritualisation of art’, as ‘applying the colour to the canvas dot by dot’ was done ‘in order to contemplate things more calmly and profoundly’.  

This focus on contemplation informed not only their collecting but also the design of the purpose-built museum that was opened in 1938, for which the artist Henry van de Velde was the architect. Van de Velde’s own Neo-Impressionist art also features in this exhibition, and he summed up the focus that he, Bremmer and Kröller-Müller had on contemplation of images in sympathetic architectural spaces, when he wrote of wanting: 

‘To establish the Dream of realities, the Ineffable soaring above them, to dissect them without pity to see their Soul, to strive for the pursuit of the Intangible and meditate – in silence – to inscribe the mysterious Meaning.’ 

Enabling such contemplation was the aim of these three and this exhibition reveals how and why they followed that aim. In doing so, the exhibition reveals more to us about the connections found and made between art and spirituality early on in the development of modern art. These are connections which have been overlooked in earlier discussions and presentations of Neo-Impressionism but which are being helpful and rightly rediscovered and represented in the present.  

Visit this exhibition to gain that understanding but also to take the opportunity, as Bremmer, Kröller-Müller and Van de Velde desired, to meditate in silence ‘to inscribe the mysterious Meaning’ of the works you will see. 

 

Radical Harmony: Helene Kröller-Müller's Neo-Impressionists, 13 September 2025 - 8 February 2026, National Gallery

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