I ended up rereading one of my reviews last night after someone liked it. I don't know if someone who doesn't write can really understand what it feels like to read your own thoughts. I've mentioned it before, but sometimes it's very refreshing. Lying with your writing is awful, because your writing is generally bearing your soul; you don't want a corrupted version of your soul to exist, staring at you forever like a zombie that lives in your house trying to eat your brains.

American Fiction has so many little quoteable moments in an overarching gem of a film, but it struggles to find an ending (as is showcased BY the ending) and it gets a little lost in its own subplots. Otherwise, fantastic rhetoric, lovely drama, I admit I had some troubles concentrating because my youngest was throwing fits throughout the whole runtime and Erika Alexander's attractiveness was also very distracting... Anyway, though I've commented many times about the irritation I have with filmmaking movies (and this is one), I do tend to love films about writers, so it wheedled its way right into my good graces. I highly recommend watching this.