Writers on Screen: Ignoring the Boring Parts

A friend recommended to me the 2023 Oscar-winning release American Fiction, so I watched it this week (streaming on Prime video). The premise: Thelonious Ellison, a Black novelist/professor, writes highbrow novels that haven’t sold many copies. As a result, he can’t seem to get a new book deal, despite the loyal cheerleading of his agent. Meanwhile, “Monk,” as he is called, watches in disgust as a book by Sintara Golden, another Black author, wins accolades. Monk considers Sintara’s book a piece of mercenary pandering to the worst stereotypes of Black Americans, yet “woke” White people fawn all over Sintara. Monk decides in frustration to write a satirical novel—under a pseudonym—that dials the Black stereotypes up to eleven. And of course—of course!—it becomes a bestseller and lands a huge movie deal–causing Monk no end of consternation.

That’s the main plot, and it’s painfully hilarious. Watching Monk (played by Jeffrey Wright) and his fellow Black author and nemesis Sintara (Issa Rae) react with weary amusement to the sycophantic White characters offers some of the film’s most delicious satire. The story is, on the surface, a race-inflected send-up of the publishing industry, artistic fabrication, wokeness, and shallow public taste. In one of the best scenes in the movie, Monk and Sintara—who both end up on the same literary awards committee—argue over a Black author’s role in the literary economy. They each offer fair critiques of the other’s position; thankfully, the film explores the dilemmas without thumping the answer down on the table.

The subplot, which focuses on Monk’s family, takes up more screen time and is also where most of the human pathos dwells. I won’t say any more, because I don’t want to spoil it for you and because I’m using it as an example of a problem. So let’s sum up: great movie in every way, won tons of awards (including an Oscar for Best Adapted Screenplay for screenwriter and director, Cord Jefferson). Highly recommend. No complaints.

Except… can we talk about how writers are depicted in movies?

For instance. We seem to be interested only in writers (or other artists) at top levels of achievement. In American Fiction, I loved the easy friendship between Monk and his agent (John Ortiz). But what writer of unsuccessful highbrow novels has a clearly big-deal, loyal agent who sticks with him? And if Monk’s previously published novels are so unsuccessful, why does he find copies of them on the shelf (the wrong shelf, but still) in a random bookstore in Boston? If your four-year-old book is still in a bookstore, you’re doing all right.  

Those are side notes, however. The way the writing process itself is depicted is the real problem. In the scene where Monk sits down to write his crappy cliché novel, we actually see the characters in the room with him–great, love it. The characters play out the developing scene right there in his office, and at certain points they turn to him and go, “What now?” And he doesn’t know. So he tries some different things, and the “characters” act it out. They don’t necessarily like what he makes them do, either. Fun!

But here’s the problem: how does he write that novel in ten minutes? We don’t see a montage of him sweating away at the laptop week after week. We don’t see him marking up printed drafts. We barely even see him backing up his cursor to correct a few words.

I realize that watching someone type does not make for scintillating cinema. This is probably an issue of storytelling in a visual medium. Watching someone write is incredibly boring. As a result, writers in movies seem to write novels in ten minutes—usually much less in screen time. They sit down at their laptops, type up a title page, and go. Five minutes later in screen fantasy world, they have a full manuscript and they’re sending it off to the publisher. Who of course welcomes it with a thrill and sends it right off to the presses, warmed up and ready to print hundreds of thousands of copies.

We know this is unrealistic nonsense (right?), but meanwhile we’re getting a wrong impression about the ease and glamor of the artistic process.

The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Society? Same problem again. One hour and 46 minutes go by before Juliet sits down to write her book. It takes her literally two minutes of screen time (I checked) to write it, and then: poof! It’s done. (Keep in mind, she is also using primitive technology: a typewriter.) I admit, we see her marking up drafts and piling research materials on the floor—for about two seconds. The weather outside the window changes. But she seems to never leave the room! 

The most realistic depiction of a working writer I know is—weirdly—in the 2017 movie The Man Who Invented Christmas, about Charles Dickens (played here by Dan Stevens). It’s a colorful, loosely fact-based fantasia, imagining how Dickens was inspired to write A Christmas Carol. In this imagined scenario, Dickens himself is basically visited repeatedly by a ghost in the form of his character Scrooge (Christopher Plummer). The movie alternates in Dickensian fashion between sunny and dark tones, and doubles down delightfully on the characters-in-the-room trope.

In this one, at least some things about the writing process are realistic. Dickens has urgent money problems and a family to support. He’s poopy and even mean to the members of his household while he’s writing. And even when he’s got a good idea and he’s chugging along making progress, he is constantly, constantly interrupted. Now that’s real.

Maybe I’m making a hasty judgment here about writers in movies. Apparently, there are many, many movies about writers that I’ve never seen, including classics like Midnight in Paris and Finding Forrester. Will I be surprised, though, by realistic depictions of the writing process in these movies? (Let me know if I will in the comments–thanks!)

I suppose the larger problem here is that when it comes to any creative field, we are largely uninterested in all the boring parts. We might be fascinated by what gives a writer an idea for a character or what inspired a painter to depict water lilies or how composers come up with the ideas for songs in musicals–and that’s all great to learn about.

But practicing any art form well requires quite a lot of grind. Which of course makes for less entertaining storytelling. However, I think most artists will tell you that they find joy precisely in the process. Sure they love performing or completing a painting or seeing a book in print. But they wouldn’t be doing this at all if they didn’t actually love the boring parts, too: practicing scales or cleaning paint brushes or showing up for rehearsal for the millionth time. Or figuring out where the commas should go.

All of that has to be foreshortened, I suppose, if we’re going to make movies about writers and artists–or athletes for that matter. But I wonder: how can we honor and celebrate the boring parts, too? I’m thinking of museums that display studies that an artist painted to prepare for a finished work we now consider a masterpiece–yes, artists do drafts! There are some musicians on TikTok who film themselves practicing in order to demonstrate how they finally master some difficult passage after days and days of careful repetition. There’s a TV series about a dance school in Australia that features a lot of footage of dancers rehearsing. (I couldn’t watch it; I got bored.)

I suppose all those examples are still more interesting than watching someone type. I just wish we could convey a little more often the beauty of the boring parts.

Image credit: Orion Pictures