Fresh Air - Tracee Ellis Ross

Episode Date: January 24, 2024

Tracee Ellis Ross co-stars in the Oscar-nominated movie American Fiction. For eight seasons, she starred in the ABC comedy series Black-ish. We talk about her new projects, her superstar mother, Diana Ross, and forging her own path outside of her mother's success. We also talk about how she's come to embrace, at 51, never having children or being married.Also, film critic Justin Chang reviews the new Vietnamese drama Inside the Yellow Cocoon Shell and book critic Maureen Corrigan reviews Kahveh Akbar's debut novel Martyr! Learn more about sponsor message choices: podcastchoices.com/adchoicesNPR Privacy Policy

This is Fresh Air. I'm Tanya Mosley. My guest, Tracee Ellis Ross, co-stars in the new movie American Fiction, which is nominated for three Oscars, including Best Picture. She and the cast are also nominated for a Screen Actors Guild Award for Best Ensemble. Tracee Ellis Ross plays Lisa, a doctor for Planned Parenthood, and the sister of Thelonious monk Ellison, played by Jeffrey Wright, a frustrated novelist and professor fed up with the literary world, profiting from stereotypical stories of Black people who are poor and gangs or addicted to drugs. To prove his point, he uses a pen name and writes a book that leans into all of those stereotypes, and he's offered a huge advance,

making Monk the very kind of author he despises. Monk is also living in the shadows of his accomplished siblings, his physician sister Lisa, played by Tracee Ellis Ross, and his brother, played by Sterling K. Brown, a successful plastic surgeon. And Monk is trying to figure out how to care for his mother who has Alzheimer's. In this scene, he's catching up with his sister Lisa and the ways that siblings do, and the two of them are talking about the stresses of their jobs and the purpose behind what they do.

How's work? Not very glamorous. I go through a metal detector every day. All you do is important. Oh. Meanwhile, all I do is invent little people in my head and make them have imaginary conversations with each other. Books change people's lives. Has something I've written ever changed your life?

Absolutely. Absolutely. Absolutely. My dining room table was wobbly as hell. Oh, my God. Before your last book came out. It was, like, perfect. I'm telling you. Take it back to Logan, please.

Logan cannot help you, Mung. Oh, my God. For eight seasons, Tracee Ellis Ross starred in the ABC comedy series Black-ish, created by Kenya Barris. She currently stars opposite Belle Powley as a cutthroat news reporter in the new movie Cold Copy, which explores the boundaries of journalistic integrity. Recently, she starred opposite Eddie Murphy in Amazon's holiday movie Candy Cane Lane. Ross has received numerous awards throughout her career, including a Golden Globe and nine NAACP Image Awards. Tracy Ellis Ross, welcome to Fresh Air.

Thank you so much for having me. I really enjoyed American Fiction, and I know a lot of people have too. I'm really proud to be in that movie. Yeah, what got you excited about this screenplay? There were actually a lot of things. You know, usually when I pick up a script, the first thing I do, like any actor, is you sort of look for your own part. And one of my telltale signs is if I start reading my lines out loud.

But when I picked up the script, I got caught up in the story very quickly. I was hooked from that first scene when Monk is, you know, in his teaching experience and the conversation they were having and just the dialogue. And I wanted to know how this man was going to make sense of his journey. And so I was hooked from the beginning. And then the character, I mean, there's so many things. And then the opportunity to work with Jeffrey Wright. I mean, the list goes on. The character is so real. But even with success, everything isn't flourishing. I mean, she's struggling because she's the daughter. And so she's holding things down for the family in the ways that I think many people understand when you think about family dynamics, where the oldest girl sits in the family. And so Jeffrey Wright's character, Monk, he's able to be in that more passive role because of where he is within the lineage of the family. And sometimes, you know, I wonder, I don't always know if it's the oldest. Is it because you're the sister?

But there is always one in the family, you know, that holds things in a different way and with a different weight. And I think that was also one of the things that was so beautiful about the way the story was written and what was so compelling to me watching it and why I feel so proud to be in the film. We rarely get to see black people in quiet movies. So much isn't said that is there. We don't have to expositionally explain our experience in what we say, what was written on the page. There's a sense of cord in this movie, and I do think he fought for this. Cord Jefferson, the writer. The writer and director, yeah. That he gave our characters, these people that he gave life to on the page,

but that we breathed life into, room to be in a way that means you're trusting and have a sense of knowingness around the experience of being a black person. This is Court Jefferson's directorial debut. I know. And I think I've read that you like working with first-time directors. What do you like about it? It's like the smell of fresh cut grass. It's that like there's something, there's a sense of, it's like a curiosity and a willingness and flexibility.

But also I really believe that my job as an actor when I'm not a producer on a project, which I do as well, is to be of service to the director and to be of service to their vision and what they're creating. And that's not to say I don't bring all of my wealth of opinions, because I have a lot of them. It's not to say I don't bring those, but it really is to be a part of that creative experience. And so first-time directors, and I also remember being a first-time director, and there's just something, you're seeing it all new and fresh and just a joy for me, a joy. Okay, so Black-ish, which ran for eight seasons. You played Rainbow Johnson, Dr. Rainbow Johnson, known as Bo, an anesthesiologist, wife of Dre, played by Anthony Anderson. And in the show, you're the mother of five children.

I want to play a clip from the show. And just to set it up, your husband grew up in Compton in the 80s, and he's still connected to his childhood friends. And one of those friends is a starving artist named Shaw. And he's been staying at your home, sleeping on your couch, not showering, lounging all day. And your character, Bo, cannot stand it. And she really can't stand it when she sees her kids emulating him. Let's listen.

Why is Skid Row in my house? We're off the hamster wheel, man. No! Shaw got to you too? What's the point of playing society's game when it's clear you can hit it big by sleeping all day? There's so much jelly on your neck. Thank you. Zoe, are you tan or are you dirty? Mark Zuckerberg never changes his hoodie.

Billionaire tech artist. I'd show you the beautiful art of my dance, but standing is for sheep. Is it now? You stink. And you know what else? None of you are talented enough to be starving artists. None of you, okay? And I'm your mother.

I'm your biggest fan. And do you know how this is going to play out for you? You're going to fall behind at school. You're going to get stupid. You're going to get skin infections because you don't shower. And then when you turn 18 and your dad and I kick you out, you're just gonna roam the streets. And you're gonna do really bad things for small amounts of money and chicken nuggets. And then you're gonna die. In the gutter. And people are just gonna step over your little lifeless body on their way to Pinkberry. Does that sound good? Huh?

Sound good to you? You like the way that sounds? I think I'll go do some algebra. I'm gonna hit the shower. Go hit the shower. Me first. My areas are disgusting. Me first. And? I was last to the party. I'm gonna give this one one more

day. Give me the carton, little girl. I'll kill it for the family. That was a scene from the series Black I'm going to give this one one more day. Give me the carton, little girl. I'll kill it for the family. That was a scene from the series Black-ish, which ran for eight seasons on ABC. I read, Tracy, that you were initially nervous about transitioning to this role of mother on TV. I was. Because you didn't want to be maybe typecast? No, just, you know, Hollywood is limited in its thinking and particularly in its ability to see the elasticity and beauty of black women and all that we can do. And particularly in the limited idea that as you become a mother or sort of and kept voicing my point of view about was Beau not becoming wife wallpaper.

The way sitcoms are done and the expectation of what is there is that the story is told through the man and the wife becomes the setup or is only there as in context to the man's narrative. Has no real point of view, no real story. You don't know what her life is off camera. And she really just sets up the jokes of the man. And I had no interest in doing that. And even though on paper this was a woman who was a doctor and had all these things, it doesn't matter. If the writing doesn't continue to push that and open that space, it's not going to be. And so I spent a lot of time, I was known for the actor who would always say, yes, but why? Why am I doing that? Or, hmm, why does Dre come home from work and Bo is at home chopping, cooking dinner? And they're like, oh, well, it doesn't really matter. I'm like, no, but it really does. And they would be like, oh, here she goes. It's often unconscious. It's not that writers are purposefully attempting to do

that. It's that sometimes it just services the story in a more efficient way. And that's fine. But that's not what I'm interested in playing. And I always look at, okay, does this ring true for the character? Does it ring true for the scene? And then how does it look in the larger context of television in general and what we are sharing? You know, you embody the character so well, Beau. I think people might be surprised to know that you had to audition for it. Yes. It wasn't written for you.

It was written for me. Oh. And I had to audition for it. Both. Yes. Isn't that neat? Well, I think I also read that this is something that you've encountered many times in Hollywood, where people might even say, we want a Tracee Ellis Ross type. But then they don't call for you.

No, I actually couldn't get the audition on that one. I don't know. I don't know. Hollywood's weird. There's no guarantee in this business. So even if Kenya, Kenya did write the role for me. Kenya actually was a writer on Girlfriends. I don't know if people know that.

And we were friends, and he told me that he had written this role for me, and my agents never submitted me to the point that I sent them the script, and they're like, we still don't think this is right for you. Why didn't they think it was right? I have no idea. Maybe for the same reasons that I was afraid to do it. But my experience in my career and in my life is you take the opportunities and you work begets work. You got to get in the ring. And sometimes the part might not be exactly right,

but you turn it into what you want it to be. You breathe life and all the things that you, all your dreams, and you get them in those moments because when the window is open, you got to get in there. There's a lot of actresses. There's a lot of people who have the same big dreams. And so when you have the opportunity, you got to grab that ring. Tracy, there's an entire generation who knows your name outside of your mother. I know. It's so nutty. It is nutty. It's quite beautiful, yeah. Is that something that you consciously tried to work towards or it just has happened over time? It just happened.

What I consciously tried to work towards is having a sense of who I was outside of my mother's embrace. And I think that that's something that started very young because I felt very uncomfortable with the attention that I got just because I was her child. It didn't feel genuine, and I felt like, but that's not me. That's what she did. When did you begin to have an awareness of that? Young, very young. I mean, my mother, when I was growing up, my mother was at the height of her fame.

You know, it's funny. I was doing some research for something. Funny thing about my life is I literally can Google, when did my parents get divorced? When did I start Dalton school? When did, like, I can Google that stuff, which is really bizarre, but kind of fun. To jog your own memory. Yeah, kind of fun. Um, what year did my grandmother die?

You know, um, things like that. So I was looking at the year my grandmother had passed away, just trying to remember what else was happening and remembering how my mom, um, in my life has never said, like, I don't have time or not now. And how, you know, the woman that the world knows as Diana Ross, like, doesn't hold a candle to my mom. Like, who my mom is, is like a mother. It's just a fraction of who she is. It's like a fraction. The Diana Ross, like, the mom that I have is like, that lady is stellar. And just the way she parents, it's just, it's, it's a, you can see it in how close me and my siblings are.

I will tell you, there's not a day that goes by that I don't think about something I heard you say about your mother, that she was always there for dinner. Oh, yes. And she always put you guys to bed. Yeah. And listen, I'm very busy lady. I don't have children. And I'm like, how did she do this? So my mom would record at night after she put us down for bed. And then she would wake us up in the morning when she got back from the studio. And then she would go to sleep. She would sit with us at breakfast. She never left us for longer than a week. So she would commute out to go and do her shows. In the 10-year span, I can't remember the timeframe right now, but it was pivotal years for me as a child. If I were to go through, like if you look at Wikipedia that just goes through, she did an album a year, two movies, Central Park, her mother passed away. if you look at the amount of things that occurred, like it seems not humanly possible.

And the reason I looked at all of that is because in those years, I had a completely present, available mother who planned birthday parties, who if she was gone would call at bedtime and in the morning to wake us up. very extraordinary things, went to school in Switzerland and Paris and went for Christmases in Samaritz and, you know, all these things. But the foundation of that was I was a wanted child who my mother made space for and was present for, and I had siblings that I did it all with, you know. And so I come from an abundance of love in a way that I feel beyond grateful for because it gave me a foundation and a sense of how to show up in my life for other people and for myself. I mean, I remember being in fights with my sister, like, when she's trying to go stage and her never going like, like, I can't do this right now. Like her, like sorting through a fight between me and my sister. Right before she's about to go perform. Do you know what I mean? Like probably like Royal Albert Hall or something.

Like I'm going on at Radio City Music Hall and you guys are fighting because Rhonda took your doll. When did you realize that maybe what you were experiencing was different than the perception people had of your childhood? Or maybe you up against other celebrity children that you were in? I don't know. I mean, you know, I went to the school I went to. I went to Dalton School in New York. And we were the people I went to school with. Their parents are part of the foundation of American culture. Ralph Lauren's kids, Tom Brokaw's kids, Robert Redford's kids. I was at the end of a night or figuring out when I realized the cost of a refrigerator.

You know what I mean? Like, as I started to – Real life stuff. Yeah. And I started supporting myself. My mom always used to say, I'm not making all this money for you guys. I will pay for the roof over your head, medical, and your clothes. Other little girl, I don't know what's going on with all these shampoos and conditioners you're trying to buy. She was like, but there is shampoo and conditioner and a brush in the shower. And you are either going to have to get yourself a really good job or a really rich husband. And so I built a hair company and got a really good job. Because she was like, get out of here, little girl. So very early on, because you started off as a model after you graduated from Brown. I did, yeah.

I don't think I was supporting myself as a model, though. But I started working on television. The dish was the first thing that I did. And I remember I did a Gap ad, and I got $750. And I literally got the check and was like, I did it with my mom. I got paid. I was still in high school. And I remember that $750 check.

And I remember thinking to myself, I don't need you, mom. I got this. I got this life thing. This $750. I'm going to go get an apartment. I was like, I'm ready. When you were growing up in this world, you know, Michael Jackson calling on the phone, Marvin Gaye calling on the phone, what were you imagining for yourself as an adult? What was in your mind's eye as you were thinking about?

About who I was going to become? Yeah. I wanted to be a woman on a stage in a sparkly dress. And it wasn't the sparkly dress or the stage that was it. I wanted what that represented for me, which is a woman who I saw my mom be a woman full of agency, who was not saying, look at me, but this is me. I saw a woman who was full of power and wielding it with grace and love as the anchor. And I wanted that. Our guest today is actress and producer Tracy Ellis Ross. She co-stars in the new movie American Fiction, which is nominated for three Oscars, including Best Picture. We'll continue our conversation after a short break.

I'm Tanya Mosley, and this is Fresh Air. Hi there, it's Tanya Mosley, back in your feeds with a special promo for our Fresh Air Plus bonus episodes, where you'll hear conversations you can't hear anywhere else. One of the many things I find fascinating about you special promo for our Fresh Air Plus bonus episodes, where you'll hear conversations you can't hear anywhere else. One of the many things I find fascinating about you, I heard that people call you Terminator on set. No, no, no. We got to get this right.

Only because I don't cry. That's an exclusive unaired excerpt from my conversation with filmmaker Ava DuVernay, only available on Fresh Air Plus. And if you're not a supporter yet, what are you waiting for? Find out more and join at plus.npr.org. Let's get back to my interview with Tracee Ellis Ross. She co-stars in the new movie American Fiction, which is nominated for three Oscars, including Best Picture. Ross is also nominated for a Screen Actors Guild Award for Best Ensemble in American Fiction, along with Jeffrey Wright, Sterling K. Brown, and Leslie Uggams. For eight seasons, Tracee Ellis Ross

starred in the ABC comedy series Black-ish, created by Kenya Barris, and recently she starred opposite Eddie Murphy in Amazon's holiday film Candy Cane Lane. Before Black-ish, she played the role of Joan Clayton in the comedy series Girlfriends, for which she received two NAACP Image Awards for Outstanding Actress in a Comedy Series. Ross is also the CEO and founder of Pattern Beauty, the hair care line she created for the curly, coily, and tightly textured community. In 2017, you gave a powerful speech at Glamour's Women of Year Summit. You were 45 years old at the time, and you spoke about how you are perceived as a single woman who doesn't have children.

What was the impetus for you giving that speech? Oh, a lifetime of trying to figure out how to love myself in a world that says that without a partner and without children, I'm not worthy of love. And, you know, it's a daily reprieve on bumping up against that in a world that doesn't always support that or celebrate it the way I do. But it came from, I realized, I spent eight years on Girlfriends as a lawyer and then a restaurateur as Joan Carol Clayton. And let's orient people. That's from 2000 to about 2008. Correct. Yeah. The lead character on a show that was the epicenter of this friendship group, the one who brought all these women together, Tony, Joan, Maya, and Lynn.

And the core of Joan's journey was about being chosen. And that's what she talked about all the time. She never felt worthy enough without that. And that was the language that I used for the eight years of 170 some odd episodes. And I also, that was being mirrored back to me in a world that also supported that. Young girls are taught to dream of their weddings, not their lives. And I was one of those girls. You were one of them. You had it all planned out. Oh, I can tell you. I know exactly what that wedding was supposed to be. And I thought it was going to be my, I was like, I'm going to have a wedding or a 25th birthday. I mean, it was like

either or. And I used to dream of either my wedding or my funeral, either how people, either how I achieved the love or people were mourning the fact that they hadn't loved me the way they should have. I mean, it was just – I'm very dramatic. I mean, what are you going to do? I'm an actor. You know what I mean? Anyway, so, you know, all these years later building up and then you get to 45 at the time.

I'm 51. I'm still not married and do not have children. And it's like are you waiting to live your life until? And am I building my life to be someone to choose? Or am I building a life that I want to choose myself? Was there a moment that clicked for you that, wait a minute, who am I living for? And what am I living for to aspire to. Well, yeah, I think a lot of it was coming to gaining a more productive relationship with loneliness. I travel on my own often. From the time I was 22, I've taken beautiful solo trips. I go to dinner by myself. with a lot of trial and error and a lot of discomfort and a lot of facing and allowing the shame to burn off to just walk into my life as the person I want to be. And you know,

they say shame is should have already mastered everything. Oh, like an acronym. Say it again. Should have already mastered everything. No, no, no. That's the beauty of it. That's why I love working with a first time director. Because you get to have the curiosity of, I don't know. Is that something you like? I'm not sure. One of our producers, Heidi, said makes me cry. That's all I want for people. I want people to have the courage to be free in their own skin and to live their lives. And because I know what it was like when I felt stuck in my own body, stuck like I was wrong and I had to do it differently and I had to do what people thought they wanted of me, which is why I identify with Monk's story. Is it still a process for you? Every day. Every day. Like you've not mastered it.

There's no mastering of this. No, I don't think there is. I don't think there will be. I don't think there should be. I think it's the sense of that. That sense is what makes life so full, you know? No, I mean, every day is a new little adventure and I have all the tools that I use to help hold me in that. You also really embrace aging. I really do. What's the other choice? Well, to constantly fight against it, but that's fighting against all the things you're just talking about, about accepting yourself. It is an honor to get older. Not everybody has this opportunity. Not everybody does. And I hope that I keep having the grace to embrace these very, very interesting changes.

That are happening to you. Listen to me. I love that we're having these discussions about menopause lately. Me too. But it's an honor to move into a new phase of my life. And I want to make space for it. I'm confused by some of it. I'm waking up every hour right now with a hot flash. It's terrible. It's a really nutty experience. And I have found that, you know, resisting it does not make it go away. It just makes the experience harder. So, you know, a little lipstick goes a long way. Please tell this story. I hope I have it right. When you were a child, you also looked up to

older women. I think there was something about like you would look at... It's a great story. Yeah, please tell it. So it's so funny to me. So I would see I just loved grown up women. I still do. I look at grown up women's faces and the stories of their lives and their faces and the way they inhabit their bodies. And I saw multiple women that I loved had this thing, this beautiful space that was like right under their eyes that looked like it was filled with life. I don't know.

I later found out those were called bags. Look, I think that's the new way to describe them. Little pieces of life underneath the eyes. And I really was like, oh, this is beautiful. In 2020, you played a singer. I did. A legendary singer named Grace Davis. Oh, my gosh.

Who was in beautiful sparkly dresses on a stage, by the way. Yes, yes, she was. She was in the latter prime of her career, and the movie is called High Note. And in it, you sing. I sing. I want to play a clip of it. The song we are going to play is called Love Myself. Let's listen.

Let's listen. I forget when I was younger it was easy Now I'm stressed I'd always have to have the TV on Watching memories fade to grey and winding slowly Makes me uneasy, making me crazy But is it fake love? If I'm lying to myself Trying to fake the way I feel Am I a stranger If I don't recognize myself

Trying to fix up something real I don't really care I don't wanna keep my head down Got nothing to share Maybe I should put my phone down I don't really care if everybody likes me. I just want to love myself, love myself. That was Tracee Ellis Ross singing Love Myself in the movie High Note. What drew you to this role? Oh, everything you just said. I know.

Sparkly dress, singing. You know, we came out, we were the second movie to come out during the pandemic. Didn't have a premiere, didn't have anything. It was such a heartbreaking moment. But in comparison to what was happening, it was nothing. The opportunity to sing, to record songs. I went into the studio and recorded songs. I ended up on music billboard charts. She was a really wonderful character, a wonderful woman. I loved that. She wore eyelashes.

I never wear fake eyelashes. That was one thing that really got me into Grace Davis. And her hair. It was completely different from mine. I had to learn dance steps and choreography. I had to get comfortable being on a stage with a live mic. It was like facing the scariest imaginary monster of your nightmares. I came home on some days from the studio convinced that I was going to be obliterated by choosing to do this role, that I was going to be compared to my mother, which is the reason I didn't sing growing up. When I was 22, my mother said to me, it's time for you to record an album. I sang all through high school, and it was just too scary for me. It was the idea that people were going to compare me to my mom felt untenable to me. And then you allow that scary thought to just grow and grow and grow and get hidden in a room. And by the time you turn 44, is that how old I was?

47. I don't know how old I was when I did it. But whatever. You're definitely an adult. That monster becomes pretty real. And so no one on the outside could see what I was facing, but those I shared with knew that I was facing And one of the things that I realized is by cutting off a part of myself because I was afraid, I was cutting off a part of myself. And it's not that I necessarily want to go and record albums, although I wouldn't mind. But I opened up Lifeways and it just opened something up for me. You could feel it. It was a joy, a joy and a terrifying joy to jump into.

It sounds like your mother has always been very supportive of anything that you've ever wanted to do. Absolutely. Did you guys ever talk about this particular role and you singing? Yeah, I didn't bring a lot to her at all until I recorded the song and felt the first song, Love Myself, and felt good about it. And I went over to her house and like people, my brother sings and records Evan and everyone I know in the music people I know, they're like, the car, the car is always the place. It sounds so good in the car because you've got the surround sound and you're enclosed. So I called my mom and I was like, I'm coming over and we got to get in the car. She was like, what? And I was like, I've got the song. So we got, she came out of the house, got in my car, we sat in the car and I turned it up and she was sitting next to me. And we were holding hands on the, whatever that thing is in between, holding hands. And I finished, finished playing. And she turned to me with like tears streaming down her face. And she said, finally.

And then she said, play it again. That album I wanted you to do at 22. 22, yeah. Better late than never. Finally, finally, my girl is singing. Well, Tracee Ellis Ross, thank you so much for this conversation. This has been such a treat. Well, I appreciate you.

I really appreciate the conversation. Tracee Ellis Ross is an actress and producer. She stars in the new movie, American Fiction. I really appreciate the conversation. This is Fresh Air. Our film critic Justin Chang recommends the new Vietnamese drama Inside the Yellow Cocoon Shell, now in theaters. It marks the debut of writer and director Pham Thiên An, who won the Camera D'Or for Best Film at last year's Cannes Film Festival. Here's Justin's review. I try not to be too dogmatic these days about telling people that there are certain movies they should see only on the big screen. That said, if there is one movie right now that you should see in a theater if you can, it's the transfixing new drama Inside the Yellow Cocoon Shell from the Vietnamese writer and director Pham Tien An. It's the kind of film that envelops you with its gorgeous images and

hypnotic rhythms, and it requires close, wide-awake attention to work its peculiar magic. Give it that attention, and you may find it as overwhelming as I did, an experience that makes you feel as if you've been quietly transported to another world. The story begins in Saigon in 2018, at a bustling outdoor dining area next door to a soccer game. Amid the crowd, three young men are having a meal and some heavy spiritual conversation. Two of them talk about matters of faith and destiny, while a third one, named Tian, mostly remains silent and looks none too interested in the discussion. Suddenly, there's a loud crash, and the camera pans sideways to reveal the wreckage of a fatal motorbike collision.

Nearly everyone runs over to see if they can help. Everyone, that is, except Tien, who remains at his table, lost in thought. It's as if Tien, who's played by the actor Le Phong Vu, doesn't realize yet that he's the protagonist of this movie, or that his life is about to take a major swerve. A few hours later, Tien is informed that the woman killed in the accident

was none other than his sister-in-law, Teresa. Is it some cruel coincidence that he was there when it happened, but showed such indifference? Was it an act of divine grace that spared the life of Teresa's five-year-old son, Dao, who survived the crash with barely a scrape. Either way, Tien must deal with the fallout by temporarily taking care of his nephew, and so begins a mysterious journey into the Vietnamese countryside, where Tien and Dao attend memorial services for Teresa, who was an observant Catholic. Along the way, Tian reunites with old friends, including an old flame who's now a nun. He tries to find his brother, Teresa's estranged husband, who apparently hasn't been seen for years. But it gradually becomes clear that Tian isn't just

looking for a person. He's lost too, and now he's searching for himself. The beauty of Inside the Yellow Cocoon Shell is the way director Pham invites us to search alongside Tian. Most of the movie is composed in long, unbroken takes to quietly mesmerizing effect. By refusing to cut away or break his story into easily digestible segments, Pham leaves you feeling as though you're experiencing life through his character's eyes. There's one extraordinary shot that runs more than 20 minutes,

in which Tien rides his bike down a dirt road, stops at the home of a village elder, and goes inside for some conversation. You're struck at first by the jaw-dropping virtuosity of the camera work, but after a while, you forget about the technique and are simply caught up in the older man's story. He talks about his lifelong efforts to perform acts of goodness and decency, in repentance for the violence he committed as a soldier during the Vietnam War. Inside the Yellow Cocoon Show is deeply invested in questions of good and evil, mortality and immortality. But while the movie offers a

fascinating portrait of Vietnamese Christianity, unfolding in village homes crowded with Jesus paintings and figurines, it never suggests that the truth can be found within one religious tradition or doctrine. Taking in this movie, with its stunning landscapes and soundscapes, I was often reminded of the Thai filmmaker Apichatpong Wirasetakun, whose films, like Memoria, or Syndromes in a Century, are steeped in his Buddhist worldview. As Tien's journey continues, the narrative seems to slip between past and present, dream and reality, in ways that are baffling but also intoxicating. What matters here, finally, isn't whether Tien finds the answers to his questions. What matters is that, after so many years of apparent apathy, he's asking those questions

at all. Inside the Yellow Cocoon Shell is an entrancing work of art, but it's also wise enough to leave its deepest mysteries unsolved. Justin Chang is film critic for the LA Times. He reviewed Inside the Yellow Cocoon Shell. After a short break, book critic Maureen Corrigan reviews Kaveh Akbar's debut novel, Martyr. This is Fresh Air. Kaveh Akbar is an Iranian-American poet whose work has appeared in The New Yorker and the Paris Review. He's also written a book of poetry called Portrait of the Alcoholic and now a debut novel called Martyr. Our book critic Maureen Corrigan has a review. A young man lies on a mattress in a room that smelled like piss and Febreze and asks God for a sign. He's asked this many times before, but this time,

the light bulb on the ceiling does something for a split second. It blinks or gets brighter. The young man, whose name is Cyrus Shams, asks for a divine do-over. He thinks to himself that he wants confirmation, like typing your password in twice to a web browser. Nothing. Nevertheless, Cyrus resolves to embark on a pilgrimage of sorts. After all, throughout centuries, faith has been grounded on less than the possible flickering of a light bulb. That opening set piece in Kaveh Akbar's debut novel, Martyr, reveals a lot about the artfully jumbled tone of the narrative to come, as does the jaunty exclamation point in the novel's title. Martyr, exclamation point, Exclamation point. in something of his own image. Cyrus, too, is a poet, a recovering addict, and an Iranian-American. But as this novel progresses, we readers are beguiled into worlds far removed from the reach

of Akbar's own lived experience. Cyrus, we quickly learn, struggles with a legacy of violent, meaningless death. As a newborn, Cyrus lost his mother. She was a passenger on Iran Air Flight 655, an actual plane that was mistakenly shot down in 1988 by an actual Navy ship, the USS Vincennes. All 290 passengers on board that plane were killed. The Vincennes incident is one of those real-life tragedies that prompt many of us of a certain age to think, oh yeah, the Vincennes incident, what was that again? But for Cyrus, a fictional inheritor of this disaster, his mother's death has shaped his entire life. It's at the center of his lifelong depression, or as he calls it, the big pathological sad. It's like a giant bowling ball on the bed. everything just kind of rolls into it. Cyrus needs to resolve the age-old question of whether life, especially in the face of such random annihilation, has any meaning. Hence the

importance of that possible light bulb message from God. Because he's a poet, Cyrus's search for meaning involves writing a book of poems about martyrs, figures like the IRA hunger striker Bobby Sands and the Tiananmen tank man and Malcolm X. Those poems are strewn throughout Martyr, along with a richly imagined mix of stories within stories narrated by a variety of characters. Among them are Cyrus's Polish-Egyptian roommate and occasional lover, Zee Novak, and his father, Ali, who emigrated to Indiana with baby Cyrus and spent his life working on an industrial chicken farm. Cyrus's pilgrimage ultimately takes him to New York, where he seeks out a dying Iranian American visual artist named Orchiday. Her installation at the Brooklyn Museum is called

Death Speak. Orchiday is living at the museum, where visitors are encouraged to line up and talk with her in the final weeks and days of her life. Martyr is so much its own creation that comparisons don't help. Maybe you could think of it as something of an Iranian-American spin on John Kennedy Toole's comic picaresque, a confederacy of dunces, wedded to Donna Tartt's The Goldfinch, another meditation on a missing mother and the unpredictable power of art. Occasionally, the sheer antic abundance of Akbar's storylines makes them read as though they were created primarily for the sake of contrivance rather than conviction, but his own poetic language never exhausts its appeal. Early in the novel, Cyrus articulates for the first time his need to understand his mother's death. We're told that the words as they came out of his mouth gave shape to something that had long been formless

within him, flower thrown on a ghost. What a startling way to describe the power of words, including so many of the words that Akbar himself throws onto the page with such precision in Martyr. Maureen Corrigan is a professor of literature at Georgetown University. She reviewed Martyr by Kaveh Akbar. Tomorrow on Fresh Air, New York Times White House and national security correspondent David Sanger. He tells us why the regional war in the Middle East that no one wanted is already here and why it may now be difficult to contain. I hope you can join us. To keep up with what's on the show and get highlights of our interviews, follow us on Instagram at NPR Fresh Air. Fresh Air's executive producer is Danny Miller.

Our technical director and engineer is Audrey Bentham. Our interviews and reviews are produced and edited by Amy Sallet, Phyllis Myers, Sam Brigger, Lauren Krenzel, Heidi Saman, Anne-Marie Baldonado, Teresa Madden, Thea Chaloner, Seth Kelly, and Susan Yakundi. Our digital media producer is Molly C.V. Nesper. Roberta Shorrock directs the show. For Terry Gross, I'm Tanya Mosley.