By Steve Erickson

Despite The Annihilation of Fish’s warmth and optimism, it’s a wonky film.

The Annihilation of Fish, directed by Charles Burnett. Opening at the Brattle Theatre, March 28 through 30.

James Earl Jones and Lynn Redgrave in The Annihilation of Fish. Photo: Kino Lorber / Milestone Film & Video

Right now, Charles Burnett’s 1999 The Annihilation of Fish is receiving its first wide release to U.S. theaters. One of this country’s greatest living filmmakers, he’s rarely had an easy time finding an audience. Due to music rights issues, his 1977 debut feature Killer of Sheep went unreleased till 2008. Many African-American directors have made striking debuts but have been unable to get a substantial body of work or even a second feature produced: Wendell B. Harris, Jr. , Christopher St. John, Kathleen Collins, Bill Gunn. Unlike them, Burnett has a fairly sizable filmography, but he had to fight every step of the way not just to get it made but to then have it seen. Producer Paul Heller spent a decade trying to make The Annihilation of Fish viable.

Its reception was torpedoed by Todd McCarthy’s extremely negative review for Variety. It would be one thing if he merely said he thought it was a bad film, but his opening paragraph thundered “theatrical release other than self-distribution is out of the question,” commanding the industry to stay away. This gatekeeping worked as planned, scaring distributors off. When Regent Entertainment did acquire the film, they abandoned it after a Pittsburgh run. (A documentary about its travails would provide material as intriguing as The Annihilation of Fish itself.) By celebrating a film that nearly became lost, critics risk championing the idea that the artist was a martyr. Despite the difficulties of his career, Burnett isn’t one: he’s been working since the late ‘60s, when he began making shorts as a college student, eventually bringing his own perspective into made-for-TV projects like the Disney-produced Nightjohn and the PBS documentary Nat Turner: A Troublesome Property.

Without meaning to, Obediah Johnson (James Earl Jones) inserts an element of chaos into his surroundings. (He prefers the nickname Fish.) A Jamaican immigrant who’s lived in a mental hospital for the last decade, he disrupts a church service by hallucinating an attack by demons. He believes that his purpose in life is to wrestle them into submission. Kicked out thanks to Reaganomics, he finds a room in the home of Mrs. Muldroone (Margot Kidder). There, he meets Poinsettia (Lynn Redgrave), who has her own set of visions. She believes that she’s in love with the opera composer Giaccomo Puccini, whom she envisions existing around her. Continually talking about marrying her invisible friend, Poinsettia is rejected by all, even by a pair of zonked-out aging hippies. She drinks heavily to deal with her unhappiness. When Poinsettia passes out in the hallway outside Fish’s room, the two meet, start talking, and eventually fall in love.

Despite The Annihilation of Fish’s warmth and optimism, it’s a wonky film. For the first time, Burnett approached broad comedy, and his sense of humor takes some time to get used to. His attempt might have been greeted with more enthusiasm were it made in the early ‘70s rather than the late ‘90s. The film never demands that Poinsettia and Fish made themselves easy to get along with in order to be loved. Both suffer from delusions that make it hard to understand where they are coming from; at one point, Fish tells Poinsettia his theory about demons’ involvement with the NRA. It may be true in some sort of metaphorical fashion, but his exposition eventually spirals into convoluted nonsense. Burnett uses a handheld camera to bring a frightening lack of control to the scenes where Fish thinks he’s being attacked by demons. The pair don’t bond over revelations of shared pain and trauma, at least in any literal way, but it is clear that they both come from backgrounds that explain why they are so lonely. Fish’s wife died of cancer when he was 25, while Poinsettia says she’s “the kind of woman men beat up, not marry.”

The Annihilation of Fish challenges received notions about who deserves to be a protagonist. Elderly people are not defined in terms of their families; both Poinsettia and Fish are childless. No long-term solutions for their mental illness are offered. Unlike so many other films, it is not problem to be treated with liberal doses of medicine and therapy. Instead, Burnett treats psychiatric disability as a condition that, at least in some cases, must be lived with. Of course, this approach risks romanticizing schizophrenia — seeing it as a cute quirk. With a different cast, The Annihilation of Fish might have done so, but the chemistry between Jones and Redgrave is strong; their characters’ relationship develops even when they speak past each other. By and large, Burnett maintains an awareness of the dangers (internal and external) that threaten Fish and Poinsettia, though he chooses to keep them at bay.

The narrative’s opera references finally make sense in a late scene. Poinsettia dresses up as Madame Butterfly and brandishes a gun. Burnett’s comic strategy is to treat the trials and tribulations of of humble people’s lives as fodder for grand drama. That said, Fish and Poinsettia’s differences are genuinely hard to manage — even when they are determined to be together. But this multiplicity of perspectives also winds up becoming a strength. The closing credits push this message home. Over still images, the music turns into a mash-up of several genres previously heard on the soundtrack, including operatic vocals, fierce drumming, and the drone of sitars — all coexisting.

Steve Erickson writes about film and music for Gay City News, Slant Magazine, the Nashville Scene, Trouser Press, and other outlets. He also produces electronic music under the tag callinamagician. His latest album, Bells and Whistles, was released in January 2024, and is available to stream here.