My first memory of Truman Capote--the real Capote, that is--was filmic. It was for his 1976 supporting role in the sublimely ridiculous Murder by Death, as the owner of the house that lived at the address of 22 Twain.
By this time a famous alcoholic that had alienated his closest friends and one time champions, the filmed Capote made an impression on me with his sneering lisp, despite my youthful naiveté of his infamy, as if he despised you so much that you didn't deserve correct pronunciation.
Fun to have the starring roles be of the literati. A young Harper Lee attending to, and then tolerating, Truman during his moods, and watching him seduce his subjects into trust and openness.
I found the relationship with the killer subtly treated. The whole film was a study in Capote's glances (including the eyes darting back and forth as his eagerness got the best of him) and expressions, which Phillip Seymour Hoffman played magnificently with great restraint, despite the grandness of his studies lack of same.
Of course, this film tells the story of the events that made him and broke him. It's a classical story in that the character changes and achieves more than he could ever hope, but in doing so lays himself on the road to ruin.
The story is faustian. Capote did indeed invent a new genre, and his writing reached long fingers into many sub genres that popped up, from Gonzo to music writing. Is losing yourself to alcohol and bitterness worth it? Only Capote knows--and the director is too smart to have him answer posthumously.
Where we saw it: Movie Theater | We deign to rate it: 88 outta 100