Next time I’ll stay home and eat this and watch whatever it is I’m supposed to be watching on DVD.
I’m no film critic, so I’ll tell you what I thought of “Capote”: it really clobbers you upside the noggin with the whole ethical dilemma angle . Ow. My subtlety lobe sustains bruising.
I’m all for films about flamboyant egotistical prevaricating mid-century writers who claim speciously to have ghost-written To Kill A Mockingbird, and this Seymour Phineas Puffinstuff guy, for his creepy-virtuosic impersonation of the titular dude, should totally win all the awards they usually give out to guys like Dustin Hoffman for impersonating retards or to blonde sexbot actors for impersonating ugly chicks. But by the time Capote says “There wasn’t anything I could do to save them!” and Harper Lee, stunningly grasping the obvious, says “Maybe not, but the fact is, you didn’t want to,” well duh, I already got it, like an hour ago, that our protagonist is suffering a monstrous bloodsucking ethical lapse even more villainous, considering greater distance he has to fall, than that of the killers he’s exploiting, and I don’t need no second banana Pulitzer-winning chick novelist sidekick spelling it out for me.* The director might as well hold up a sign reading “This film is about the perversion of art in the service of the commodification of the human soul.”
As a matter of fact, he kind of does hold up such a sign, when he has Capote say of his new boyfriend the mass-murderer, “He’s a goldmine.”
So shut up, Harper Lee!
While I’m on the subject of movies, let me go on the record as stating that it’ll be a rape-free day in a patriarchy before I heave the Twisty corpus into the dank subumbra of another one of those wretched miniaturized theaterettes again. They are invariably populated by the worst, chattiest, wrapper-wrattlingest buttwattles the many-elbowed throng has to offer.
*And don’t tell me that Capote needed it spelled out for him, either. No. The guy had an IQ of 215.