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Capote - Non-Fiction on Non-Fiction
Also available in the Web Del Sol Archives When I first met Bennett
Miller at the Boston Film Festival back in 1998 he was a wide-eyed filmmaker
who had just made his first film.
The subject of his documentary, Timothy ¡°Speed¡± Levitch, a hyperbolic
New York City tour bus guide, happened to also be the nascent director¡¯s high
school classmate. Since then Miller has had no other credits to his name.
That¡¯s why it¡¯s shocking to see that he¡¯s helmed ¡°Capote,¡± the much-trumpeted
film about the author¡¯s arduous and peculiar process in penning ¡°In Cold
Blood¡±¡ªa book that went on to launch the non-fiction novel and alter
narrative journalism. The reason for Miller¡¯s arrival is another high school
buddy, Dan Futterman, more known as a B-level actor, who, over five years as
a hobby, adapted Gerald Clarke¡¯s 1988 biographical account of Capote¡¯s
travail. Capote in his own right
was enigmatic. A small, foppish man with a southern lisp that borders on
being mistaken for a speech impediment, he¡¯s somewhat of a Yoda, vastly wise,
skilled, accomplished and all-knowing, yet at the same moment, a plump
cartoonish pixie that demands bemusement. As a writer, Capote collaborated
with some of the biggest names in literature, journalism and film. Before
arriving at the New Yorker, he rose to notoriety with the novel
¡°Breakfast at Tiffany¡¯s,¡± and as a young man he penned the script for ¡°Beat
the Devil¡±¡ª allegedly hanging out on the set and boozing with Humphrey Bogart
and John Huston at night as the trio made on the spot changes to the script.
And of course he entertained a tight cadre of literati that included his
editor, William Shawn, partner, Jack Dunphy and Nelle Harper Lee, more
famously known as Harper Lee, author of ¡°To Kill a Mocking Bird.¡± Shawn, Dunphy and Lee all
factor large into Futterman¡¯s adaptation. And while, friendship and
favoritism ostensibly had a hand in hooking Miller up with the gig, he¡¯s up
to the task, scrutinizing and laying out the factual elements with a
documentarian eye¡ªwhich is precisely what most bio-pics demand, and generally
don¡¯t get. The smartest thing he and Futterman do collectively however, is
cast Philip Seymour Hoffman in the title role. You can tell by watching
Hoffman¡¯s performance that the actor prepared meticulously for the part, going
beyond thespian boundaries, physically and emotionally becoming Capote for
the duration of the shoot, much the same way Robert DeNiro struck awe with
his portrayal of the boxer, Jake LaMottta in ¡°Raging Bull.¡± It¡¯s a
performance that will redefine Hoffman¡¯s career as something more that an
amiable supporting cog (¡°Mangnolia,¡± ¡°25th Hour¡± and ¡°Along Came
Polly¡±). An Oscar nod¡¯s almost certain and it¡¯ll send Futterman and Miller
off in directions never open to them before. What¡¯s alluring about
¡°Capote¡± is the complexity of the path that Futterman, Miller and Hoffman
steer the icon down, most especially the friendship forged with a convicted
killer. The time is 1959, a family of four is killed execution style in a
rural Kansas farmhouse and Capote sits in his New York apartment pinning for
inspiration. Lightening strikes when he finds the details of the gory deed in
a newspaper clip and heads off to Kansas to pursue the story. Soon
afterwards, the killers are apprehended and five years later Capote delivers
the critically heralded masterpiece that would be his last published work and
later itself adapted into a cinematic classic, starring Robert Blake¡ªa man
himself, once accused of murder. It¡¯s what happens during those five years
that ¡°Capote¡± renders so poignantly with Futterman and Miller honing in on
the sometimes hard to digest actions that Capote takes in the process. Most
notably he gets the killers an attorney to stay their execution (so he could
ostensibly mine for more material). Later he bribes a prison official so he
can gain unlimited access to his subject, imports his pal, New Yorker
photog Richard Avedon, to the prison for a fashion shoot, lies to the
killers, telling them he hasn¡¯t written a word and hasn¡¯t come up with a
title for his work, even though he¡¯s just returned from a big brouhaha
reading in New York, and in the end, as time winds down for the killers,
intentionally ignores their requests for further legal help, silently wishing
the ordeal to just end so he can finally finish¡ªnot that Capote could have
done anything, but his prior actions clearly lent false hope. Most of that may seem
reprehensible, but that¡¯s not how it comes across on the screen. Hoffman¡¯s
Capote exudes real compassion for his subject and sensitivity for the family
of the victims. At the core beats the adoring friendship between Hoffman¡¯s
Capote and one of the killers, Perry Smith (played with resignation and
seething savagery by Clifton Collins Jr). Their attraction is palpably
inevitable. Capote was a known homosexual and Smith, a good-looking man with
a brutish passion for literature and art. Worlds apart, their relationship is
tender, perverse and at times you can¡¯t tell who¡¯s playing who. What nearly derails the
film is Capote¡¯s arrogance. He constantly asserts to Shawn (Bob Balaban) that
the work will be masterpiece even before he pens a word and later pats Lee
(played with superb restrain by Catherine Keener) condescendingly on the head
when she informs him that her book¡ªwhich would garner the Pulitzer Prize
within a year¡ªhad just found a publisher. It¡¯s a double-edged sword that
makes Capote, the character, less appealing, but at the same time all the
more intriguing. The end is a forgone conclusion. It¡¯s well known and documented history, but the journey of the artist and the limits he goes to¡ªstruggling with his conscience and integrity along the way¡ªis riveting. Futterman, Miller and Hoffman have entered the project in much the same fashion, and like Capote they will exit changed. - TBM |
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