A very queer little film about a very queer little man contemplating a very queer little crime. If Truman Capote made people half so uncomfortable in real life as watching the recreation of him made me in the theatre it’s amazing he accomplished anything. There must have been something to him aside from being a sideshow attraction for the New York jet set.
As a film I can take it or leave it. It was overly long, dragged interminably at times and left you decidedly squeamish regarding both Capote and the crime. It did, however, make me add In Cold Blood to my reading list, convince me to watch To Kill A Mockingbird last night and lead me to do a little bit of reading on the man and the whole affair.
And perhaps that’s what the best films do; they make you think about their subject matter and arouse a desire to learn more. The classics reading list is getting mighty long. Daily I pray that nobody makes a film which impels me to give a second look at Native Son or Babbit. But man, if such a thing existed it would be the greatest movie ever made.