Based on Tru events ...

Rating: 7/10 (15 January 2006)

"People like that, who cozy up to artists, do so at their own risk," or says Truman Capote as played by Robert Morse in "Tru," the one-man show written by Jay Presson Allen. And that also seems to be the history lesson in CAPOTE.
Truman Capote was introduced to the mass public as a winsome child, as a character in "A Christmas Memory," a famed TV special based on the author's childhood recollections of growing up poor and under the guidance of his eccentric Aunt Sookie. For others, he is the sophisticated wit behind works like "Breakfast at Tiffany's." Though most, no doubt, remember Capote as a jaded celebrity, a toothless monster on talk shows, known for his bitchy attitude and acid tongue attacks on those he counted among his jet-setting peers. It is the loss of innocence that took him to that last stage of his career that CAPOTE is all about.
CAPOTE deals with what the author had to do to make the transition from literary darling to full-fledge celebrity, a brand name more famous than his actual accomplishments. Whether that was fulfilling his destiny or selling his soul is sort of left up to the viewer to decide.
The catalyst for the change occurred far removed from Capote's high-toned Manhattan society world. On the plains of Kansas in 1958, a farm family of four was violently murdered. The killings of the Clutter family barely made a blip on the map for most Americans, but Capote saw it as material for what he would call a nonfiction novel. Though why such a project would be considered ground breaking is odd, since turning true crime into pulp fiction is a tradition dating back even before the dime novels of the old west. Anyway, the result was "In Cold Blood," a novel that gave literary prestige to penny dreadful literature.
The implication is that Capote was pioneering this new form of journalism in which the author becomes personally involved with his subject, though writers getting chummy with (and betraying) their sources is a journalistic tradition almost as old as the printing press. The key difference in Capote's case is that he didn't consider himself a journalist or even a historian, but rather an artist wanting to apply fiction writing techniques to true events. That seems to be hair splitting of the narrowest of strands, not to mention a way of sidestepping a few ethical standards, most importantly, objectivity.
Anyway, Perry Smith and Richard Hickock were spared from being mere minor footnotes in the annals of crime by Capote, who ultimately focused his novel on the criminals and not the their crime, or their victims. And the film implies that Capote, if he didn't fall in love with Smith, at least developed a deep affection for him. Whether this is true, it certainly makes for good drama. Capote befriends the two killers while also lying to them and feeding them false hopes, all to exploit their wretched lives and sanctioned deaths for literary glory. CAPOTE suggests that as he promised to do his best to save the killers' lives, he not so secretly grew impatient for their executions so his book would have a good ending. Fact, it seems, wasn't conforming to his fiction fast enough. The film puts forth that Capote's eventual physical, emotional and literary decline stems from the moral choices he made to get his story, selling his soul, as it were -- though various addictions, including being a fame junkie, probably were greater factors.
As with "In Cold Blood," one must wonder if CAPOTE is journalism, biographical history or simply nonfiction fiction? Like "In Cold Blood" we have to trust that there is honesty buried within its artistic license; where facts end and good storytelling commences is never clear under the best of circumstances. When the author's motives are suspect, the border probably doesn't exist at all. And getting history to fit on a movie screen further confuses the issue. CAPOTE must be taken with a grain of salt -- it is "based on true events," an indirect way of saying that truth has been bent to suit the story -- or the whims of the filmmakers. As fiction, CAPOTE is an admirable production. Dan Futterman's screenplay covers a lot of years and territory with precision and style and it is matched by Bennett Miller's moody direction. But the best element of the film, and its greatest illusion, is Phillip Seymour Hoffman's remarkable incarnation. The rather imposing actor not only mimics Capote's grating little voice, but also physically takes on the diminutive guise of the elfish author. It is a dead-on impersonation, but also a complex performance of a character whose comically nondescript presence hides considerable arrogance, manipulation and pettiness. It is not a flattering portrayal by any means.
To its credit, the film itself takes exception with the notion that art is its own justification. The popular assumption that in art -- and journalism -- the end justifies the means is challenged; the film questions if finding some vague artistic truth overrides sacrificing honesty or the loss of ethical standards. Whether the filmmakers practiced what they preached may be another question to consider.
But, at least, CAPOTE has purpose, being about a person of note; compared to Capote's own novel, which indirectly legitimizes the lives of two men whose only act of consequence was the cold-blooded slaughter of four innocent people during a bungled robbery. As with "In Cold Blood," CAPOTE casts a more curious eye on the two killers, than on the poor Clutter family. And despite the fact that Capote grew up in rural America like the Clutters, the irony is that he seems to identify with the predators more than the prey. Or maybe that is just what the filmmakers see, as they portray the author as a predator of a different sort.