Capote (Miller '05)
At one point in the biopic Capote, the titular character tells convicted killer Terry Smith that there is not a singular word or concept that could be illuminated for him. But there is one concept to which he might have liked an introduction: "ethics." Capote treats its audience to an intensely uncomfortable viewing experience. Sick levels of manipulation and deceit are slowly revealed through one of the most psychologically and emotionally complex portraits of a real person committed to film in years.
(note: the ending to this review is weak because I saw this over a month ago. I wrote pretty much the whole thing and forgot all about it until I opened Semagic tonight to write about Brokeback Mountain, review forthcoming -- maybe.)
Not since Neil LaBute's sadistic 1997 film, In the Company of Men, in which two men emotionally con the crap out of the sweetest deaf woman in the universe, have I been so emotionally disturbed and visibly uncomfortable while watching a film.
Capote begins as the already famous writer for the New Yorker finds the subject for his non-fiction article in the quadruple slaying of a family in a sleepy Kansas town. A commendable quality of the film is it requires the characters to earn our sympathy and trust. Capote's structure works in a brilliant "pull back the curtain" manner which reflects Capote's unique journalistic style. The film doesn't thrive on visuals, but they're clever enough to show us details that Capote would have noticed and included in his writings. This trait is especially prevalent in the scene in which Capote visits the victims at the wake. Capote methodically looks around the scene, no doubt making mental notes of the floral arrangements and the angle through which the sun's light spills through the blinds. A testament to his character occurs when he lifts the lid to a coffin and mentally notes how the cotton wrap sank into the sockets of now-lifeless eyes.
The film pulls a kind of sleight-of-hand by giving us a detailed idea of the small towns' residents. One of Capote's first interviewees is the niece who first discovered the slayings. She offers Capote her diary and the film treats us to a few revealing passages. The audience has dinner three or four times with the family of the town sheriff (Chris Cooper), who was a close friend of the victims. We spend a lot of time with the towns' residents before we're ever introduced to the killers, Perry and Richard. The first words we hear from Perry is a request from Aspirin. How despicable is a request for a painkiller seems when said by a person who shot four people point-blank with a shotgun?
The dramatic meat of the film begins when Capote begins to see a part of himself in the misunderstood killer. He tells confidante Harper Lee (Catherine Keener) that he felt they grew up in the same house; Perry chose to leave through the back door whereas Capote chose to leave out the front. Through these connections a seemingly deep relationship develops between the two. Capote gives false comfort to Perry that his counsel during the trial was inadequate, and he would do his best to locate a competent lawyer for his appeal hearings. We learn slowly but surely that Capote cares more about finishing his book than the fate of his subject.
Capote coldly points out several times, however, that he won't have an ending until Perry is aquitted or executed. The film retains this tension and development of the titular character straight through to its climax. Its solid script, which is elevated by powerhouse performances and classy visuals, breaks every component of the current biopic mold. Perhaps Capote himself know plenty about the meaning of this word, but it bears repeating: "precedence." Of the recent wave of artist biopics, Capote is unequaled in virtually every department.