'Capote' a killer biopic
No pun intended. But it's definitely worth your while.
Hell, it's been a banner year for biopics, anyway. This season's offerings have been plentiful, and stellar. "Good Night and Good Luck" was well worth the effort, too, with the stoically authoritative David Strathairn taking on the role of newscaster and journalist Edward R. Murrow, keeping a nation informed while having to fend off the McCarthy fiends and upholding the standards and ethics of broadcast journalism, back in the days when there was such a thing. Do I smell an Oscar nomination for Strathairn? Absolutely. Speaking of biopics, get ready to see him play Estes Kefauver in Mary Harron's "The Notorious Bettie Page." Now there's one I'm looking forward to! That and the Brian Jones flick, "Stoned," directed by Stephen Woolley, who brought us the Profumo Affair pic "Scandal" back in 1989.
And while I've yet to see "Walk The Line," there's loads of mixed reviews and audible Oscar buzz for Joaquin Phoenix. Frankly, I'm not sure I'm ready for The Man In Black on screen, although I'll probably end up seeing it in the theater before it goes away. But a few years ago, I was lucky enough to see a screener copy of the 1999 John Lloyd Miller film, "I Still Miss Someone" with Mark Collie. Jeezus Leweezus. Now if this don't dump your ass in the creek. It's a black and white shortie, and in it, Johnny sits with an interviewer after a concert, swallowing handfuls of pills washed down with swigs of pure-grain alcohol. Sweating and tweaking, Johnny starts thinking about his big brother, who died when they were children. I won't spoil the rest of the film, but it's visceral as hell, and will rip your heart in two. Collie's eerie take on the early Cash totally captures a rawness that most people can't handle even in small amounts, let alone on-screen or off – and ever since then, for silly little me, it's been Collie's performance that set the high standard for how I'd hoped to see Cash portrayed on celluloid someday. But who gives a shit what I think? I will say this, too: for those who think the "Hurt" video smarts, try this one on for size, if you can track it down.
Now, on to "Capote." First of all, Philip Seymour Hoffman is no doubt headed straight for an Oscar nomination. I can feel it in my bones, baby.
Second, this film captures a dark moment in time just perfectly – a family of four senselessly slaughtered in their Kansas farmhouse on a cold, dark night, a community reeling in shock and fear, an author in need of inspiration finding the story in the New York Times and running with it, changing the course of both his own life and novel-writing forever in clouds of cigarette smoke and clinking ice in endless glasses of spirits. "Good Night and Good Luck" did a great job of this, too. When a filmmaker successfully transports you back to a certain era, and you can smell the smoke, whiskey fumes and paranoia for yourself, well, that makes it worth the price of the ticket.
But let's go back to Philip Seymour Hoffman. Wow! This man is something else. Gifted beyond belief. I've loved him in everything I've seen him in – especially "25th Hour," "Flawless," "The Big Lebowski," "Boogie Nights," and who could forget his riff on Lester Bangs in "Almost Famous?" The way he brings the most disparate roster of roles to harrowing life, bringing out the humanity in every character, even when they’re taking refuge in the most sordid end of the spectrum, like his characters in "Happiness" and "Red Dragon," just blows my tiny mind. They're his portrayals that always win you over in the end, the ones you recall when telling all your friends that they've gotta see this flick, if nothing else but for Hoffman. He's one of those rare players who can save even the most horrible movie from the abyss. Anyone remember "Along Came Polly?" Morgan Freeman shares this same gift. They're in touch with so many worlds, giving you an eyeful. Sometimes it's some twisted shit, but you can't tear your eyes away.
Capote, under the orchestration of Hoffman, is a teeming mass of contradictions and inner conflict. Not only is there the scarred boy-child still locked inside the adult Capote, there's also the more ruthlessly self-serving and ambitious hustler whose hubris wears thin on those in his life – the lover left feeling abandoned back in New York; the sensitive, childlike killer riding the waves of appeals and stays of execution as Capote plays him like a hand of poker; the police chief he befriends and gleans material from – including glimpses of autopsy photographs; and his childhood friend Nell Harper Lee, whose mega-successful "To Kill A Mockingbird" gets turned into a movie and all he can say at the premiere is "I'll never know what all the fuss is about." I actually whispered "Bitch!" – right there in the theater. I've known some pissy queens in my time and have a dog-eared copy of Lawrence Grobel’s "Conversations With Capote," but really. She didn't say that, did she?
One word of warning: anyone expecting a total lick-fest on Truman Capote might be better off staying in with a bowl of popcorn and a rented copy of "Murder by Death," the Neil Simon flick with the "icky poo" lady. "Capote," on the other hand, might leave you wanting a drink afterwards. Hoffman delivers nicely on the acerbic, quippy humor of the real life Truman Capote, but he also gives you another glimpse inside the man: the darker, more conflicted world beyond the verbal piquancy and ability to relate with and move back and forth between the various social strata he inhabited and wrote about. Hoffman, with vision and clarity, shows you the price the author paid psychically over time to get the story he wanted, the resulting first non-fiction novel, "In Cold Blood."
"Capote" is rounded out by a nice supporting cast, too – a kinder, gentler Catherine Keener as Harper Lee, and the abundantly-talented Chris Cooper playing the police chief, Alvin Dewey. Also, props to Clifton Collins, Jr. as the tortured Perry Smith. Fans of Steven Soderbergh's "Traffic" will remember him as the gay hit man Frankie Flowers, cruising Benicio Del Toro in that tacky Tijuana bar.
Mascorrolandia's Top 5 Biopics For The People, barely scratching the surface:
Love Is The Devil: Study For a Portrait of Francis Bacon – 1998, directed by John Maybury, starring Derek Jacobi, Daniel Craig, Tilda Swinton, and Anita Pallenberg in a teensy-weensy bit part. Several of my friends reported having nightmares after seeing this, but I went back to see it again, and again. I've always been a big fan of the sleazy London underbelly stories out there, anyway – "Scandal," "Personal Services," "Mona Lisa," "The Krays," "Dance With A Stranger," "Snatch," "Dirty Pretty Things," "Layer Cake" – and this hallucinatory freak-fest ranks as my all time favorite. Glenn Mitchell interviewed director David Mackenzie and the lovely Tilda Swinton when they came through town to promote "Young Adam," and I was honored to speak with her on the air about "Love Is The Devil," in which she plays Muriel Belcher, proprietress of the London club where Bacon and his friends consumed endless bottles of Veuve Clicquot and whiskey. "Champagne for my real friends. Real pain for my sham friends."
Tilda was obviously stoked to know that someone in Dallas was such a big fan, and during the top-of-the-hour news break in the next hour of the show, she quizzed me on its run here and what the reaction was in the local press. We were like two little kids jumping up and down the hall, as we chatted about the movie. It was right then and there I decided that Tilda Swinton simply rules, as an actress, artist and woman who's obviously down-to-earth and centered, comfortable in her own skin as well as in the roles she takes on. And look for her in 2006, when she'll come to life as Nico onscreen.
Pumpkin, tell me I'm not dreaming.
Personal Services – 1987, directed by Terry Jones, starring Julie Walters, Shirley Stellfox, Alec McCowen, and Danny Schiller. This comedy is loosely based on the life of Cynthia Payne, the notorious London brothel owner who catered to a mostly older clientele, which included several judges and law enforcement types. Julie Walters brings out the humor of the real-life madame, carrying on smiling even as the police are beating down her door. There's also her circle of friends, including Dolly, Wing Commander Morten, and her best mate Shirley, who all rally round in times of trouble. The film was banned in Ireland, and won two BAFTA nominations and the Daily Evening Standard British Film Awards' Peter Sellers Award For Comedy, going to David Leland. He wrote the screenplay and also directed the bittersweet comedy "Wish You Were Here," which was supposedly based on the life of the young Cynthia Payne. Yay!
I've got one word for you: Popozogolou.
Coal Miner's Daughter – 1980, directed by Michael Apted, starring Sissy Spacek, Tommy Lee Jones, Levon Helm, Beverly D'Angelo. One can never go wrong with Loretta Lynn, or Sissy Spacek playing Loretta Lynn, along with a cast that oozes talent from every pore. Spacek's charm and innocence win you right over, and when Jones' Doolittle gives her that guitar instead of a wedding ring, you see a whole new world opening up for her and just want to cry into your popcorn. There's plenty of love, loss, and Loretta, always rising to the occasion. God bless her. I remember seeing this for the very first time in that theater on East Lancaster, right down the street from my elementary school. Turns out so did Danny, and who knew we'd meet up five years later and end up still loving Loretta all these years later?
Frida – 2002, directed by Julie Taymor, starring Salma Hayek, Alfred Molina, Ashley Judd, Edward Norton, Antonio Banderas. I've nothing against Jennifer Lopez, but I admit to breathing a deep sigh of relief after hearing it was Salma Hayek's version of the artist’s life that would hit the big screen. We knew Salma could do it, honey. For one thing, she is Mexican, for fuck's sake. And half Lebanese, just like Shakira and me. That coupled with the fact that there's nothing finer than watching Salma Hayek work her onscreen magic - even done up with the unibrow and Diego-induced facial lines and furrows – makes me swoon like a loon, wanna howl at the Moon. Praise be, she's fabulousness personified. Alfred Molina's corpulent, incorrigible Rivera even manages to come across as sexy and likeable, even though he can't keep his dick in his pants to save his life. Director Julie Taymor, with her "Lion King" credentials and flair for vibrancy at any cost, brings to life the sultry, tequila-soaked nights, the chaotic street scenes and smells of Mexico City, not to forget Kahlo's brushstrokes, which reach out and grab you by the throat from the canvas.
Amadeus – 1984, directed by Milos Forman, based on the Peter Shaffer play, starring Tom Hulce, F. Murray Abraham, Elizabeth Berridge. The life of the composer genius, as told in flashbacks by the man whose searing jealousy of Mozart's gift tortures him to his dying day. The first time I saw this in the theater, I was way too young to appreciate it, falling asleep in my seat and not scoring another date with the guy I'd gone to see it with. The next time I saw it on the big screen was when the director's cut was released just a few years back. Here I'm reminded of what a lot of people say about the regular version vs. director's cut of "Donnie Darko," and how the two are almost completely different films. The same is true with "Amadeus," but don't let that keep you from adding the director's cut to your Netflix or Lackluster lists. While Forman's version does paint an even more poisonous portrait of Salieri, his added scenes also plug in a lot of holes left over from the earlier release. No matter which version you go with, though, the music and choreography are bedazzling, Hulce and Berridge are a joy to behold as Stanzi and Wolfie, and it's F. Murray Abraham's Salieri who'll leave a long-lasting impression on you for years to come, a bitter reminder of what happens to when people let their demons do 'em in.
Hell, it's been a banner year for biopics, anyway. This season's offerings have been plentiful, and stellar. "Good Night and Good Luck" was well worth the effort, too, with the stoically authoritative David Strathairn taking on the role of newscaster and journalist Edward R. Murrow, keeping a nation informed while having to fend off the McCarthy fiends and upholding the standards and ethics of broadcast journalism, back in the days when there was such a thing. Do I smell an Oscar nomination for Strathairn? Absolutely. Speaking of biopics, get ready to see him play Estes Kefauver in Mary Harron's "The Notorious Bettie Page." Now there's one I'm looking forward to! That and the Brian Jones flick, "Stoned," directed by Stephen Woolley, who brought us the Profumo Affair pic "Scandal" back in 1989.
And while I've yet to see "Walk The Line," there's loads of mixed reviews and audible Oscar buzz for Joaquin Phoenix. Frankly, I'm not sure I'm ready for The Man In Black on screen, although I'll probably end up seeing it in the theater before it goes away. But a few years ago, I was lucky enough to see a screener copy of the 1999 John Lloyd Miller film, "I Still Miss Someone" with Mark Collie. Jeezus Leweezus. Now if this don't dump your ass in the creek. It's a black and white shortie, and in it, Johnny sits with an interviewer after a concert, swallowing handfuls of pills washed down with swigs of pure-grain alcohol. Sweating and tweaking, Johnny starts thinking about his big brother, who died when they were children. I won't spoil the rest of the film, but it's visceral as hell, and will rip your heart in two. Collie's eerie take on the early Cash totally captures a rawness that most people can't handle even in small amounts, let alone on-screen or off – and ever since then, for silly little me, it's been Collie's performance that set the high standard for how I'd hoped to see Cash portrayed on celluloid someday. But who gives a shit what I think? I will say this, too: for those who think the "Hurt" video smarts, try this one on for size, if you can track it down.
Now, on to "Capote." First of all, Philip Seymour Hoffman is no doubt headed straight for an Oscar nomination. I can feel it in my bones, baby.
Second, this film captures a dark moment in time just perfectly – a family of four senselessly slaughtered in their Kansas farmhouse on a cold, dark night, a community reeling in shock and fear, an author in need of inspiration finding the story in the New York Times and running with it, changing the course of both his own life and novel-writing forever in clouds of cigarette smoke and clinking ice in endless glasses of spirits. "Good Night and Good Luck" did a great job of this, too. When a filmmaker successfully transports you back to a certain era, and you can smell the smoke, whiskey fumes and paranoia for yourself, well, that makes it worth the price of the ticket.
But let's go back to Philip Seymour Hoffman. Wow! This man is something else. Gifted beyond belief. I've loved him in everything I've seen him in – especially "25th Hour," "Flawless," "The Big Lebowski," "Boogie Nights," and who could forget his riff on Lester Bangs in "Almost Famous?" The way he brings the most disparate roster of roles to harrowing life, bringing out the humanity in every character, even when they’re taking refuge in the most sordid end of the spectrum, like his characters in "Happiness" and "Red Dragon," just blows my tiny mind. They're his portrayals that always win you over in the end, the ones you recall when telling all your friends that they've gotta see this flick, if nothing else but for Hoffman. He's one of those rare players who can save even the most horrible movie from the abyss. Anyone remember "Along Came Polly?" Morgan Freeman shares this same gift. They're in touch with so many worlds, giving you an eyeful. Sometimes it's some twisted shit, but you can't tear your eyes away.
Capote, under the orchestration of Hoffman, is a teeming mass of contradictions and inner conflict. Not only is there the scarred boy-child still locked inside the adult Capote, there's also the more ruthlessly self-serving and ambitious hustler whose hubris wears thin on those in his life – the lover left feeling abandoned back in New York; the sensitive, childlike killer riding the waves of appeals and stays of execution as Capote plays him like a hand of poker; the police chief he befriends and gleans material from – including glimpses of autopsy photographs; and his childhood friend Nell Harper Lee, whose mega-successful "To Kill A Mockingbird" gets turned into a movie and all he can say at the premiere is "I'll never know what all the fuss is about." I actually whispered "Bitch!" – right there in the theater. I've known some pissy queens in my time and have a dog-eared copy of Lawrence Grobel’s "Conversations With Capote," but really. She didn't say that, did she?
One word of warning: anyone expecting a total lick-fest on Truman Capote might be better off staying in with a bowl of popcorn and a rented copy of "Murder by Death," the Neil Simon flick with the "icky poo" lady. "Capote," on the other hand, might leave you wanting a drink afterwards. Hoffman delivers nicely on the acerbic, quippy humor of the real life Truman Capote, but he also gives you another glimpse inside the man: the darker, more conflicted world beyond the verbal piquancy and ability to relate with and move back and forth between the various social strata he inhabited and wrote about. Hoffman, with vision and clarity, shows you the price the author paid psychically over time to get the story he wanted, the resulting first non-fiction novel, "In Cold Blood."
"Capote" is rounded out by a nice supporting cast, too – a kinder, gentler Catherine Keener as Harper Lee, and the abundantly-talented Chris Cooper playing the police chief, Alvin Dewey. Also, props to Clifton Collins, Jr. as the tortured Perry Smith. Fans of Steven Soderbergh's "Traffic" will remember him as the gay hit man Frankie Flowers, cruising Benicio Del Toro in that tacky Tijuana bar.
Mascorrolandia's Top 5 Biopics For The People, barely scratching the surface:
Love Is The Devil: Study For a Portrait of Francis Bacon – 1998, directed by John Maybury, starring Derek Jacobi, Daniel Craig, Tilda Swinton, and Anita Pallenberg in a teensy-weensy bit part. Several of my friends reported having nightmares after seeing this, but I went back to see it again, and again. I've always been a big fan of the sleazy London underbelly stories out there, anyway – "Scandal," "Personal Services," "Mona Lisa," "The Krays," "Dance With A Stranger," "Snatch," "Dirty Pretty Things," "Layer Cake" – and this hallucinatory freak-fest ranks as my all time favorite. Glenn Mitchell interviewed director David Mackenzie and the lovely Tilda Swinton when they came through town to promote "Young Adam," and I was honored to speak with her on the air about "Love Is The Devil," in which she plays Muriel Belcher, proprietress of the London club where Bacon and his friends consumed endless bottles of Veuve Clicquot and whiskey. "Champagne for my real friends. Real pain for my sham friends."
Tilda was obviously stoked to know that someone in Dallas was such a big fan, and during the top-of-the-hour news break in the next hour of the show, she quizzed me on its run here and what the reaction was in the local press. We were like two little kids jumping up and down the hall, as we chatted about the movie. It was right then and there I decided that Tilda Swinton simply rules, as an actress, artist and woman who's obviously down-to-earth and centered, comfortable in her own skin as well as in the roles she takes on. And look for her in 2006, when she'll come to life as Nico onscreen.
Pumpkin, tell me I'm not dreaming.
Personal Services – 1987, directed by Terry Jones, starring Julie Walters, Shirley Stellfox, Alec McCowen, and Danny Schiller. This comedy is loosely based on the life of Cynthia Payne, the notorious London brothel owner who catered to a mostly older clientele, which included several judges and law enforcement types. Julie Walters brings out the humor of the real-life madame, carrying on smiling even as the police are beating down her door. There's also her circle of friends, including Dolly, Wing Commander Morten, and her best mate Shirley, who all rally round in times of trouble. The film was banned in Ireland, and won two BAFTA nominations and the Daily Evening Standard British Film Awards' Peter Sellers Award For Comedy, going to David Leland. He wrote the screenplay and also directed the bittersweet comedy "Wish You Were Here," which was supposedly based on the life of the young Cynthia Payne. Yay!
I've got one word for you: Popozogolou.
Coal Miner's Daughter – 1980, directed by Michael Apted, starring Sissy Spacek, Tommy Lee Jones, Levon Helm, Beverly D'Angelo. One can never go wrong with Loretta Lynn, or Sissy Spacek playing Loretta Lynn, along with a cast that oozes talent from every pore. Spacek's charm and innocence win you right over, and when Jones' Doolittle gives her that guitar instead of a wedding ring, you see a whole new world opening up for her and just want to cry into your popcorn. There's plenty of love, loss, and Loretta, always rising to the occasion. God bless her. I remember seeing this for the very first time in that theater on East Lancaster, right down the street from my elementary school. Turns out so did Danny, and who knew we'd meet up five years later and end up still loving Loretta all these years later?
Frida – 2002, directed by Julie Taymor, starring Salma Hayek, Alfred Molina, Ashley Judd, Edward Norton, Antonio Banderas. I've nothing against Jennifer Lopez, but I admit to breathing a deep sigh of relief after hearing it was Salma Hayek's version of the artist’s life that would hit the big screen. We knew Salma could do it, honey. For one thing, she is Mexican, for fuck's sake. And half Lebanese, just like Shakira and me. That coupled with the fact that there's nothing finer than watching Salma Hayek work her onscreen magic - even done up with the unibrow and Diego-induced facial lines and furrows – makes me swoon like a loon, wanna howl at the Moon. Praise be, she's fabulousness personified. Alfred Molina's corpulent, incorrigible Rivera even manages to come across as sexy and likeable, even though he can't keep his dick in his pants to save his life. Director Julie Taymor, with her "Lion King" credentials and flair for vibrancy at any cost, brings to life the sultry, tequila-soaked nights, the chaotic street scenes and smells of Mexico City, not to forget Kahlo's brushstrokes, which reach out and grab you by the throat from the canvas.
Amadeus – 1984, directed by Milos Forman, based on the Peter Shaffer play, starring Tom Hulce, F. Murray Abraham, Elizabeth Berridge. The life of the composer genius, as told in flashbacks by the man whose searing jealousy of Mozart's gift tortures him to his dying day. The first time I saw this in the theater, I was way too young to appreciate it, falling asleep in my seat and not scoring another date with the guy I'd gone to see it with. The next time I saw it on the big screen was when the director's cut was released just a few years back. Here I'm reminded of what a lot of people say about the regular version vs. director's cut of "Donnie Darko," and how the two are almost completely different films. The same is true with "Amadeus," but don't let that keep you from adding the director's cut to your Netflix or Lackluster lists. While Forman's version does paint an even more poisonous portrait of Salieri, his added scenes also plug in a lot of holes left over from the earlier release. No matter which version you go with, though, the music and choreography are bedazzling, Hulce and Berridge are a joy to behold as Stanzi and Wolfie, and it's F. Murray Abraham's Salieri who'll leave a long-lasting impression on you for years to come, a bitter reminder of what happens to when people let their demons do 'em in.
posted by No, You Can't Watch at 1:25 PM
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