Another Capote movie, a different take

When I interviewed Doug McGrath '80 for The Daily Princetonian in the fall of 2000, he described himself as temperamentally unsuited for his first job writing for "Saturday Night Live," where work on one show flows right into work on the next. "I'm more of the let's-do-a-little-something-and-sit-back-and-enjoy-it-for-awhile school," said McGrath. That was probably the way McGrath envisioned the production and release of his new film, "Infamous," a biopic of Truman Capote based on the late, great George Plimpton's oral biography "Truman Capote: In Which Various Friends, Enemies, Acquaintances and Detractors Recall His Turbulent Career." As is often the case in Hollywood, however, things didn't quite go as planned.

In a sense, the film has been in the works since the time McGrath was working at SNL. After seeing an overweight, intoxicated Capote almost incoherently mourning the death of Tennessee Williams on "The Dick Cavett Show" in the early '80s, McGrath reportedly began reading whatever he could about the obviously dissipated writer who once had captivated New York's literary and social pantheon. Plimpton's book was published in 1997, and McGrath wrote his screenplay a few years later. He had only just begun to pitch it to studios when there appeared a significant potential obstacle to the enjoyment of this "little something." Another Capote movie was in the works, based on the 1998 book "Capote: A Biography," by Gerald Clarke. The other movie was focusing on the same period in its subject's life, the years he spent between 1959 and 1966 researching and writing his bestselling "nonfiction novel" "In Cold Blood." Philip Seymour Hoffman was set to star.

Believe it or not, this had happened to McGrath before. He wrote and directed a charming film adaptation of Jane Austen's "Emma," starring Gwyneth Paltrow, while two others — a BBC version with Kate Beckinsale and "Clueless," the Beverly Hills version — were in production. Both of the others came out before his, and most critics hailed "Clueless" as a smarter take on the original than McGrath's.

Though I was unfortunately unable to reach McGrath for this story, I'm willing to bet that the news of the Hoffman movie sent a few volts of panic to his brain.

McGrath's public response — besides going ahead with the movie he wanted to make — was to include "A Note from Douglas McGrath" in the screening invitations sent out to members of the film industry. It concludes, "While it was a surprise to me ... to learn that there was another script on the same subject, I can't say it was a mystery. Given the riveting contradictions in Capote's character, the rich range of people who made up his circle, and the comic and dramatic turns that marked the period, the real wonder is that there were only two scripts. I salute our friends on the other film, and am happy to welcome you to ours."

One crucial difference between the two films is the fact that only a few scenes of "Capote" take place in New York, whereas McGrath sets a substantial chunk of "Infamous" in the city whose social ladder Capote climbed until he was a fixture at every intimate gathering. Those who Capote knew best, the ones who gave the interviews Plimpton stitched together to form his book, were members of that 1960s New York pantheon Capote so thoroughly charmed.

The New York scenes also showcase McGrath's best and worst decisions as director of this film. In a woefully misguided attempt to translate Plimpton's interview snippets into scenes, McGrath films his actors individually seated in front of a curtain, delivering comments on Capote directly to the camera. The format is almost identical to the one used in awful unauthorized made-for-TV movies. NBC's 1994 "Tanya and Nancy: The Inside Story" springs to mind.

To make matters worse, the unfortunate interview format invites hyperbolic performances that verge on camp. Juliet Stevenson's portrayal of Diana Vreeland is funny, but it could be much funnier if it felt less, well, made-for-TV. She speaks almost entirely in exclamations. For example: "Some people think I'm eccentric because every morning I have my maid iron my money. When I told Truman ... do you know what he said? Here's what he didn't say: 'How eccentric.' Here's what he did say: 'How wonderful!' "

At the very least, the interviews interrupt the narrative already underway in the film's conventionally arranged scenes of Capote's life in New York. That's too bad, because those scenes are much more successful, centering on the socialite wives that Capote called his "swans." Of the New York performances, only Gwyneth Paltrow's cameo as blues singer Peggy Lee falls short. The other swans include Isabella Rosslini's Mirella Agnelli, Hope Davis' Slim Keith and a glowing Sigourney Weaver's Grace Paley, who McGrath in our 2000 interview called "heavenly, just heavenly." In his first starring role, British stage actor Toby Jones is the spitting image of Truman Capote, not only in his stature and looks but also his mastery of Capote's high-pitched lisp and impish charm.

The best moments of "Infamous" take place in the tiny farm town of Holcolmb, Kan., where Capote showed up in 1959, accompanied by a tower of Louis Vuitton luggage and his childhood friend Harper Lee, played by Sandra Bullock, to write about the horrific murder of a local family, the story that would become "In Cold Blood." Bullock's portrayal disappoints, especially in comparison to Catherine Keener's superbly nuanced performance last year. Jones, on the other hand, shifts between Capote's personas as smoothly as Capote himself did, transitioning from the flamboyant society poppet to the calculated literary profiteer come West to harvest a story. It's here that McGrath makes the boldest statement of the film: Capote becomes involved with Daniel Craig's Perry Smith, one of the two men convicted of the killings. Jones and Craig's onscreen kiss went virtually unacknowledged in the media — thank you, "Brokeback Mountain." This is good, because the scene that deserves more attention is the masterfully conceived one that follows. Alone in his hotel room after the kiss, Capote looks into the mirror and sees a man, not a caricature, flushed with the sort of unrehearsed, giddy astonishment that accompanies first love. We are left to conclude that in Smith, rather than among the New York glitterati, Capote came closest to seeing himself.