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Reading of the murder of a Kansas family, NYC novelist Truman Capote decides to cover the story and travels there with his friend and aspiring writer Harper Lee. When Perry Smith and Dick Hickock are arrested and charged, Capote forms an emotional bond with Smith during his jailhouse interviews. (MUBI)

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Reviews (8)

D.Moore 

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English After In Cold Blood, I was definitely not in a good mood or I with peace in my soul. Capote added another dimension to the story, and it made those feelings even stronger. It's ugly, but that ugliness actually makes it an extremely interesting film that might not have been as good without Philip Seymour Hoffman, but that's a pointless musing. I would, however, also single out Catherine Keener, whose Harper Lee was the perfect human counterbalance to Truman Capote. ()

Kaka 

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English The fact that Philip Seymour Hoffman talks for two hours like a homosexual man (which he actually plays) doesn't mean that he delivers an Oscar-worthy performance or nomination. The fact that the film tries to be a credible biopic about a world-renowned writer doesn't mean that it will become a cult-classic masterpiece that will go down in history. Not all biopics are created equal. Some directors are able to inject incredible energy, inventiveness, and dynamism into these types of projects, while others not. In the latter case, it becomes a dry exposition with a stark and emotionally detached statement that only lasts a few minutes after the opening. With Capote, it lasted about twenty seconds for me. One of the most boring and indigestible projects of the year. ()

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novoten 

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English It is possible to penetrate into the story of Capote proportional to how the viewer accepts the main character. Hoffman demonstrates almost extreme exhibitionism, although authentically, which almost repelled me from the film, but he approached me again thanks to the prison interviews, where he finally gained depth in intimate scenes. His frivolity later proves to be only a defensive weapon, but still, his interpretation remains on the border between overacting and artistic performance, fortunately closer to the latter option. The screenplay itself also remains somewhere in between. While the search for truth for the book is an excellent subject and gets under the viewer's skin almost on its own, feelings of guilt and the urgency of consequences do not have such power, and because the ending is almost only about them, Capote fizzles out when the final credits appear. ()

DaViD´82 

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English The picture concentrates exclusively on the period that inspired the writing of one of the most fundamental American books of the 20th century - “In Cold Blood", the origin of the factual novel as such. A book that brought its author immortality and at the same time brought his fall into perdition. The subject is certainly intriguing, but Capote was such a complex and fascinating personage that the rather narrow focus of the story was rather a shame. It’s downright disappointing that the result is utterly humdrum and uninventive in all respects. The only element that saves it is the excellent performance from Hoffman, deservedly rewarded by more than one acting award. His performance precisely captures all nooks and crannies of Truman Capote’s soul. From homosexuality, through arrogance, calculating cunning, egoism to his desperate desire to be admired. And a warning concerning the Czech dubbing. Capote’s peculiar voice was difficult enough in the original to get right, but Hoffman did a splendid job of it. But in the Czech dubbed version, this literary heavyweight sounds like a pitiful caricature of himself. ()

Isherwood 

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English It’s too flat as a biography of a brilliant writer and too insubstantial as a film about a novel. In the film, Capote’s creative genius is limited to a few lame mentions of his previous work, and the actual creation of what is most substantial goes no further than what the viewer is able to form after reading "In Cold Blood" or watching Brooks' film of the same name. Phillip Seymour Hoffman's 100-minute homosexual creation thus becomes merely an aspirational pose that might have been provocative in the 1960s, but not today. The result is just an empty bubble, which at the time of its release got more flak than it perhaps deserved, and conversely, as a tribute to a brilliant storyteller, or rather a novel, it is about as impressive and original as a piece of marble. ()

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