Pity the poor people who produced Infamous. It tells the story of a gay diminutive elfin sophisticate who travels to Kansas to write a story for the New Yorker, then a book, about the murder of a farm family. The author's name is Truman Capote. He's played by a shrunken squash of a man, British stage actor Toby Jones, who bears an eerie resemblance to the actual Capote. His lifelong friend is Nelle Harper Lee. While in Kansas, Nelle (Sandra Bullock) runs interference for the flamboyant Truman; tsk-tsks Truman on ethical lapses; accompanies him to dinner at the home of Alvin Dewey (Jeff Daniels), detective with the Kansas Bureau of Investigation; and eventually, she writes To Kill a Mockingbird.
Um. Ah. Whoops.
By some unexpected worm hole in the universe, Infamous was shot at almost exactly the same time as Capote - which was released almost exactly this time a year ago. They seem to exist on parallel planes. Both tell precisely the same story of how Truman Capote befriended killer Perry Smith, then struggled to write In Cold Blood as a "nonfiction novel," betraying journalism even as he revolutionized it, crushing his soul in the process.
Never writing seriously again.
Even the tiny detail in Capote where Truman name-drops his movie-star friends and wins over the local Holcomb, Kan., yokels - it's more obvious in Infamous, slightly condescending whereas it felt intrinsic to who Truman was in Capote, but it is in there.
Warner Independent thought it best to put 12 months between the films. The hope was your memories of Capote would recede - even though they haven't at all. Capote was nominated for five Academy Awards including Best Picture and won a memorable Best Actor Oscar for Philip Seymour Hoffman, despite being as large and awkward as Jones is fey and pocket-size. (Hoffman pretended to be small; Jones is small.) There are other differences, of tone and focus: Infamous is light then dark, Capote was dark then darker. Capote was about ambition and journalism; this is the story of a doomed love, with journalism.
Comparison is unavoidable.
The question is: If Capote never existed, would Infamous be sitting tall today? Would Oscars lay ahead and critical reception be more enthusiastic than polite? Can Infamous be judged fairly? I hope so, but the truth is, Capote is a tough act to follow, and Infamous probably wouldn't have connected in the same way, regardless of Capote.
The problem is tone.
It's scattered to the wind.
Directed and written by Douglas McGrath - adapting George Plimpton's gossipy book of interviews about the writer (a format McGrath apes by cutting away to documentary-like talking heads at times) - Infamous cuts a wobbly path from the breezy New York frivolity of the first half to long prison chats of the second. The first half feels true to McGrath's intentions - he knows how to write a one-liner - and the second, obligatory meaningfulness. Likewise, Jones might have very well been an Oscar contender if Capote didn't exist, but for an imitation of humanity, not real poignancy.
That lack of warmth comes up in the first scene. Gwyneth Paltrow (in a puzzling cameo) performs at the El Morocco nightclub while Capote gossips with one of his high-society matrons, Babe Paley (Sigourney Weaver), the wife of CBS chief William Paley. Paltrow sings "What is This Thing Called Love" only to falter midsong, a stray thought darting into her head. She stops dead. The audience waits uneasily. She counts off, then the Cole Porter continues.
Even as Infamous turns cartoonish and arch, then promising as Capote and Perry (Daniel Craig, next up as 007) begin the push-and-pull of a reporter and his reluctant source, we're meant to keep the Paltrow scene in our head. What happened to her will happen to Capote. Life will bump into art. He will fall in love with Perry. But he'll choose art.
If McGrath were true to himself, he'd have chosen frivolity.
Contact Christopher Borrelli at: cborrelli@theblade.com
or 419-724-6117.
First Published October 27, 2006, 12:33 p.m.
