Phillip Seymour Hoffman is an outrageously talented actor who found in Truman Capote the perfect vehicle to realise his gifts. A Golden Globe rewarded this gruelling, at times disturbing, performance. Hoffman’s ability to conjure Capote, from fey mannerisms to his peculiar almost-lisp, is mesmerising; a performance that goes deeper than mimicry to create a resonant, full-bodied experience. It is a work of art and a shame that there are so few other reasons to watch this film. Capote dismantles tragic events that inspired the author of Breakfast at Tiffany’s  to write his celebrated, true-crime bestseller In Cold Blood. It cemented his reputation and concluded his creativity in one foul swoop. His subject were drifters convicted for the grisly murder of a farming family.

Capote’s research with one of the killers is the dramatic pivot. Harper Lee (played here with steely assurance by Catherine Keener) was a long-time friend who turned aide when he sought to rewrite the rules of non-fiction. She helps balance the story as Miller goes on to dismantle its subject in a cold, harsh light. His unsympathetic treatment is something of a character assassination in regard to the reprehensible actions of a desperate, lonely and self-absorbed man. An early measure of erotic attraction that could explain Capote’s actions, indeed humanise him, is dispensed in favour of portraying a ruthless writer who cajoles two killers for the sake of a deadline. Miller’s dismay at his character is so heart-felt that any possibilities for redemption are struck down amid this journalistic villainy. Capote is a haunting film distinguished by Hoffman’s brilliant performance. It’s also a chilly, unpleasant experience.

// COLIN FRASER