I watched Brokeback Mountain last night. It was a tragic romance with gay cowboys, but nothing exceptional. It was kind of the boy version of Oranges are not the only Fruit. (Cowboys are not the only Fruits? Fnarr! Fnarr!) It might’ve been edgier if it’d been set in the Golden Age of cowboys instead of conservative, 1960s middle America.
The other film I watched last night was Capote, the story behind his book In Cold Blood. Philip Seymour Hoffman was irritatingly effete as he ingratiated himself with the men who had murdered the family in the farmhouse in Kansas.
Although Capote helps the men at first, his desire for the story to reach its end leads to him distancing himself from them. At the last minute, he visits them for the final time and witnesses the execution of Perry Smith.
Capote’s relationship with Smith was ambiguous. It was hard to say whether Capote fell in love with him, or was merely sucking up to him for the information he needed for his book.
If the Afterword was anything to go by, the work on In Cold Blood had a long-lasting effect on Capote. He may have wanted to distance himself from Smith and Dewey, but he perhaps couldn’t get past them.