The one reason Capote doesn’t suck: Philip Seymour Hoffman.

The ethics of reportage stuff is interesting, but I have this nagging feeling that it isn’t all that interesting to viewers who aren’t also writers. Which all the critics, obviously, are. It’s also got much higher stakes than most biopics—what there is of love is ambivalent, interested, abnegating, and full of wishful projection, not pure idealistic goop. And then there’s the death penalty angle.

On the fearful fucked-up-edness of writing, I would recommend Going Through Splat: The Life and Work of Stewart Stern over Capote. But Philip Seymour Hoffman is awesome.