I rented this to compare the two Trumans: Philip Seymour Hoffman (from Capote) and Toby Jones here.  Jones wins by a mile.  He must have channeled Capote.  It was uncanny and a bit unnerving.  This molasses-paced film didn’t hide Capote’s deceitful and manipulative nature, and his utter self-absorption (as when he hopes the killers get a death sentence rather than life, because their deaths will mean he can end his book with “a period.”)


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