text: This is one dreary, inert, self-important bore. When the only thing that suddenly gives a film life is a hanging, you know the venture is botched. Philip Seymour Hoffman plays Truman Capote as a narcissistic, tic-ridden, self-indulgent, cartoon-voiced, insect-like caricature. Why he is this way is never explained and we get scant background information. The script focuses on Capote's writing of 'In Cold Blood' and his attachment to the damaged brothers who murdered a family of four. The acclaimed writer of 'To Kill A Mockingbird', Harper Lee (Catherine Keener), accompanies Capote in his initial inquires into the crime, and her presence immediately suggests a far more interesting subject for a biopic. Unfortunately, Lee is quickly sidelined in favor of endless scenes of Capote bemoaning his pained existence. Watching him is like watching Dr. Smith from 'Lost in Space' complain about his "delicate back" to anybody who will listen for two hours. The difference, however, is that Smith was fun to watch while Capote is not. The film's precious self-importance kills it, as does director Bennett Miller's reluctance to add any kind of shading. Like the morose piano score, the film is a one note wonder, providing no contrast, no emotional coloring, and no intimate drama. If Capote really was this irritating, why make a film about him and expect audiences to watch it? Though the supporting roles are well performed (Chris Cooper is his usual stalwart self), they serve such little dramatic purpose because, ultimately, it's all about Capote(!) Director Bennett and screenwriter Dan Futterman fail to emotionally engage their intended audience because they were clearly overwhelmed by the cultural baggage of Capote's "legend". Their product is stillborn Oscar bait...and is more evidence that one great genre pic has more "truth" in it than a dozen piles of oh-so-sincere crap like this.