In this film, we're invited to observe the descent into a moral and emotional funk of someone who isn't likable to start with. What was the point of making the film, then? To show that it would have been better not to have had IN COLD BLOOD - a book I admire, incidentally - in order to have kept our hero's integrity intact? Hardly. He behaves at the party at the start of the film exactly in the same way he behaves after his triumphant reading from the book, so his degradation is a matter of degree. Are we supposed to care enough about Capote to take seriously his claim that he and murderer Perry Smith are kindred spirits, with the former having had all the breaks while the latter had none? Mr Capote's plight didn't touch me at all, I'm afraid, so if that was the central idea it was wasted on me. But even if I could fathom why the filmmakers visited this pointless project on us, the clunky storytelling would still have bored me as it did. Hoffman gives a bravura performance to no emotional effect, while Keener and Cooper are so warm and interesting that I was yearning for more of them. Dreary beyond belief.