Funny how watching a movie about a writer, more specifically about a writer who is very engaged in the process of writing, makes one consciously seek precision in the way one regards the film. Accordingly, I felt that Capote was an engaging examination of the range that can be travelled between human being and consummate artist.
I guess in this instance, consummate artist is a pejorative term, without the grace added by the perspective of time; while one can admire, say, Milton's dedication to his art, can you imagine being his friend and going to him with your beefs about a neighbor? Even with your own thoughts about art? Think he'd be sympathetic? Think he'd be a cool guy to hang out with?
Capote answers that.
I have opinions on things and I like to talk about them.
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