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It's strange how much I like the film Breakfast at Tiffany's, even though it's really not a very good one, and it's even offensive in some parts. Something about the wistful mood it sets, the effervescence of Audrey Hepburn and her gorgeous Givenchy clothes and hats, that lovely soundtrack, and the indelible characters till makes for a wonderful film-watching experience despite its flaws.
Reading the book was an unusual experience because so much of the dialogue was so familiar, and the story isn't very different for at least the first two thirds of the book, though Holly Golightly is a much bolder and bawdier and than she is in the film. But as I was drawn further into this story of a man who is platonically but irresistibly fascinated by this marvelous woman, I was intrigued by not only this notion of being absorbed in another person nearly to the exclusion of all else, but by this portrait of one of the strongest and most positive relationships that can exist: that between a woman and a gay man.
I was surprised to find how quietly complex and poignant this story was, and how skillful the writing, especially in regards to the unnamed narrator and the careful masking of his sexuality. (The clues are so subtle, but they're there.) While the film always gets me teary against my will with the cheap shot of the cat being thrown out in the rain and the swelling Mancini when he comes back, the very different ending of this book left me with a subtle but lingering sadness. Losing friends can be an intense and life-changing experience, too; it's a shame that we haven't yet seen the film that shows the love story Capote meant to tell.
Reading the book was an unusual experience because so much of the dialogue was so familiar, and the story isn't very different for at least the first two thirds of the book, though Holly Golightly is a much bolder and bawdier and than she is in the film. But as I was drawn further into this story of a man who is platonically but irresistibly fascinated by this marvelous woman, I was intrigued by not only this notion of being absorbed in another person nearly to the exclusion of all else, but by this portrait of one of the strongest and most positive relationships that can exist: that between a woman and a gay man.
I was surprised to find how quietly complex and poignant this story was, and how skillful the writing, especially in regards to the unnamed narrator and the careful masking of his sexuality. (The clues are so subtle, but they're there.) While the film always gets me teary against my will with the cheap shot of the cat being thrown out in the rain and the swelling Mancini when he comes back, the very different ending of this book left me with a subtle but lingering sadness. Losing friends can be an intense and life-changing experience, too; it's a shame that we haven't yet seen the film that shows the love story Capote meant to tell.