Truman Capote, a man very dear to my heart, a damaged but beautiful soul who left behind a legacy of beauty, of gentle harps with frayed strings, of fearing and loving life all at once, of echoing chasms in the heart, of twinkling lights and frosty nights, is portrayed beautifully by Philip Seymour Hoffman in the new film - but savaged by the script as monstrously selfish beyond redemption.
Perhaps the spirit of the season will move us to remember him in brighter hues.
(Incidentally, the TV movie made from the above-linked story, with Katherine Hepburn and Henry Winkler, was a true marvel and I cried like a baby throughout.)
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