Well, I’ll tell you what set me off today — some moron on AOL gave the movie CAPOTE a one star review that claimed it was boring and a great opportunity to grab an nap. BORING! Yeah, I guess if you call great acting, writing and fairly profound ideas boring he was right, but otherwise that’s the opinion of a total IDIOT! Have we become so stupefied by special effects and gratuitous sex and violence, so used to be manipulated as to what to think and feel that we can’t even recognize a good movie when appears before our eyes? Is this nation so populated by hypno-zombie undead that we need to be hit over the head with an obvious hammer before we can feel anything? Critics like CAPOTE, but it’s not setting any box office records. I guess the last election provided that the gap between intelligent people and the programmed hoi polloi is growing daily. Although CAPOTE is no masterpiece along the lines of, say, Godard’s CONTEMPT — I thought it dragged a bit three quarters of the way through (UBU believes most movies should be ninety minutes long) — but it has a killer ending (so to speak) and engages some deep themes. I liked that it was a movie for grown ups by grown ups. It was able to keep its consistent period authenticity because there were no teen starlettes or aging leading men in it who refused to give up their contemporary haircuts or clothes. There were no matinee idols who were afraid of appearing unsympathetic or unglamorous. What is more, like most good art, it is AMBIGUOUS and doesn’t lead you by the hand to some trite conclusion about life and the characters. Like the STONES say it’s all about MIXED EMOTIONS, and CAPOTE captures a lot of what it means to be an artist — how one is a subjective part of life and yet an objective observer of it, how the writer, even with loved ones (or maybe especially with them) is engaged on a human level, yet almost inhumanly using them for material. At some point the WORK ITSELF becomes paramount and EVERYTHING else is sacrificed to it — sometimes at grave cost to both artist and subject. I also liked the way it illuminated the fact that EROS is so often the midwife to creation — that the SEXUAL becomes the TEXTUAL. But the whole movie is worth the way the veins on Philip Seymour Hoffman’s head pop up in the scene where he bids the boys a final good-bye.