This was a doomed project even before 2005’s Capote beat it to theaters, mainly because this second portrait of Truman Capote has no consistent creative vision. Part of the movie wants to be a comedy of manners, with Toby Jones as a far more flamboyant Capote than the one Philip Seymour Hoffman gave us. Another part wants to be a documentary-style biopic. And then there is the looney love story tacked on near the end between Capote and one of the accused murderers (Daniel Craig) he is writing about. Coming out of nowhere, the lip-lock between Jones and Craig is the movie’s kiss of death.
