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Hi.
Okay, here she is, folks.
Kitty Dean.
What is this thing called love?
This funny thing called love.
Just who can solve its mystery?
Why should it make a fool of me?
I saw you there one wonderful day.
You took my heart
and threw it away.
That's why I ask the Lord
in heaven above.
What is this thing called love?
You gave me days of sunshine.
You gave me nights of cheer.
You made my life
an enchanted dream
till somebody else came near.
Somebody else came near you.
I felt the winter's chill.
And now
I sit and wonder night and day
why I love you still.
What is this thing called love?
It's a funny thing called love.
Just who can solve its mystery?
Why should it make a fool of me?
That a girl, Kitty!
I saw you there one wonderful day.
You took my heart
and threw it away.
That's why I ask the Lord
in heaven above.
What is this thing called love?
It’s 38 degrees in New York
this morning. The time is 10:49.
Should I call and get our table
for lunch?
Goodie-good.
And Big Mama?
Bring lots of gossip.
Everything about him
is designed to rivet.
The appearance, the demeanor,
and of course, the voice.
The voice?
To the lucky person
who has never heard it,
I can only say,
imagine what a Brussel sprout
would sound like
if a Brussel sprout could talk.
He's so magical...
you soon forget
the most unforgettable sound
in the world.
Here's a word I loathe:
eccentric.
Eccentric is a word
boring people use to describe
someone I think of as interesting.
A great many people think of me
as eccentric simply because
when I have my shoes polished,
the entire shoe polished,
top, sides and soles.
Some people think it is eccentric
that every morning
I have my maid iron my money.
When I told Truman I had my maid
iron my money, know what he said?
Here's what he didn't say:
''How eccentric.''
Here's what he did say:
''How wonderful!''
You can forgive a person a lot
who really enjoys you.
He's loads of fun,
wherever you go.
He's the rarest thing in the world,
a good talker
who is also a good listener.
How could Leland ever
have been bored with you?
Even someone who doesn't speak
English can look at you.
He listened to me like I was an
announcement in a train station,
just enough to hear
if there's an emergency.
Oh, well. He's with Pamela
and I need to move on.
Maybe you can,
but tout New York is dividing
into the Slim or Pamela camps.
Babe and I are the head Slimites.
Tru Heart.
Have you heard about Tracy?
Yeah. Having her eyes done,
I know.
Well, a little more than that.
She's gone off to have an abortion.
Who's the father?
I presume not ***.
Chas Fitzgerald.
Perfect. Does *** know?
I think she should just
tell *** it's his.
She can't. ***'s infertile.
What?
Everybody knows that.
Well I'm sure they do now.
Did you see the paper?
Yes. There's a story that's stuck
in my teeth like a piece of candy.
What is it?
Well, these well-to-do farm people
out in Kansas
were murdered
in the middle of the night
in the most gruesome way
imaginable.
Do they have any idea who did it?
No idea.
But that won't affect the piece
I want to write for you.
I want to explore how a crime
like this affects a town
where everyone trusts each other.
It may be preferable that we don't
know the identity of the killers.
Exactly. Because what I imagine
everyone is now afraid of is:
''Who among us
did this horrible thing?''
It used to be you'd think:
''There's old Mr. Busybody.''
Now you think:
''Did you do it?''
I can't bear the thought
of you going to Kansas.
Whom will I talk to?
Oh, that reminds me.
Did you hear about Tracy?
The eyes?
More.
Abortion.
I just saw her at Sotheby's.
She bought an adorable Degas.
I wanted it for the guest bath,
but Bill wants to put the little
Giacometti in the hall there.
Tell him nobody wants to find
a little man in the bathroom.
I know it from bitter
personal experience.
T-Bone...
How did you find out about Tracy?
Slim. But I'm absolutely
sworn to secrecy.
I'm only telling you
because you're my dearest friend.
Nelle...
As my oldest and dearest friend, do
you think the Kansas thing is good?
Are you joking?
That small town stuff,
that suspicion, that gossip?
That is your world as much as this,
maybe even more.
How were they killed?
Shotgun.
But there's a caretaker
not 100 yards from the house.
How could he not hear 4 gunshots
in the dead of night?
Maybe he did it.
Did you consider that?
Maybe.
Though the victims were bound and
gagged which suggests at least two.
One with the gun
to make them cooperate,
and one to tie them up
and make them sorry they cooperated.
The father and boy
were shot in the basement,
the mother and girl in their beds.
How do you know all this?
I called the D.A.
May I tell him who's calling,
please?
Yes, dear.
This is Truman Capote.
I'm sorry. The D.A doesn't take
calls from strange women.
And what did you say?
Who says I'm strange?
They can judge for themselves soon
enough. I'm going there in a week.
Which of your pillbox hats
do you think they'll like best?
Why didn't Jack come tonight?
If he's your fella, he's welcome.
Truman and I...
had a taste for
one another's company
above all others,
but we weren't a together wherever
you go couple. He's very social.
I'm not.
Especially with... that crowd.
Jack didn't
approve of us.
He has the social graces
of a syringe.
Jack is just so iron, you know,
he's so, ''That's that.''
Before he knew Truman
he was married to a darling actress
named Joan McCracken.
They were dancers together in
''Oklahoma'' and he was mad for her.
And then the war came,
and he went away and came back.
And she told him that
she'd had an affair.
Well, he was so humiliated
that not only did he end
their marriage that night,
but he stopped sleeping with women
altogether and he switched to men.
Can you imagine?
Curing your distaste for infidelity
by turning to men?
What if one of the people
you interview is the killer?
And what if he thinks you know?
He's already committed 4 murders,
you think he'll spare you?
Honey, is this your funny way of
saying you're worried about me?
-Doesn't it seem dangerous?
-Come with me, then.
I can't. I'm trying
to write my book.
Well, then it's O sole mio,
off I go!
I don't want anything
to happen to you.
Honey, I'm indestructible.
Much to everyone's regret.
Not mine.
Come with me.
Your book's all done.
Well, I am intrigued,
but I want to get started on my new
book before ''Mockingbird'' comes out.
How near did you say the caretaker
lived to the main house?
Nelle grew up with him in Alabama.
She based the other little boy in
''To Kill a Mockingbird'' on Truman.
Aptly enough,
she named the child Dill.
People always mention
his effervescence,
but one must remember
that at the center
of any bright flame
there's always that
little touch of blue.
Truman's parents deserted him
at an early age,
leaving him with elderly relations
in my town.
And Truman always disguised his
shame over their absence
with grand tales of adventure
and glory.
''My daddy can't be here,
he's an aviator.''
''My mother's a photographic subject,
but they're coming for me.''
He would always say,
''They're coming for me.''
Every year at Christmas,
our elementary school did a pageant
through the center of town.
And one year, Truman wrote his
parents that he was the star
though he was only a snowflake,
like me.
But no matter, it worked.
They wired him to say they'd take
the train from New Orleans
and get there just in time to see
the pageant. They even said
they'd stand right by the cannon
in the square to cheer him on.
Well, we marched through town
and as we got closer
to that cannon
I could see him straining
to see his parents.
When we got to that cannon,
he stopped,
forgetting we were supposed to be
marching in time to the music.
He stopped and he stared.
They had not come.
I thought for a minute
he might break.
And then he threw his arms
up in the air
and twirled himself
all the way over.
A cartwheel.
And then again. And again...
all the way down the street
till his tears were gone.
Truman adored Nelle.
She and Jack were just about
his only non-society friends.
I will say it stung him
when she won the Pulitzer.
He might not have minded her winning
one, but only if he'd already won 2.
I've always been interested
in crime.
Daddy was a lawyer,
and Sister too.
I studied the law as well,
but I either lost my nerve or came
to my senses before taking the bar.
But when Truman asked me
to go to Kansas,
it was deep calling to deep.
Detective Dewey!
-Do you have any leads yet?
-Nothing I can discuss.
-Detective Dewey.
-Jimmy.
Yeah. Will you confirm that
there is more than one killer?
No.
Of course there was more than one,
unless the killer was a hypnotist.
Beg your pardon, ma'am?
It's illogical to suppose
there's only one killer.
The Clutters were tied up.
He'd have to put his gun down.
Once he put the gun down,
they would have run for the hills.
I don't believe
I know who you are.
Or what.
I'm from out of town.
-What's your paper?
-Ladies Home Journal.
I'm not a reporter,
I'm a writer.
May I see your press card?
Good heavens, I don't carry
any such thing.
But I do have a passport
back at my hotel room.
Would you like to come back
and look at my little picture?
I'll need not only the facts
of the case
but how this terrible crime has
eaten at the foundation of trust
that makes up your community.
I see. No.
And I... What?
No reporter has special access.
Sir, I'm not writing a news story.
I'm from the New Yorker magazine.
I'm writing a psychological study
of a village
and how that place is affected
by a vicious crime.
I will not be careless
in my depiction.
I shall labor over every word,
every sound.
The final result must be just
so as dazzling and unique
as a Fabergé egg.
Right. And I got a crime to solve.
But I don't care whether
the crime is solved or not.
I sure as hell care.
The Clutters went to our church.
They were friends of my family's.
No access.
You are very, very foxy.
I can see I'm gonna have
to work extra hard
to get around that
foxy manner of yours.
Isn't he foxy?
But don't you worry, I...
It was lovely how you didn't care
whether the *** was solved.
-Lovely.
-Quiet.
Would you folks care
for a cocktail?
Yes, a gin and tonic, please.
I’ll have J and B on the rocks,
with a tiny curl of lemon
and a splash and a half of water.
A what, on the rocks?
J and B.
It's a type of Scotch, dear.
You want me to see
if we've got any?
That would be a wonderful beginning.
Yes, ma'am.
I think we need to come in
a little under the radar here.
I know where you are headed,
but you
of all people know how impossible
it is for me to modify myself.
I'm not saying get married
and have kids,
but maybe come in
on little cat's paws.
It's no use.
This cat has long, noisy nails.
Anyway...
I’ll call Dewey's office tomorrow
and request a proper interview.
-It might better suit his vanity.
-Thank you.
-Meanwhile, let's start talking...
-Thank you. Thank you.
Thank you.
In the meantime,
let’s start talking to people.
We don't need his blessing
for that.
I think we should just speak
to people on the street.
Yes, in our nicest way, the way that
would most put people at ease...
Madam!
May we ask you about the gruesome
murders out at the Clutter home?
Maybe you should drop the word
''gruesome.''
Sir!
Sir!
Excuse me, sir.
We'd like to talk to you about the
tragic events of November 15th.
Sorry, ladies.
Do you think everyone keeps
calling me ''lady'' to be mean,
or can they honestly not tell?
I know I'm not Charles Atlas, but
even Ethel Merman doesn't have this.
No. Hers is thicker.
Mr. Capote.
Is this all?
No messages?
No, sir.
I simply don't understand why
Alvin Dewey won't return my calls.
I've telephoned three times.
Nelle.
Care package from Babe.
It's beluga!
Let's get some Ritz crackers
and eat it right now.
Let's. And you know what I think
you should do tomorrow?
Go see the Clutter place.
Honey, if Alvin Dewey won't return
my calls, I’ll never see the house.
You know everybody on the planet.
Call somebody.
And please tell the Duke and Duchess
I am sick to miss the dance.
I will.
Bennett hears wonderful things
about your book.
Well, I almost don't care
what the critics say
as long as I can be allowed
to write another.
Your dream of being the Jane Austen
of Alabama will come true.
Anyway, Bennett knows the head
of Kansas University,
who knows the Clutters' lawyer.
The killers came in this way.
Any messages?
Princess Margaret
and Noël Coward.
No Dewey. Again.
They're in both ways over there.
Right, but this particular form
goes under last name.
-That whole stack?
-That's the one, yeah.
Is this a good time?
Yeah. Come on in.
Ma'am...
What can I do for you folks?
Well...
you can begin by serving me
a large slice of humble pie.
I've come to apologize for acting
too big for my britches.
As you see,
I even got new britches.
Yeah, well, no harm done.
Real nice of you.
I wanted to explain myself.
I'm trying to create
a new kind of reportage.
Have you read my book
''The Muses are Heard?''
Well, it was very well received.
It's about an American opera company
in Moscow doing ''Porgy and Bess.''
Now, if I relied only on what
the press managers told me,
it would have been no different
than a newspaper article.
But I gave it the emotional
and psychological detail of a novel.
I see, so you're doing something
different than a regular reporter.
Yes.
And I can't really know how people
feel without your help.
Oh, well, I can tell you
how they feel. Terrible.
They'll feel better
when this is solved.
Yes, I agree, of course.
And that's...
Look, I wish you well
with your project. But no access.
I'm sorry, but Nelle and I will have
to stay for Christmas.
Why?
Because no one will talk to me.
I've got to stay until they forget
about me and can open up.
No one forgets about you.
What will you do for Christmas?
Of course,
everything will be closed,
so I thought before I'd got to
the market and get a nice cheese,
some ham and olives.
Slim sent a wonderful Burgundy.
Nelle and I can make a picnic
at the hotel.
Excuse me?
Could this be all the cheese?
Well, how much do you need?
Mine is a matter of quality,
dear, not quantity.
Oh, you mean other types of cheese.
Goodness, no. Not here.
Are you staying for Christmas?
Yes, we are.
Well, what will you and Mrs. Capote
do for your Christmas supper?
If this is the only cheese I find,
Mrs. Capote and I might try cyanide.
Would you like to come to our house
for Christmas supper?
Really? Like for a party?
Well, it's just not right you don't
have Christmas supper in a home.
That is so kind of you.
Nelle will be thrilled.
May I ask your name?
Hi.
Hi.
What?
We are spending Christmas
with the Deweys.
This just isn't right.
What isn't right is for two people
to spend Christmas alone.
If there's two of them,
they won't be alone.
Hi. We're here.
-Merry Christmas.
-Merry Christmas.
I know you said
not to bring anything,
but my daddy would kill me if I
showed up for company empty-handed.
We brought you a fruitcake.
And she doesn't mean me.
My wife, Delores.
-Truman.
-Foxy.
-Thank you.
-My wife, Delores.
Hello, Paul.
You gonna watch the game?
I got 25 dollars on it.
Truman, you like football?
Not much.
Though I must admit it always sends
shivers up my spine
when the men get inside
that little huddle and whisper.
We have treats.
I have kind of a party question.
I hope it's not too awful or mean.
That sounds fun. Let's play.
Paul Dewey. Don't you wanna come
in here and sit with the grownups?
Since it's Christmas,
I thought we could all
take turns telling
what is the worst present
you ever got.
Mine was a shawl from an elderly
neighbor lady. I'm no shawl lover.
-Me neither.
-They're never warm enough.
Are my ears working properly?
Am I the only one here
who loves shawls?
Don't look at me.
My goodness, I love shawls.
I have several.
I think the prettiest one
is the one Jennifer Jones gave me.
Jennifer Jones?
The movie star?
Yes. We were in Rome making
a picture called ''Beat the Devil''
and I was struggling
to write a scene for Bogie
when I began to feel
the most inhuman pain.
Bogie?
You mean Humphrey Bogart?
I mean Mr. Lauren Bacall, yes.
I was trying to write a scene for
him and Peter in which they both...
Wait a minute.
Who's Peter?
Peter Lorre.
But I had a terrible impacted tooth,
and so John...
-Wayne?
-Garfield?
Kennedy?
Huston.
John Huston, the director?
John told me he didn't care
if we had to shut the movie down,
I was going to the hospital.
So I thought,
''Well, if I have to be in a Roman
hospital for who knows how long,
I may as well have something with me
to make me feel good.''
So I wore the beautiful Balmain
shawl that Jennifer gave me
and, if I do say so myself,
I felt and looked dreamy.
Did you meet Humphrey Bogart?
Meet?
My dear, every night
we had drinks and dinner
and once, poker.
You played poker with
Humphrey Bogart?
I had a disadvantage in that
I didn't know the game in the way
that Bogie or Frank did.
Frank?
Sinatra.
Experience had taught them things
a relative novice such as myself
may not know, like, well...
Did you know that three of a kind
beats a pair?
So, I did not defeat
Mr. Humphrey Bogart at cards,
but you may be interested to know I
soundly beat him at something else.
Arm wrestling.
Hold on now.
You expect us to believe
that you beat Humphrey Bogart
at arm wrestling?
Twice.
You're good.
Good match, sir.
Thank you.
Hey, I just beat the guy
who could beat Humphrey Bogart.
Cool. You wanna come over
and see what I got?
You didn't beat Humphrey Bogart,
did you?
You don't think I'd defeat your
child on a Christmas afternoon
with everyone here thinking
what they do about me?
That would be a gift
of switches and ash.
But you didn't beat
Humphrey Bogart, did you?
AII right. Roll up your sleeve.
No, no.
Scared?
Well, I’ll be.
Listen, Foxy. Whey you're tiny
you have to be tough.
This world isn't kind
to little things.
So glad you could make it.
-Hope you'll come back. Thank you.
-Thank you. Merry Christmas.
-Merry Christmas. Good night.
-Come on.
Bye-bye.
Foxy, check under the tree.
Hello?
No, they just left.
Well, I know it, but the time flew.
Guess what...
He knows Ava Gardner.
And Humphrey Bogart.
And Betty Bacall.
That's Lauren Bacall.
And she got right into the kitchen
and helped. They are so sweet.
Anything good?
Merry Christmas
from the Queen Mother.
She loves me.
Babe.
Slim.
Who's this?
''Mrs. John Stimmell called to invite
you and your friend to dinner.''
Who's that?
It says she's a friend
of the Deweys.
How nice.
Look, here's another.
''Please call Mrs. Dorn about dinner.
Friend of the Deweys.''
Well, that sounds lovely.
Nelle.
These are all invitations!
Then Ava said,
''I'm not afraid of the police.
It's Frank who scares me!''
And Marilyn said,
''Better sorry than safe.''
Marilyn Monroe.
Bonnie Clutter
is such a dear and I...
Was such a dear.
Oh, goodness.
It's hard to put a friend
in the past tense.
It seems so sad, especially since
Bonnie wasn't well at the time.
What was the matter?
Oh, well, I shouldn't say.
I just don't think she liked
to be with folks so much.
But if you ever did see her,
if you ever did,
she was always good old Bonnie.
She was going through
the change of life.
That's all?
You try it. It's enough.
Well, there were four of us
went to the house to clean up...
clean up...
all the damage and the mess.
We used to go out to Herb's
to hunt pheasant.
It was strange driving out there
knowing what was waiting for us.
The couch where the boy had been...
I was just, I mean
the bodies were gone, but...
Good Lord, just seeing that couch.
Or the mattress box
where Herb had been.
There was so much blood...
There was so much blood....
Sometimes, in big, wide pools.
Sometimes in little splatters.
I was going up the stairs
and then I saw a big spot
on the banister...
and I almost...
I swear...
That was worse than the big stuff
on the floor. Because I thought,
''It made it all the way up here?''
I can only say I was a Marine
and nothing ever got to me
the way this did.
Herb was one of the most respected
ranchers in this state.
If there was a list that told you
how to succeed with honor,
well, he just did
everything on it.
You see, he worked hard,
he took care of his family
and when he went to church, he just
didn't get his time card punched.
No, he went in and he listened.
And I've always believed that
whenever you do something right
it gives you a little bit of weight
so that you come to feel rooted to
this earth, you know? Solid. Secure.
Now what scares me is that...
well, sometimes, out of nowhere,
a bad wind blows up.
Now it could be cancer,
could be drink,
could be some woman
that don't belong to you.
And despite the weight
that's holding you to the ground,
when that wind comes,
it picks you up light as a leaf
and it takes you where it wants.
We're in control until we're not.
Then we're helpless.
''If you ever saw her,
she was always good old Bonnie.''
No, no. She said, ''If you ever did
see her, if you ever did, she...''
That's right.
''...she was always good old Bonnie.''
Good ear.
Drink?
Well, obviously the mother
wasn't right.
I don't know.
It just sounds like menopause.
I hope not. That's a little grubby
for my novel.
Your novel?
What are you talking about?
I think this story
is bigger than an article.
I think it's a book.
I can see that.
But non-fiction, right?
Yes, of course
it will all be true, but...
But what?
Either it is or it isn't.
You're not understanding.
I wanna bring fictional techniques
to a non-fiction story.
What fictional techniques?
The ones where you make stuff up?
If I were gonna make stuff up do you
think I'd take all these notes?
Well, you obviously plan
to turn Bonnie Clutter
into some faux poetic recluse
when what it sounds like is
that she was just thrown off
by her menopause.
What is your stupid *** point?
That you shouldn’t be doing
what you're doing.
The truth is enough.
I must say I don't appreciate
this lecture from you of all people.
''Mockingbird'' was based on true
things and you sure improved that.
Right. It's a novel.
Reportage means re-creating,
not creating.
This is a new kind of reportage.
I’ll say.
Okay. ''But if you ever did see her,
if you ever...''
I remember.
Fine.
It's your book.
Yes.
My seventh.
Okay.
How's your book coming?
It'll take me a long time
to shape, but...
thanks to Nelle,
who's been a gift from heaven,
and you all,
we'll probably only need
a week more here.
Well, I'm gonna miss
your Kansas steaks.
We'll be sorry to see you go.
Is there any news? You know
I can't give you special access.
We got them.
What?
What?
We caught them. Just like you said,
there were two of them.
The killers?
We caught the killers?
Who are they? Are they down
in the jail right now?
They're in Las Vegas.
I got to get right out there.
Can I come?
Oh, please, Foxy!
Not this time, partner.
Well, there isn't gonna be another.
How many times will you arrest them?
I'm sorry.
Honestly, Marie...
How can you stay married
to such a mule?
Maybe now you’ll get
a whole night's sleep.
Congratulations, foxy.
This kind of changes your book.
You're telling me.
Of course, if I thought it was hard
getting the townspeople to open up,
how in heaven's name will I ever get
the killers to talk?
Look, look. They're here.
Pardon me. Pardon me.
Excuse me.
I can't see the other one.
There he is.
No way.
The press inside the prison.
I have many connections
in government.
Perhaps I could have someone call,
explain what I'm doing.
You'd pretty much have to know
the President of the United States
before I'd let you visit
these boys.
Suck my ***, you ***!
I never snack.
You want to kiss my ***,
***?
I'd prefer it to your face.
You want to write a book about me?
If my *** teachers
could hear you say that!
Did you ever write a book?
Certainly.
My first novel, ''Other Voices,
Other Rooms'' was heralded by critics
as the most exciting
literary debut since...
Yeah, okay.
You a ***?
Yes.
Because I'd let you suck me.
I'm not a ***, but letting you
suck my *** doesn't make me ***.
It makes you a ***.
A mouth's a mouth.
Well, thanks, I guess...
but no.
So then what's in it for me?
Money.
I'd give you a share
of my royalties.
I got two kids
by my first marriage.
Maybe I can give the money
to Lacy, my ex.
Would you help. me
write her a letter?
I'd be glad to.
Okay, I’ll do it.
The Clutter deal was my idea.
I shared a cell with a piece
of rat *** called Floyd Wells
who told me the old man Clutter
had a safe with 10,000 dollars.
*** says you first heard about
the Clutter safe from his cell mate,
Floyd Wells.
Is that right?
Well, he told you, didn't he?
Yes, but can I trust him?
He's in jail.
I wouldn't trust him.
You don't want the only perception
people have of you coming from ***.
I can help. get your side out.
Don't *** me.
You don't care about my side.
You're not trying to help. me.
Well, this would be helpful.
You'd be entitled to a share
of the royalties.
And what would I do
with royalties in here?
You might get out,
and you could use...
We're not getting out!
I said no ***
and you gave me more ***.
Go away.
He'll loosen up.
How's ***?
***?
He just goes on and on and on.
Perry probably shot the Clutters
just to get *** to be quiet.
I have to have both sides.
How do you get your New York lady
friends to tell you everything?
My swans?
I figure out what they need.
Gossip. Comfort.
And I give it to them.
So find out what Perry needs. In the
meantime, get all you can from ***.
Surely he’ll shed
some light on Perry.
The man and the boy
we took in the basement.
Now, here's something.
When I wanted to enjoy myself on the
girl, you know, knock her box out,
Perry says for me
not to touch her.
But when he's tying up that boy,
he put a pillow under his head.
And told the old man
to lay on a mattress box
because he said the floor was cold.
Too cold to get shot on?
Why do you think he did that?
And I said, ''You losing your nerve?
We can't leave no witnesses.''
And he said no but I thought,
''Are you a ***?''
Putting that pillow for the boy,
telling me not to crack the girl...
But other times he's okay.
Didn't seem like a *** when he
splattered their hair on the wall.
No, we didn't want to kill them.
We wanted to get in and out
without a trace.
Perry wanted us to get stockings
for our faces.
But that ***-*** store where we got
the gloves only had light ones.
You could see my eyes through them.
Pick me out of a lineup.
So Perry says to go to the hospital
and buy black ones off the nuns.
And I thought that was
a damn crazy idea,
but I didn't feel like
fighting with him,
so I went and huddle behind
the door, and I came out and said,
''Catholic ***
wouldn’t sell me none.''
And what did Perry say?
He said,
''Any''.
''Catholic ***
wouldn’t sell you any.''
Really?
He corrected your grammar?
Listen, sugar.
Perry Smith....
fancies himself an artiste.
Hey, baby. You wanna suck my ***
through the bars?
Yours couldn't reach
through the bars.
The only way to deal with vulgarity
is to rise above it.
I had a similar experience
with my friend, Tennessee Williams.
The artist and intellectual?
Never mind.
Nobody here likes
this kind of thing.
I do.
I'd like to hear it.
Well, Tennessee and I were
in this bar once...
when this very drunk woman
came up to me and said,
''May I have your autograph?''
I said, ''Why, yes, dear.''
She said she didn't have
a piece of paper.
So she pulled up her skirt,
pointed to her belly button
and asked me to autograph that.
So then she hands me
an eyebrow pencil
and I write my name all the way
around her navel like a sundial.
All of the sudden appears her angry
and very drunk husband who says,
''Since you're in the mood to sign
things, why don't you sign this?''
And with that, he unzipped his fly
and hauled out his manhood.
Well, what'd you do?
Well, the room was
graveyard silent.
I looked him up and down and said,
calm as I could,
''Well, I don't know
if I could autograph it,
but perhaps I could initial it.''
What kind of stuff does
Tennessee Williams write?
I know his name, I just can't think
what are his books.
He's a dramatist. He wrote
''A Streetcar Named Desire.''
-That Brando was in?
-The very same.
Marlon Brando is the *** king!
Now, he's one of my two
favorite actors.
Who's the other?
Humphrey Bogart.
I beat Humphrey Bogart.
And Alvin Dewey, too.
This is the most black-hearted thing
you've ever done, Nelle Harper Lee,
and I will never forgive you.
Hush your silliness. You're all
set now. Perry's ready to talk.
I need my life. back.
There are a few fires
I need to rekindle.
Well, goodbye.
I hate you.
Thank you. You, too.
How's the vanquisher of Bogart?
Okay.
Tell me more about him.
Well, I think we should talk
about some other things first.
Like what?
Nothing. I just don't have
a lot more about Bogie.
I do have a very amusing story
about Marlon Brando.
I once spent an entire evening
with him, just the two of us,
and he told me all about his life.
before he became a star.
Are you guys friends?
Well, I wouldn’t say that. He's told
people he wants to kill me.
What for?
He didn't like the way
I portrayed him in my article.
He claims he told me certain things
off the record.
Well, you couldn’t just
check your notes?
I never take notes.
I employ a memory technique
that gives me almost 100% retention.
Well, ''almost''
is the key *** word.
I may miss a word,
but never a meaning.
If you miss the right word,
you will.
You've got a hell
of a *** nerve.
What are you trying to bother
a great actor like Brando for?
You misunderst...
See, this is why
I don't wanna talk to you.
If you want to make me look like
some asshoIe, you will.
Perry, I never judge my characters.
Well, here's something for you
to remember all 100% of.
I am not a character.
I'm a human *** being.
Guard!
Perry Edward Smith! I am writing
this book with or without you.
You can get involved, so I can make
you a 3 dimensional human being,
or you can continue
this foolishness
and I will head straight back
to New York and write what I want.
Is this my party?
Truman!
T-bone! Welcome home, my darling.
We missed you so much.
I don't believe I ever said this.
Tell us about the killers.
Well, their names are *** Hickock
and Perry Smith.
Have you met them?
Met them? My dear,
I've been in their cells.
I have goose flesh.
When you're talking to them,
they seem like perfectly nice boys.
To be frank, I'm much more concerned
for my safety around Norman Mailer.
*** speaks about what happened
without any sense that it was wrong.
It was just something
that happened.
What about Terry?
No, it's Perry.
As in Antoinette.
He's an enigma.
Before he killed the Clutter boy,
he put a pillow under his head.
And he wouldn’t let ***
*** the girl.
He's not all kind.
Jack's right.
After these demonstrations of
gentility, he did shoot them dead.
And cut the old man's throat.
There's something...
I can't quite put my finger on it.
It seems insane to say
that he's tender,
but he does have the tender and the
terrible side by side inside him.
He's very...
He's very?
Never mind that.
Let's go around the table
and you can all tell me
whom you're having affairs with.
Oh, goody.
Bennett?
In his letters,
Tru Heart always says:
''What's the new thing
that everyone loves?''
And, as any of us
with children know,
the big new thing is not
on Broadway or even on CBS.
Sorry, darling.
It's this.
You see your child with it at home,
''I simply have to slit my wrists.''
And five minutes later...
you're doing it.
Doors closed, of course,
but you just can't resist it.
I did.
Well, *** aren't much
for dancing.
Oh, dear.
How's your writing come, Jack?
Well, let’s hear it.
Well, when Babe told me
anyone could learn it,
I bet her $100 she couldn’t teach me
and now I owe her $100.
Slim and I will show you how,
and then you can jump right in.
You, especially.
Needle's on...
Oh, my word.
Come on, my protégé.
All right, teacher.
When she taught me, I said,
''What are the other steps?''
She said,
''There are no other steps.''
Who's next?
Who else? Truman?
Moi?
No, how do I...
That's what I said.
It's not a dance.
You put the foot out.
You put the foot out.
Truman? Truman?
You just put your foot out.
What are you doing there?
You're doing something
with your arms.
Then we go down.
Oh, my word.
What is that, Flamenco?
I'm so sorry about Jack. I almost
fainted when he insulted Bill.
Bill can take it, believe me.
Jack has a moral certainty
that's so oppressive.
Moral in what way?
Just that anything fun
is a crime against my art,
certainly not moral
in a personal way.
We have an understanding
that if we need something ***
and the other isn't there
to provide it, that...
I understand.
I hardly ever wander,
but he does.
We don't discuss it. I can allow it
more if I know less about it.
But doesn't even the idea
upset you?
I mean, how can you bear
to think of...
...or keep yourself
from picturing...?
Honey, what is it?
Bill is having an affair.
Babaling, no...
Please, you absolutely must not
breathe a word of this to anyone.
It will die inside me.
How did you find out?
Our bed sheets were stained.
Okay, well, now I could vomit.
And of course,
he couldn’t give it to the maid.
Well, no.
So he got on his hands and knees in
front of the tub and scrubbed them.
But it didn't quite come out.
And when I got back I noticed
this odd outline on the sheets.
And I said, like a fool, I mean,
not even suspecting, I said...
I said...
''What on earth is that?''
I thought Mary Lee
had bleached them.
But then I looked at Bill
and there was that...
that look on his face.
And I thought,
''Thanks heavens
he is such a bad liar
or I would have been
most unjust to Mary Lee.''
It doesn't seem possible that a man
who owns a television network
can be such a bad liar.
It seems so essential
to his success.
What am I gonna do?
You are going to call me
whenever you need me,
even if it's 3 A.M. and Brooklyn
and Manhattan are at war.
I’ll come over the Brooklyn Bridge
bullets flying
to let you know you have
a lifelong friend in me.
T-bone, you are so dear.
I can't picture Bill Paley
washing sheets!
He must have been frantic.
-Poor Babe.
-I know, I know. Bless her.
Check.
Will you come while I find
a newsstand?
I'm trying make Perry like me
by sending them dirty magazines.
Sure.
I wish I'd find a man like you.
Sex and the money, I wouldn’t care,
if I'd always have fun like this.
Thank you, Big Mama.
I love you.
I love you, too.
Do you?
Well, how can you even ask?
You never confide in me.
No, I don't, darling.
You're right.
Why don't you?
It's very simple.
I can't trust you.
What? I'm speechless.
Paralyzed and speechless.
Good afternoon.
I need two copies of Playboy,
Party Doll, Stag Night,
Baby Doll, Hotsy Totsy, French Flip,
Pink Lace, *** and Juggle.
Jiggle.
Why on earth can you not trust me?
Well, you know why.
Because someday you’ll use it.
That will never be true.
I may not be a monk,
but I certainly have a moral code.
Good heavens!
Look at this!
This is revolting.
Women look much better in clothes,
much, much, better.
Goodness gracious,
look at this messy thing.
I'm glad to see you've recovered.
How are things coming?
I found a superb structure,
going back and forth
between the Clutters
and *** and Perry drawing near.
But if I don't find emotional depth
it's just another police drama.
Who needs it?
Well, face it, without Perry,
you're dead.
I'd cut your losses.
Nelle!
Here's your mail.
Something from The New Yorker.
Something that looks like
invitations, and something...
Do you know anyone
in the Kansas State Penitentiary?
He must be writing to thank me
for that revolting ***.
Well, you won't believe this.
What?
Dear Mr. Capote,
it was extremely solicitous of you
to send me those periodicals.
He reads the dictionary.
But I regret to inform you that
the reading material was repellent.
My future will soon be determined.
But there are only two outcomes:
life. in prison or death.
So, whether I have a short time
remaining or a long time to come,
I owe it to my mind to fill it with
things of beauty and intelligence.
And how about that handwriting?
Well, if you want beauty
and intelligence,
you're his man.
I waited so we could
open it together.
Dear Mr. Capote.:
thank you for the reading material.
It was much more intellectual than
the *** pictures you sent before.
However...
However?
Though the stories are told well,
I, ultimately, did not like them
because I thought the writing
lacked kindness.
I have never!
Maybe you should go back
to sending him ***.
Imagine being told your work lacked
kindness by a 4-time killer!
My writing is dispassionate
and unsentimental,
but I wouldn’t say it's unkind.
I've never thought about it
in those terms exactly.
What a thing to say.
Yes.
I came all this way back,
three days on the train,
because there's something
I want you to know.
I have given my whole life.
to one effort,
the creation of a great
work of art.
Please, don't laugh at me.
My whole life.,
all I've wanted was
to create a work of art.
I sang, nobody listened.
I painted, nobody looked.
Now, *** and me,
we *** four people.
And what's gonna come out of it?
A work of art.
I'm laughing at me.
You want me to open up, but I don't
think you can understand me.
Why not?
It was your books.
I thought you looked down on
the people you were writing about,
like you were sneering at them.
I would never sneer
at my characters.
If I'm gonna put my heart
in front of you,
I need to know I'm doing it
with someone who will listen to it
and not make a joke out of it
like you did with Holly Golightly.
You can't write my story
because your idea of suffering
is so far from mine.
It's not.
I promise.
Goodbye.
Okay.
The reason this is hard for me
to say is that
I've never said it out loud before.
We told everyone
she was sick, but...
my mother committed suicide.
-Is this a trick?
-No!
-Are you bullshitting me?
-No!
Have you been talking to ***?
No.
What happened?
Why'd she do it?
All my mother ever wanted
was to be a Park Avenue lady,
which isn't easy when you're
in Alabama with no money.
So she married my father
to get out.
But, before they could go,
I came.
So she deserted me,
leaving me with my aunts.
And when my father failed
to deliver her to Park Avenue,
she deserted him, too.
Because she was beautiful.
So beautiful...
She married again,
this time to Joe Capote.
He had a job in New York
and worked all hours
until her dream came true.
We moved to 1060 Park Avenue.
Mother was thrilled.
It seemed to extinguish
some sort of anxiety in her.
But the way Joe got us there
couldn’t keep us there.
He'd embezzled the money,
100 thousand dollars.
He was fired and tainted.
He told mother we'd have to move.
But not to a smaller place
on Park Avenue,
but to a cold-water flat
in the Bronx.
She couldn’t take it.
She frantically tried to save money
in any way so they could stay,
eating less,
not buying lipstick...
She'd stopped drinking when they
moved, but now she stopped stopping.
And when that failed to restore
a sense of calm,
she swallowed a bottle
of sleeping pills.
I'm sorry about before.
I thought you were trying
to trick me.
Trick you?
My mother killed herself, too.
How?
The slow way.
Drank herself to death.
Drinking.
Suicide for the faint of heart.
My brother couldn’t wait.
He killed himself, too.
My God.
So you're all alone?
No.
I have a sister.
You want to know
what I think of her?
I think she's one evil ***.
You want to see the ball-busting
letter she sent me?
Pay attention.
This could be good for our book.
I don't feel like talking.
I thought we were off
to a good start.
After you left,
that asshoIe next door said,
''Hey Smith, how come your brother
and mother never visit?'' He'd heard.
*** him, who cares?
When I'm talking to you, I forget
other people are going to read it.
And then I think about how
you stabbed Brando in the back.
What I'm gonna write about you will
help. people think more of you.
You're not thinking clearly.
How can you?
You're under the most
unimaginable pressure.
Doesn't wittle Perry wike it here?
Shut the *** up, Andrews!
Hush now.
Be above him.
Come.
This can be our little tree house.
How come y'all so quiet?
Now...
I want you to relax.
I can't. Not here.
Not with him.
I may be wrong, but there was
something in your letter
that made me think
you have the soul of an artist.
Artists have the power,
through our imagination,
to escape a degenerate world
and create a better one.
How?
Close your eyes.
Why?
Trust me.
Now...
I want you to picture
the most serene
and relaxing place you know.
Mexico.
I know it well.
Water like liquid turquoise.
Feel that hot sun
beating down on you,
warming all the tension
out of you.
Feel the heat soaking into you.
And then...
gentle as a feather
falling past your cheek...
there's a breeze.
Close them.
Good.
Feel the breeze...
that sensual breath from heaven.
Just let go,
relax every muscle.
I'm ready.
When I was a boy,
we were always moving around.
His parents were rodeo performers.
It was a hard life
in a lot of ways, but...
it sure looked good
once we lost it.
Mom and Dad had to quit.
That kind of riding
wears your bones out.
But that's what they were:
riders.
So when that went away,
everything went with it.
Jesus, Flo.
*** off!
It's just beer.
*** asshoIe!
So Mom left him, and she took me
and my brother and sister with her.
I dreamed Dad would rescue me.
How funny.
Me, too.
Every day I waited for him,
but he never came.
And then one day
I was walking to school...
Please be real, please be real.
Please be real.
Dad.
Are you here to take me with you?
I wish I could, but I can't.
I don't know how
to take care of you.
I came to tell you to be
the best boy you can be.
And he made me get down.
He hated his old lady.
Never forgave her.
She took his daddy away.
A boy needs his daddy.
And did he hate the father, too?
He always said he hated his old man,
but he used to do this thing...
this excruciatingly poignant thing.
*** says that sometimes
when I'd be sleeping...
Dad.
Dad.
Where you been?
I've been looking everywhere
for you.
Years later, after the Army,
I got a letterfrom Dad
saying he had an idea to make money.
Wanted me to come help him.
I'd be lying if I told you I wasn't
pretty jazzed up when I got it.
He finally had a place for me.
I was gonna sing
and play my guitar in the bar.
I painted all the pictures.
I even painted the sign.
Nobody's coming here!
Nobody!
Know why?
It's because of you,
you useless piece of ***!
Your *** sign is no good!
I said, ''Buy a neon sign''
and you said,
''I’ll paint us a good one.''
*** sissy.
Come on.
He killed me, this guy.
Over and over my whole life.,
the things he said and did to me.
It was always like
having a knife in me.
So I decided to kill him
right there, in cold blood.
You sissy.
But I couldn't do it.
And all this stuff about Dad...
and everything...
It's gonna make me look like
a *** crybaby.
No.
It will help. people see you
as a complete person,
not just as someone
who has caused suffering,
but as someone who has suffered.
Can I see what
you've written so far?
Not till it's perfect.
But I promise, it's sympathetic.
No one's ever treated me
like you have.
Is it just to get me
to tell you stuff?
No.
It's because I respect you.
All right. Time's up.
Thanks for that
beautiful thing you said.
What beautiful thing?
About respect.
So, I'm sympathetic, am I?
You been looking out for me,
have you?
What's the title of your book?
The ''sympathetic'' one about me?
I know the title. The *** guard
told me, and it's not sympathetic.
It's called ''In Cold Blood,''
isn't it?
It is, isn't it?
It's called ''In Cold *** Blood''!
You sold me out, you ***.
After I opened myself up
and gave you everything.
Well, you're not gonna
get away with it.
One sound out of you...
and you’ll join the Clutters
in hell.
Okay?
Open your mouth.
Open your mouth!
Open your *** lying mouth!
You're gonna pay
for that title now.
You *** me,
so now I'm gonna *** you.
I'm not gonna *** you...
because you can trust me.
But look.
Look.
That's how your *** title
made me feel.
Don't let him in.
I need to talk to you, please.
From there.
Can we have some privacy?
''In Cold Blood'' is the title,
but it's not exactly what you think.
You boys did a monstrous thing.
And the public and their prosecutors
are calling for your blood..
If they get what they want,
they will kill you,
not in a senseless moment of passion
but with scrupulous premeditation.
That is the legal definition of
''in cold blood..''
This title is a condemnation
of their plans.
But not only their plans.
No. No, not only.
Look, you did a terrible thing.
You're not innocent.
That doesn't mean you're not a human
being. I want people to see that.
I'm not talking to you until
I've read what you've written.
It's tough to read
the family stuff.
But you told it to me.
Not my family.
The Clutters.
There better be more than this in
this house, or you’ll sure be sorry.
Get him to the basement.
I’ll get the old man.
You don't think about it if someone
has a boyfriend, or is in 4-H.
Why don't you put some clothes on?
It's gonna be cold down there.
Yes, sir.
We didn't know anything about them.
Except that they had a safe.
But I don't have a safe.
How old are you, baby?
Well, now don't be scared.
Let me help. you down
with these covers.
Out here, now.
Now!
You touch her and I’ll kill you.
You can ride her when I'm done.
Let's just go. There's no safe.
You *** blew that.
We're not leaving, baby.
They've seen us plain.
Get down to the basement so we can
take care of it. I’ll be right down.
I'm not leaving you here.
*** you then!
Let's go.
I know this is crazy,
but when I looked in his eyes,
I was thinking:
''Too bad we couldn’t be friends.''
He had 4-H stuff in his room.
And I could have told him
about my folks and the rodeo.
Why don't you kiss him?
*** off!
You never like anything with girls.
Never want a *** when I got one.
Shut up!
You won't even watch me when I'm on
one. You like boys better? Go ahead.
-Then I can break his sister's box.
-Shut up, ***!
Go ahead, sugar, kiss him.
Or would you rather kiss
his daddy?
***, Perry!
His hand came free!
Here, now you kill the women.
I wish I could have saved them...
but at least...
I knew what he wanted to do
with that girl.
Least I spared her that.
About the best example I can give
you of his split nature is this.
He told me what he thought
of Herb Clutter.
He said, ''Right before I cut his
throat, I thought how nice he was.''
''He was a nice,
soft-spoken gentleman.
I thought that right before
I cut his throat.''
''I thought he was a very nice
gentleman. Soft-spoken.''
I thought so right up to the moment
I cut his throat.''
What an extraordinary
thing to say.
Extraordinary.
So how's the book?
Well, it's coming. I have to leave
in a couple of days for their trial.
That's all pro forma, right?
They're not contesting anything.
No, they hope for life.,
not death.
Death would be better
for the book.
It would satisfy the reader more.
It would make the title work, too.
Honey, I've worked harder on this
than anything in my whole life..
I don't want it ruined just because
a jury makes a dumb decision.
Gentlemen of the jury,
have you reached a verdict?
We have, your Honor.
Will the clerk please bring
the verdict up?
We, the jury, find the defendant,
Perry Edward Smith,
guilty of the crime of ***
in the first degree.
And the punishment
is death.
Will you appeal?
*** wants to.
But we’ll hang.
We should.
You think hanging is fair?
It's funny. Last night I was laying
awake and thinking:
''What is punishment?''
Being in jail isn't punishment, if
you didn't like it on the outside.
And neither is death,
if it was painful to live.
I’ll tell you what punishment
is for me.
What?
It's hoping there's someone
for you.
And after years of no one...
you find him
and you can't have him.
We really connected, didn't we?
Of course, we did.
You weren't being nice to me
just for the book, were you?
No! I think about you
all the time.
***, too?
Only for the book.
You're the only person
I ever feel real around.
Me, too.
I don't have to act like
a little wind-up toy with you.
Perry...
I don't want you to die.
Look, Ron and Nancy Reagan
we're not.
We're apart for long times.
We know we have to have sex.
But we're men.
We can have sex just to release
the desire to have sex.
What's not allowed
is falling in love.
You see, that would be betrayal.
A terrible breach
of a very mature
and very sensible arrangement.
After the verdicts,
Truman buried himself in the book.
By mid '63 it was done.
Perfect as a diamond,
as tough, as multi-faceted,
only this time...
it had kindness.
But we couldn’t publish it
until it had an ending,
until something had been settled
about the boys.
There were 4 appeals,
all the way to the Supreme Court.
It took 5 full years
for a final judgment.
That was *** the killers, which
doesn't make a difference to me.
But...
Do you have any word yet about
when the book is coming out?
I don't know.
You simply cannot conceive
of the agony.
I've worked on this book ceaselessly
for four years,
pouring the whole of myself into it,
head and heart.
And then to be waiting like this,
unable to publish what I've done
until they're hanged...
I can hardly wait.
Do you feel that your book
is worth a human life.?
Well, it's certainly worth ***'s.
What about the other man?
His name is Perry.
I mean, it's just
an intolerable position.
Because to get an ending
for the book means an end for...
On death row, you may only write
two letters a week.
Every week, for five years,
Perry wrote both letters
to Truman.
Friend Truman,
cold in Kansas today...
though not as frigid as I imagine
it is in Switzerland.
How big are those Alps?
Friend Truman, do you know the song
''Gold Mine in the Sky''?
It was Dad's favorite.
Maybe you could use your influence
on the authorities in this ***
and get me a tape recorder
so I could sing it for you.
Not much to say today.
Awful blue.
God, I miss you.
Please write soon.
You can't imagine what it does to me
when they bring the mail
and there's something from you.
Friend Truman:
It's all over.
Our last appeal has been denied.
*** and I are allowed to have
a witness at the hanging.
We both pick you.
You have to come with me.
I can't.
I'm getting desperate about my new
book. It's not coming together.
Anyway, I thought this
was what you wanted.
I know I said that,
but to see him killed?
It's too much.
-I don't suppose Jack would.
-No.
He wouldn’t anyway, but...
for some reason,
he gets funny about Perry.
It's like he's jealous.
Truman...
are you and Perry?
Please, Nelle.
I'm begging you.
But I couldn’t.
And I wouldn’t.
I'm sorry, he can't take the call.
It was the boys again.
They want me to help.,
but I can't help. them.
Maybe they want you for comfort.
Rain is good.
I hope he apologizes.
That would really make him
sympathetic.
Hey, Truman. Where you been?
I thought you were gonna spend
the whole day with us.
I couldn’t get here earlier,
I was making calls on your behalf.
It's just so late now.
Hickock, let’s get ready.
We have some time.
I have something
I want to tell you.
They’ll ask if you have anything
to say, and you must apologize.
That won't bring them back.
No. It restores
your humanity to you.
It's time.
Anyone saying goodbye
needs to say it here.
Bye, Truman.
Thanks for it.
Did he say anything to you?
He said he loved me
and he always had.
Richard Eugene Hickock.
Do you have anything to say?
Just that I hold no hard feelings.
You people are...
sending me to a better world
than this one ever was.
''The Lord is my shepherd.
I shall not want.
He maketh me to lie down
in green pastures.
He restoreth my soul.
He leadeth me in the paths of
righteousness for His name's sake.
Yea, though I walk through
the valley of the shadows of death,
I will fear no evil,
for Thou art with me.''
Not dead yet.
I still hear breathing.
Okay, he's ready.
Perry Edward Smith.
Do you have anything to say?
Friend Truman...
Now I don't know what you did,
but the tape recorder arrived.
There's a gold mine
in the sky far away.
We will find it, you and I,
some sweet day.
There'll be a clover just for you
down the line,
where the skies are always blue,
pal of mine.
Far away,
far away.
We will find that long lost
gold mine some sweet day.
And we'll say hello to friends
who said goodbye.
When we find that long lost
gold mine
in the
sky.
''The Lord is my shepherd.
I shall not want.''
Was he able to speak?
Yes, he spoke.
What did he say?
Smith did not speak.
He apologized.
Just chewed his gum.
You saw those two men hanged.
It must be...
Isn't it painful for you?
Babaling, life. is painful.
It's the one experience
that unites the rich and poor.
I suppose I'm able to endure it
because I can alchemize
what wounds me into art.
Yes, but...
at what cost?
It made him the most famous author
in America and very, very rich.
He moved to Manhattan where,
oddly,
he had a very good view
of the place he had left.
Who ever knows what
our hearts will want?
Who can
defend themselves from it?
Seeing what's happened
to him since,
well, despite the bravado that
only appears to be confidence,
I have come to feel
with great heart-sickness
that there were three deaths
on the gallows that night.
He never wrote anything big again.
Just collections,
fragments pulled together.
God knows he didn't have to write,
not after all that money he made.
It's funny.
It made him, and...
it ruined him.
You know, in his will,
Perry left everything to Truman.
America is not a country where
the small gesture goes noticed.
We're not a country like France,
where charm, something light
or effervescent
can survive.
We want everything you have
and we want it as fast
as you can turn it out.
I read an interview with
Frank Sinatra
in which he said about
Judy Garland:
''Every time she sings,
she dies a little.''
That's how much she gave.
It's true for writers, too...
who hope to create
something lasting.
They die a little getting it right.
And then the book comes out
and there's a dinner.
Maybe they give you a prize.
And then comes the inevitable
and very American question:
What's next?
But the next thing can be
so hard...
because now you now
what it demands.
Hi, Nelle.
I just began my novel and I had
such a good morning writing
that I want to celebrate.
Want to come to lunch?
No, honey, I don't care where.
Just someplace pretty
where we can have fun
and be ourselves.