Oscar madness is in the air. Luckily, I never watch awards shows, unless I feel like yakking in the litter box. But I did see two movies nominated in the best film category: Brokeback Mountain and Capote. In the spirit of the Academy Awards, here’s a movie review doubleshot.

Brokeback Mountain
Based on Annie Proulx’s story, this drama captures twenty years of two men’s sad and very confused lives. First thought: their sexuality made them neither confused nor sad; it was the fact they lived near Riverton, Texas in the 60’s and drank so damn much Wild Turkey. Honestly, pairing a sex addicted alcoholic, who craves committment but can’t possibly with a tight-lipped good old boy, who fears committment but is relatively monogamous, could only lead to disaster. Thank you. Come again.

NOTE: To the ninety-year-old couple who left during the pup-tent love scene, that was as rough as the love got. Next time, give it a few more minutes before running for the hills.

Pluses:
1) Good performances. Good casting.
2) Excellent dialog. Probably the largest concentration of great one-liners of any theatrical release this year.
3) Magnificient cinematography. How tight were the visuals? I wanted to hop the next train to Wyoming.

Verdict: DVD rental is fine. Matinee if you must see it now.

Capote
Truman Capote is the sort of guy I would have ejected from a dinner party after he drank all my gin. A brilliant, possibly genius writer? Absolutely. Insipid pain in the ass to be around? I say, “Yes, sir!”

Phillip Hoffman gave a great performance. He was Capote. As such, if I ever meet Mr. Hoffman, I’m kicking him to the curb for drinking all my gin. True words, his performance was so good, it compensated for the lack of a plot, story, or theme.

A sample page from the screenplay.

Scene 1: INT – APARTMENT – DAY
Capote sits at typewriter, bottle in hand. Empty gin bottles surround the desk. Pages litter the floor. He rips a page from the typewriter, tearing it to shreds.

Capote: This is ruining me.

Scene 2: INT – APARTMENT – NIGHT
More pages, more empty bottles. Same Capote at the desk with the typewriter.

Capote: Oh, oh, oh. I’m ruined.

Inspiration strikes. He types a few sentences, and reads his words in a low voice.

Capote: I’m a genius. Time for a drink.

Verdict: DVD purchase for the performance. Punch Mr. Hoffman only if you must.