Breakfast at Tiffany’s (1961)
“I don’t want to own anything until I find a place where me and things go together. I’m not sure where that is, but I know what it’s like: it’s like Tiffany’s.”
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Response to Peary’s Review: Hepburn (though far too thin, as always) has never looked more beautiful than she does here, with her stylish Givenchy outfits, super-long cigarette holder, and streaked hair sleekly gathered into an upsweep. Her performance itself is noteworthy as well; while Marilyn Monroe was Capote’s original choice for the role, I find it easy to imagine that down-to-earth Hepburn — like hicksville Holly-nee-Lulamae in New York — could relate to feeling like a bit of a poseur in the glamorous world of Hollywood. George Peppard is fine as “Fred”, but ultimately acts as more of a foil to Hepburn than anything else. Neal is delicious in a bit role as kept-man Peppard’s cynical sugar mama; interestingly, her character never appeared in Capote’s novel. There are many touching, memorable, and/or amusing scenes in Breakfast at Tiffany’s; my favorite is probably Holly’s wild bash (has any director ever captured the zaniness of parties better than Edwards?) — I particularly enjoy the two brief sequences in which a knackered woman laughs (then cries) with her own reflection in the mirror. All of Hepburn and Peppard’s scenes together — from their first meeting, when Hepburn staggers around in eyeshades — are delightful; as Peary notes, it’s “refreshing seeing lovers whose relationship is mutually beneficial.” The ending is a true weeper, one of the best Hollywood ever conceived. Redeeming Qualities and Moments:
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