After documentaries about art collector Peggy Guggenheim and photographer Diana Vreeland, Lisa Immordino Vreeland’s latest dive into the inner lives of American creatives charts the rocky relationship between literary greats Tennessee Williams and Truman Capote. Its M.O. is to manufacture a dialogue between the two men composed in their own words, many of them pulled from letters read by Jim Parsons (Capote) and Zachary Quinto (Williams). The result is often conventional in form but neatly evinces a friendship built on envy, bitterness and pettiness, peppered with a smidgeon of grudging respect.
Vreeland’s choice of exploring both writers together makes sense, the approach revealing so many similarities: their Southern roots, difficult upbringings, struggles with their sexuality, early career success followed by artistic and commercial failures leading to addiction issues. In one sense Truman & Tennessee is also a document of a different time when writers would be suitable guests for prime-time chat shows (can you imagine Kazuo Ishiguro on The Jonathan Ross Show?). In particular, the rivalry is played out during separate interviews with David Frost, Vreeland using split-screen to juxtapose both men’s introduction on Frost’s TV show. What emerges is a relationship that was strained, toggling between mutual admiration and bitchy jealousy; after Capote remarked Williams wasn’t “very intelligent”, Williams responded by turning down an invitation to Capote's infamous ‘Black And White Ball’.
The film also dives into the respective film adaptations of their work. Williams’ A Streetcar Named Desire, Cat On A Hot Tin Roof, The Glass Menagerie and The Night Of The Iguana and Capote's Breakfast At Tiffany's and In Cold Blood are all considered. Capote reveals he felt “betrayed” by Paramount’s casting of Audrey Hepburn as Holly Golightly — the writer wanted Marilyn Monroe — in Breakfast At Tiffany’s, whereas Williams expresses irritation that the cinematic versions of his work suffered from censorship cuts, advising audiences to walk out ten minutes before the end so as not to see the pulled punches.
In-between the TV and film clips, Truman & Tennessee lacks punch, switching between a surfeit of narration over (admittedly great) photographs and dreamy filmed excerpts to accompany readings from the books (see a boy flying a kite during Capote's Other Voices, Other Rooms). Parsons and Quinto do a good job of imitating the writers’ voices without jarring when placed alongside their real voices. The end result is never riveting or comprehensive, but creates an enjoyable, affecting snapshot of two unfeasibly talented but troubled titans.