Breakfast at Tiffany's analysis of the work. Truman Capote "Breakfast at Tiffany's"

Truman Capote

Breakfast at Tiffany's

I am always drawn to the places where I once lived, to the houses, to the streets. There is, for example, a large dark house on one of the seventies streets of the East Side, in which I settled at the beginning of the war, when I first arrived in New York. There I had a room filled with all sorts of junk: a sofa, pot-bellied armchairs upholstered in rough red plush, at the sight of which one recalls a stuffy day in a soft carriage. The walls were painted with adhesive paint the color of tobacco chewing gum. Everywhere, even in the bathroom, hung engravings of Roman ruins, freckled with age. The only window overlooked the fire escape. But all the same, as soon as I felt the key in my pocket, my soul became more cheerful: this housing, for all its dullness, was my first own housing, there were my books, glasses with pencils that could be repaired - in a word, everything, it seemed to me, to become a writer.

In those days it never occurred to me to write about Holly Golightly, and I probably wouldn't even now, if it weren't for a conversation with Joe Bell that stirred my memories again.

Holly Golightly lived in the same house, she rented an apartment below me. And Joe Bell ran a bar around the corner on Lexington Avenue; he still holds it. Both Holly and I went there six times, seven times a day, not to drink - not only for this - but to make phone calls: during the war it was difficult to get a phone. In addition, Joe Bell willingly ran errands, which was burdensome: Holly always had a great many of them.

Of course, this is all a long story, and until last week I had not seen Joe Bell for several years. From time to time we called each other; sometimes, when I was nearby, I went to his bar, but we were never friends, and our only friendship with Holly Golightly connected us. Joe Bell is not an easy person, he himself admits this and explains that he is a bachelor and that he has high acidity. Anyone who knows him will tell you that it is difficult to communicate with him. It's just not possible if you don't share his affections, and Holly is one of them. Others include hockey, Weimar hunting dogs, Our Baby Sunday (a show he has been listening to for fifteen years), and Gilbert and Sullivan1 - he claims one of them is related to him, I don’t remember who.

So when the phone rang late last Tuesday afternoon and I heard “Joe Bell speaking,” I immediately knew it was about Holly. But he only said: “Can you drop by my place? This is an important matter,” and the croaking voice in the receiver was hoarse with excitement.

In the pouring rain, I hailed a taxi and on the way I even thought: what if she is here, what if I see Holly again?

But there was no one there but the owner. Joe Bell's Bar is not a very crowded place compared to other pubs on Lexington Avenue. It boasts neither a neon sign nor a TV. In two old mirrors you can see what the weather is like outside, and behind the counter, in a niche, among photographs of hockey stars, there is always a large vase with a fresh bouquet - they are lovingly arranged by Joe Bell himself. That's what he was doing when I came in.

“You understand,” he said, lowering the gladiolus into the vase, “you understand, I would not force you to drag yourself so far, but I need to know your opinion. Strange story! A very strange story happened.

- News from Holly?

He touched the paper as if considering what to say. Short, with coarse gray hair, a protruding jaw, and a bony face that would have suited a much taller man, he had always looked tanned, and now he was even more red.

No, not entirely from her. Rather, it is still unclear. That is why I want to consult with you. Let me pour you. It's a new cocktail, the White Angel, he said, half-mixing vodka and gin, no vermouth.

While I drank this composition, Joe Bell stood nearby and sucked on a stomach pill, wondering what he would tell me. Finally said:

“Remember this Mr. I.Ya. Younioshi?” Gentleman from Japan?

- From California.

I remembered Mr. Yunioshi very well. He is a photographer for an illustrated magazine and at one time occupied a studio on the top floor of the house where I lived.

- Don't confuse me. Do you know what I'm talking about? Very well. Well, last night this same Mr. I.Ya. Yunioshi showed up here and rolled up to the bar. I haven't seen him in probably over two years. Where do you think he's been all this time?

- In Africa.

Joe Bell stopped sucking his pill and his eyes narrowed.

– How do you know?

- I read it at Winchel's. - So it really was.

He cracked open the cash drawer and pulled out a thick paper envelope.

“Maybe you read that in Winchel’s too?”

There were three photographs in the envelope, more or less the same, although taken from different angles: a tall, slender Negro in a cotton skirt, with a shy and at the same time self-satisfied smile, showed a strange wooden sculpture - an elongated head of a girl with short, smoothed, like a boy's, hair and a tapering face; her polished wooden eyes, with a slanting cut, were unusually large, and her large, sharply defined mouth looked like that of a clown. At first glance, the sculpture looked like an ordinary primitive, but only at first, because it was the spitting image of Holly Golightly - if I may say so about a dark inanimate object.

- Well, what do you think about it? said Joe Bell, pleased at my confusion.

- Looks like her.

“Listen,” he slapped his hand on the counter, “this is it. It's clear as daylight. The Japanese immediately recognized her as soon as he saw her.

Did he see her? In Africa?

- Her? No, just sculpture. What's the difference? You can read what is written here. And he turned over one of the photographs. On the back was the inscription: “Wood carving, C tribe, Tokokul, East Anglia. Christmas, 1956".

At Christmas, Mr. Younoshi drove his apparatus through Tokokul, a village lost in no one knows where, no matter where, just a dozen adobe huts with monkeys in the yards and buzzards on the roofs. He decided not to stop, but suddenly he saw a negro who was squatting at the door and carving monkeys on a cane. Mr. Yunioshi became interested and asked me to show him something else. Then a woman's head was carried out of the house, and it seemed to him - so he told Joe Bell - that it was all a dream. But when he wanted to buy it, the Negro said: "No." Not a pound of salt and ten dollars, not two pounds of salt, a watch and twenty dollars, nothing could shake him. Mr. Yunioshi decided to at least find out the origin of this sculpture, which cost him all his salt and hours. The story was told to him in a mixture of African, gibberish and the language of the deaf and dumb. In general, it turned out that in the spring of this year, three white people emerged from the thickets on horseback. A young woman and two men. The men, trembling with chills, eyes inflamed with fever, were forced to spend several weeks locked up in a separate hut, and the woman liked the carver, and she began to sleep on his mat.

"That's what I don't believe," Joe Bell said squeamishly. “I know she had all sorts of quirks, but she would hardly have come to that.

- And what's next?

- And then nothing. He shrugged. - She left as she came - she left on a horse.

Alone or with men?

Joe Bell blinked.

“She must have never seen Africa,” I said with complete sincerity; but still I could imagine it in Africa: Africa is in its spirit. Yes, and a wooden head ... - I again looked at the photographs.

- You know everything. Where is she now?

- Died. Or in a crazy house. Or married. Most likely, she got married, calmed down and, maybe, lives here, somewhere near us.

He considered.

“No,” he said, and shook his head. - I'll tell you why.

If she were here, I would meet her. Take a man who loves to walk, a man like me; and now this man has been walking the streets for ten or twelve years, and he himself only thinks how not to overlook someone, and so he never meets her - is it not clear that she does not live in this city? I see women all the time who look a little like her… That flat little butt… Any thin, straight-backed girl who walks fast…” He trailed off, as if to make sure I was listening carefully. Do you think I'm crazy?

“I just didn't know you loved her. So love. I regretted my words - they confused him. He grabbed the photographs and put them in an envelope. I looked at the clock. I had nowhere to hurry, but I decided that it was better to leave.

"Breakfast at Tiffany's" can be considered one of the most famous works of Blake Edwards. This movie has long been considered a classic, and this, of course, is a great merit of Truman Capote, on the basis of whose work the film was made. "Nothing belongs to us in this world. It's just that we and things sometimes find each other." The plot of the film is uncomplicated. A young but still almost unknown writer Paul Warjak (George Peppard) meets a very unusual neighbor Holly Golightly (Audrey Hepburn), who lives all alone. Sometimes she arranges parties where there are people who are completely unknown to her. Everyone treats her differently: someone considers Holly a selfish girl, someone is crazy, and someone just admires her. Paul eventually begins to fall in love with her, and everything would be fine if it were not for the peculiar character of Miss Golightly. “Do not let wild animals close to your heart. The more love you give them, the more power they have. And one day they will become so strong that they will want to run away into the forest, fly up to the very tops of the trees. The role of Holly Golightly, if not the best, then certainly one of the best roles of Audrey Hepburn in her entire career. Stunning camera work only emphasizes its sophistication and beauty. The main character is presented to the viewer as a very optimistic girl with a good sense of humor. No matter how Holly pretends, she is far from stupid, which once hints to Paul. "I don't mind. Sometimes it pays to look stupid." There aren't many active characters here. For Edwards, "Breakfast at Tiffany's" is not just a beautiful and sad love story, it is an attempt to create a living person on the screen. Everything that happens, happens one way or another through her fault. A peculiar outlook on life makes the heroine Hepburn a real person who is endowed with her feelings and thoughts. When you look at Holly, you forget that this is a fictional character by other people. The heroine from the screen seems to come to life and it seems that she is about to speak to you. Golightly loves freedom more than anything. She, like her cat, does not have her own name. “My old cat, old lazy, lazy with no name. I have no right to give him a name, we do not belong to each other. We just met once. Nothing in this world belongs to us. It’s just that sometimes we and things find each other.” A capricious girl whose favorite pastime is going to Tiffany's is trying to marry a rich man. No, she's not looking for love. She is looking for money. Money is as important to her as her own freedom. Holly is not interested in books, she divides people into "rats" and "not rats". The famous final dialogue between her and Paul about how "people do not belong to each other" puts an end to the story. Has love changed Holly herself? I hardly believe it. "-I don't want to put you in a cage. I want to love you. - It's the same!" Either way, Blake Edwards made an excellent film with a superbly written script. This story takes the soul and makes you empathize with the characters. Who is really Holly Golightly? Adventurer? Call girl? Yes, it really doesn't matter. The only important thing is that we should all learn to live the way she lived. If you have already watched the movie, watch it again. If only to see Audrey Hepburn playing Moon River again.

The impossible should be demanded from life. And then the impossible becomes reality. Without a back thought about the brilliant, without idealizing the present and without a conscience gnawing at the subconscious. You need to be simpler and always maintain a childish naivety. So it is easier to achieve what you want, no matter what the consequences are. If a person is easy-going and emotional, he will always be fine. He is an optimist out of his own will, a burner, a madman. He is perceived as an adult child, they treat his actions with a smile and constantly forgive everything.

It was such a person who once appeared in the life of the protagonist of Breakfast at Tiffany's, leaving behind a lot of pleasant and unpleasant memories. He was a girl with a dark past, distant plans and indestructible naivety. Truman Capote describes what is happening in such a way as if it happened to him and it was he who decided to remember the events that had once occurred through the fault of a friend who reminded him of them.

The protagonist of the work is a writer. He is embarrassed by his work and is not ready to acquaint his inner circle with him, fearing to receive critical feedback. A significant part of writers are just like that - they are ready to share their experiences with paper, but are not ready to discuss them. It is possible to increase self-esteem only at the expense of naive people who are able to discern in them something that really makes it necessary to become proud and lose a sense of reality. Even in the case of a critical look, the writer will still remain confident in the correctness of his craft.

They can call him at night, smile sweetly and constantly apologize: everything will get away with a person whose immediacy goes into infinity. If the wind is walking in the head, then there is no point in blocking the open space with a wall - the wind will surely destroy it. There is no way to resist, you can be skeptical and try to make a number of changes. One time is able to influence what is happening, changing circumstances and bringing discord into the worldview. A naive person will someday get burned and think. Then no one will ring the doorbell at night anymore.

And if no one rings the doorbell, stops disturbing and leaves forever - a void will already arise inside the person who wanted that. The prepared solution for the construction of the wall will come in handy. Its construction will fence off memories and allow you to live, forgetting about the existence of the wind. And the pain will pierce the body, and you will want to remember the past: write a book about it, sharing with the world the emotions you once experienced, giving rise to a storm in the soul of the reader, whose opinion will depend on how he is ready to relate to the existence of windy people.

Success is sure to come, as a rise follows a fall - you need to wait for the required changes. The cyclicity of processes is one of the laws of the universe. Based on both of these statements, you understand how difficult it is to wait out a bad stage of life, how difficult it is to realize a sharp break in a good stage. But you always need to believe in the best, not attaching importance to negative episodes. Let the threat of imprisonment or eternal exile mean nothing if the soul demands the realization of the most grandiose goals, the main of which is a better life.

Who is not easy to rise, he is doomed to remain in the four walls of despondency. When a country with a warm climate, wealth and a beautiful life looms ahead, is it worth appealing to the inner self, trying to find justifications for the rigidity of the only opinion that determines the personal essence? A feeling of shame arises: for one who has stopped developing himself, for the confident step of others. There is no recipe for happiness for everyone at once, but everyone is happy at the same time, because negativity is always equal to happiness, you just need to understand it correctly.

Truman Capote

Breakfast at Tiffany's

I am always drawn to the places where I once lived, to the houses, to the streets. There is, for example, a large dark house on one of the seventies streets of the East Side, in which I settled at the beginning of the war, when I first arrived in New York. There I had a room filled with all sorts of junk: a sofa, pot-bellied armchairs upholstered in rough red plush, at the sight of which one recalls a stuffy day in a soft carriage. The walls were painted with adhesive paint the color of tobacco chewing gum. Everywhere, even in the bathroom, hung engravings of Roman ruins, freckled with age. The only window overlooked the fire escape. But all the same, as soon as I felt the key in my pocket, my soul became more cheerful: this housing, for all its dullness, was my first own housing, there were my books, glasses with pencils that could be repaired - in a word, everything, it seemed to me, to become a writer.

In those days it never occurred to me to write about Holly Golightly, and I probably wouldn't even now, if it weren't for a conversation with Joe Bell that stirred my memories again.

Holly Golightly lived in the same house, she rented an apartment below me. And Joe Bell ran a bar around the corner on Lexington Avenue; he still holds it. Both Holly and I went there six times, seven times a day, not to drink - not only for this - but to make phone calls: during the war it was difficult to get a phone. In addition, Joe Bell willingly ran errands, which was burdensome: Holly always had a great many of them.

Of course, this is all a long story, and until last week I had not seen Joe Bell for several years. From time to time we called each other; sometimes, when I was nearby, I went to his bar, but we were never friends, and our only friendship with Holly Golightly connected us. Joe Bell is not an easy person, he himself admits this and explains that he is a bachelor and that he has high acidity. Anyone who knows him will tell you that it is difficult to communicate with him. It's just not possible if you don't share his affections, and Holly is one of them. Others include hockey, Weimar hunting dogs, Our Baby Sunday (a show he has been listening to for fifteen years), and Gilbert and Sullivan1 - he claims one of them is related to him, I don’t remember who.

So when the phone rang late last Tuesday afternoon and I heard “Joe Bell speaking,” I immediately knew it was about Holly. But he only said: “Can you drop by my place? This is an important matter,” and the croaking voice in the receiver was hoarse with excitement.

In the pouring rain, I hailed a taxi and on the way I even thought: what if she is here, what if I see Holly again?

But there was no one there but the owner. Joe Bell's Bar is not a very crowded place compared to other pubs on Lexington Avenue. It boasts neither a neon sign nor a TV. In two old mirrors you can see what the weather is like outside, and behind the counter, in a niche, among photographs of hockey stars, there is always a large vase with a fresh bouquet - they are lovingly arranged by Joe Bell himself. That's what he was doing when I came in.

“You understand,” he said, lowering the gladiolus into the vase, “you understand, I would not force you to drag yourself so far, but I need to know your opinion. Strange story! A very strange story happened.

- News from Holly?

He touched the paper as if considering what to say. Short, with coarse gray hair, a protruding jaw, and a bony face that would have suited a much taller man, he had always looked tanned, and now he was even more red.

No, not entirely from her. Rather, it is still unclear. That is why I want to consult with you. Let me pour you. It's a new cocktail, the White Angel, he said, half-mixing vodka and gin, no vermouth.

While I drank this composition, Joe Bell stood nearby and sucked on a stomach pill, wondering what he would tell me. Finally said:

“Remember this Mr. I.Ya. Younioshi?” Gentleman from Japan?

- From California.

I remembered Mr. Yunioshi very well. He is a photographer for an illustrated magazine and at one time occupied a studio on the top floor of the house where I lived.

- Don't confuse me. Do you know what I'm talking about? Very well. Well, last night this same Mr. I.Ya. Yunioshi showed up here and rolled up to the bar. I haven't seen him in probably over two years. Where do you think he's been all this time?

- In Africa.

Joe Bell stopped sucking his pill and his eyes narrowed.

– How do you know?

- I read it at Winchel's. - So it really was.

He cracked open the cash drawer and pulled out a thick paper envelope.

“Maybe you read that in Winchel’s too?”

There were three photographs in the envelope, more or less the same, although taken from different angles: a tall, slender Negro in a cotton skirt, with a shy and at the same time self-satisfied smile, showed a strange wooden sculpture - an elongated head of a girl with short, smoothed, like a boy's, hair and a tapering face; her polished wooden eyes, with a slanting cut, were unusually large, and her large, sharply defined mouth looked like that of a clown. At first glance, the sculpture looked like an ordinary primitive, but only at first, because it was the spitting image of Holly Golightly - if I may say so about a dark inanimate object.

- Well, what do you think about it? said Joe Bell, pleased at my confusion.

- Looks like her.

“Listen,” he slapped his hand on the counter, “this is it. It's clear as daylight. The Japanese immediately recognized her as soon as he saw her.

Did he see her? In Africa?

- Her? No, just sculpture. What's the difference? You can read what is written here. And he turned over one of the photographs. On the back was the inscription: “Wood carving, C tribe, Tokokul, East Anglia. Christmas, 1956".

At Christmas, Mr. Younoshi drove his apparatus through Tokokul, a village lost in no one knows where, no matter where, just a dozen adobe huts with monkeys in the yards and buzzards on the roofs. He decided not to stop, but suddenly he saw a negro who was squatting at the door and carving monkeys on a cane. Mr. Yunioshi became interested and asked me to show him something else. Then a woman's head was carried out of the house, and it seemed to him - so he told Joe Bell - that it was all a dream. But when he wanted to buy it, the Negro said: "No." Not a pound of salt and ten dollars, not two pounds of salt, a watch and twenty dollars, nothing could shake him. Mr. Yunioshi decided to at least find out the origin of this sculpture, which cost him all his salt and hours. The story was told to him in a mixture of African, gibberish and the language of the deaf and dumb. In general, it turned out that in the spring of this year, three white people emerged from the thickets on horseback. A young woman and two men. The men, trembling with chills, eyes inflamed with fever, were forced to spend several weeks locked up in a separate hut, and the woman liked the carver, and she began to sleep on his mat.

Breakfast at Tiffany's was filmed in 1961 based on a novel by Truman Capote. Audrey Hepburn played the title role, Holly Golightly. After the film's release, her character gained a cult following.

Controversial aspects of the film, including Mickey Rooney as Mr. Younoshi and Holly's occupation, haven't really dampened the popularity of the classic Blake Edwards movie, even 45 years later.

Below are some of the most surprising facts about Breakfast at Tiffany's.

Truman Capote wanted Holly to play Marilyn Monroe

Paula Strasberg, Marilyn Monroe's advisor and acting coach, told her not to play "one night stand" and the actress took the advice. Capote, to the last, opposed the choice in favor of Audrey. According to him, the film will be "wrong" with her.

Shirley MacLaine turned down the offer

Shirley MacLaine, a successful actress then and now, says it was her mistake to turn down an offer for a role in Breakfast. Now she remembers it with regret.

Audrey Hepburn doubted until the last

In an interview with The New York Times, Audrey said that it was very difficult for her to make a decision. Mostly because of their own self-criticism. Hepburn considered herself a very young and inexperienced actress for such a role and was not sure that she would pull it out on one "instinct". The fact is that she got it two hundred percent.

By the way, it was Blake Edwards who saw this potential in her and convinced her first, and then everyone else.

Directed by Frankenheimer

Initially, Frankenmeicher was supposed to be the director of the future masterpiece. But Audrey only accepted the role with Blake Edwards at the helm.

Paul could be Steve McQueen

Although Edwards managed to get Hepburn, he was not destined to see McQueen as the main character. As well as another option - Tony Curtis.

Nobody liked Peppard

The final performer of the main role was not liked by anyone. Edwards didn't want him, but Peppard practically begged for a full-time job. Even being on the set, the actor constantly argued with the director, on every occasion. Audrey, on the other hand, found her partner "pompous", and she did not like this attitude towards him from others.

"Deceit" for censors

The script of the film might have seemed too vulgar for the time, so Sumner Locke Elliot and George Axelrod struggled to get around the "sharp corners". They focused on Paul and didn't focus on Holly's class.

The main character's dress was made to order.

Holly's little black dress was custom-made by Hubert de Givenchy. It was the perfect combination: after all, the designer had already worked with Audrey more than once.

By the way, Hepburn's Tiffany outfit was auctioned off in 2006 for $900,000.

Secrets about voice acting

Fred Flintstone was voiced by Alan Reed. It is a fact. But some think he sounded too much like the legendary Mel Blanc.

Tiffany opens on Sunday for the first time since the 19th century

Actually, the famous store doesn't open at this time. But for the sake of the film they did even that. In addition, forty armed guards were on duty to prevent theft.

Party Sacrifices

Holly's party is practically the most costly and time-consuming part of the entire film. Extras as Edwards' friends, champagne, 120 liters of soft drinks, 60 boxes of cigarettes, hot dogs, sausages, chips, sauces and sandwiches for this shot. To create a sufficient amount of smoke also had to work hard.

Mickey Rooney is ashamed of his role

The role of Mr. Yunioshi for Mickey Rooney was not the best, according to his own statement. The actor said he was ashamed of her. Edwards himself expressed regret.

"Moon River" was almost cut from the movie

The lyricist of the beautiful song Holly sings on the balcony, Johnny Mercer, originally titled it "Blue River" before realizing there were already songs by that title.

Henry Mancini spent another month trying to come up with a suitable tune. "It was one of the hardest things I've ever had to write because I couldn't figure out what and how this lady would sing up there on the fire escape," Mancini said.

According to one version, the president of Paramount Pictures, Marty Rankin, after the first screening of the film said that the song should be cut.

In another version of this story, one of the producers said that the song should be rewritten.

In both cases, the response was Audrey's cheeky and witty response, which "helped" the song to be heard by the world. "Moon River" ended up winning the Academy Award for Best Song.

Hepburn wrote a note to Mancini

The note said: "I just saw our picture. A film without music is like a plane without fuel. However, the work is beautifully done, although we are still on the ground and in the real world. Your music is inspiring. Thank you, dear Hank."

She signed it: "Lots of love, Audrey."

Holly is not a call girl, according to Capote

Truman Capote remarked in a 1968 Playboy interview that Holly Golightly was not a call girl. Rather, she is a common image of a genuine American geisha at that time.

The studio also made sure of Holly's integrity

Golightly was not officially signed as a "call girl". In a press release, she was defined by the term "cook" (according to the producer, Martin Dzhurov, this is "a kitten that will never grow into a cat"). It was also important to point out because she was played by "the star Audrey Hepburn, not the gaudy Hepburn".

Vanderbilt may have been Holly's inspiration

Holly's image was partially influenced by Vanderbilt heiress, dancer Joan McCracken, Carol Grace, Lilly Mae (T. Capote's mother, her name is similar to Holly's real name - Lula Mae), Carol Marcus, Author Doris Lilly, Phoebe Pierce (Capote's school friend ), Una O'Neil Chaplin, writer and journalist Maeve Brennan, and model and actress Susie Parker.

Capote, however, denied all this and often claimed that the real Holly was a woman who lived below him in early 1940.

Holly Golightly's apartment at number 18 was sold for seven million

Seven point four million dollars - that's how much the apartment of Holly Golightly, the girl who loved breakfast at Tiffany's, was sold in June 2015. The corresponding interior was left in it, because inside the "brownstone", put up for the first time at auction in 2014 for 10 million, the same atmosphere remained.