Breakfast at Tiffany’s

I saw Breakfast at Tiffany’s for the first time yesterday. I’m still not sure how I feel about it. It reminds me a little of The Great Gatsby in that, though none of the characters is really endearing, there’s still something about their plight that draws you into it. That and the whole “trying and failing to solve problems with money” thing.

I wonder if they could have been a little more subtle than naming the main character “Golightly,” though it’s certainly apt–Holly Golightly flits from one thing to the next (be it men, conversation topics, drinks, whatever) with as much direction and sense as a butterfly. Enter Paul Varjack, world-weary one-hit writer, who should have run screaming in the opposite direction after his first meeting with her. He just wanted to be let into the building, and their meeting circled around her strange disconnected conversation and him helping her find her shoes and accessories in such obvious places as in the potted plants. She’s the mad old cat lady and her cat doesn’t even have a name. Any sane person would’ve run.

I’ll give it one thing: though it’s predictable in several elements, it’s anything but formulaic.

Even after this, I don’t know how I feel about it.


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