‘I’m like cat here, a no-name slob. We belong to nobody and nobody belongs to us…’
I enjoyed Truman Capote’s seminal novella Breakfast at Tiffany’s when I first read it many moons ago. Despite that, I’ve never had much interest in the film adaptation, possibly because I was aware that it differs hugely from the source material. Aside from an admittedly iconic performance from Audrey Hepburn, I wasn’t missing much…
Holly Golightly (Hepburn) is a New York socialite who finances her lavish lifestyle by dating various older, rich men. When Paul Varjak (George Peppard), a published writer, moves into Holly’s apartment, his attempts to win her over are met with casual indifference.
My main issue with Blake Edwards’ film is that Holly Golightly is an absolute dickhead. Sure, she’s pretty, sophisticated and quirky (ugh), but she’s also utterly insufferable. I have no idea why men would be lining up to take her out. As a result of this, there is nobody to root for (apart from Holly’s wonderful ginger cat). Edwards, working from George Axelrod’s screenplay, also shoehorns in a love story that was never present in the book. I understand why this has happened, but it renders the third act predictable and sentimental whilst also contradicting everything that made Holly Golightly such an enigmatic and wonderful character on the page.
While it is thrilling to see New York in the ’60s depicted in such a vivid way, and Hepburn is undeniably magnetic and bewitching, Breakfast at Tiffany’s never does justice to the source material and has aged pretty badly. Mickey Rooney’s preposterous use of yellowface is offensive in the extreme. I’m glad I finally got around to watching it, but it’ll never darken my door again.