"Capote", a film about Truman Capote's research for the novel "In Cold Blood," brings to mind how it was for me living with my mother and bearing the full brunt of her.
The movie is about Capote as he researches the details of a 1959 murder of four family members in Holcomb Kansas.
He is granted access to the pair convicted of the crime after they are sentenced to death.
No one is yet sure how that night played out. But as long as both of them stretch a rope, no one cares. Those two aren't talking. String'em up.
He had enough information to write his book, but for two things. Them hanging so he could write an ending. And the details of how that night unfolded.
Perry Smith, the more adroit of the two, received the lion's share of Truman's attention. To Capote it was a foregone conclusion that the unhinged partner in crime Hickox would be the one responsible for the rampage.
So began a cat and mouse game between Capote and Perry. With no surrender of what he needed to finish the book.
Years ticked away.
Their appeals were exhausted.
Here is the pivotal scene.
Truman is in Perry's cell. Perry has learned the name of Capote's book and is furious. Truman tells him it is a working title, and that he can't pick a name until he knows what happened that night.
Perry rolls it out. He tells about the pairs mistaken belief that there was $10,000 dollars in the house.
Perry describes cutting the father's throat, and his systematic stalking through the house firing shotgun blasts into the heads of the rest of the family.
The look on Capote's face is one of suppressed horror. He now knows he has been sitting in front of the real killer since day one.
An analogue of the seven months attending to my mother. There was no epiphany.
I slowly became aware of sharing the house with a person who viewed people as animals to be taken out and put down after their usefulness to her had ended.
Not even a vindictiveness about it. Just a detached calculated end of their utility to her, and how it might be easier to put them in a shallow grave than to
go about the nasty business of getting them to leave.