The Ballad of Truman Capote review

There is a terrific, transformative performance at the heart of The Ballad of Truman Capote, novelist Andrew O’Hagan’s debut play. The show itself, however, deeply and diligently researched though it obviously is, does not quite deliver on drama. It is exactly the sort of stage work that authors and essayists often write – emotionally intelligent and intellectually insightful, but theatrically inert.

It is 1966 and Truman Capote is hosting his famous Black and White Ball at New York’s Plaza Hotel. The great and the good are arriving downstairs, but Capote lurks in his plush hotel room, flopping and flouncing from sofa to sofa, gossiping, sinking cocktails and roaming through his memories: of his childhood in Alabama, of In Cold Blood – his masterpiece of a non-fiction novel – and more.

O’Hagan – a three-time Booker Prize nominee and reliable contributor to the London Review of Books, among many other things – has clearly done his research. His understanding of Capote’s complex character – his foibles and philosophies – is obvious. The difficulty is that, well, nothing really happens. As a director, he stages things simply and smoothly, but there is no development or jeopardy here – just Capote, monologuing.

Not that it takes anything away from Patrick Moy’s performance, which is utterly extraordinary. He has nailed Capote, from his effete, irony-soaked detachment, to his lilting, lispy accent. It is a fabulous performance in a flawed play. As a portrait of a great writer, The Ballad of Truman Capote is perceptive and profound. As a work of theatre, though, it is in dire need of some drama.