I’ve just come from Bennett Miller’s Capote (Sony Pictures Classics, 9.30). It’s an amazingly rich and resonant thing. It’s largely about stillnesses and intimations, and yet it’s very precise and careful in conveying a defining chapter in the life of author Truman Capote. It lets the actors — particularly the great Phillip Seymour Hoffman, who plays Capote — tell us what we need to feel and understand. I know someone who’s seen it and has said he’s not sure about Hoffman being a likely Best Actor nominee. (Although he’s very enthused about Clifton Collins, Jr.’s performance as Perry Smith, the sad-eyed Clutter family murderer, and a possible Best Supporting Actor nomination.) All I can say about Hoffman not necessarily being a shoo-in is the word “please.” No, I can say more than that: there’s a certain vividness of detail and a certain pitch to live-wire performances that turn up in Oscar-bait movies, and, trust me, Hoffman’s is one of these. It screams Oscar worthiness. It’s a summation, a crescendo…a master stroke. (Jesus, that sounded a bit like a quote from “Eric” something-or-other, the “publicist’s friend” who used to be a regular fixture in the opening pages of the National Lampoon in the late ’70s.) I’ll get into this more next week but Hoffman is so fantastic and rock-solid delightful I’ve decided to go see Capote again as soon as possible. I think there’s another screening on Monday evening…