I just watched Breakfast at Tiffany’s for the first time today. I totally hated it. (And I’m not even counting Mickey Rourke’s turn in yellowface as Mr. Yunioshi here.)

Granted, it was an aesthetic delight. New York City was shot at its most picturesque, Audrey Hepburn was gorgeous and I painfully pined after her entire wardrobe. But I found the tension contrived, the drama largely anesthetized and the characters flat. Also, “you belong to me” is probably one of the least romantic lines I could possibly ever conceive of. If it was preserved in its original state from Truman Capote’s original novella, I imagine that this line wasn’t originally meant to be romantic at all, but with the 60s-style symphonic score crescendoing behind our male lead’s beseeching eyes, I’m going to assume that the filmmakers were shooting to melt some hearts.

However, I really do want to read Truman Capote’s original novella, especially given this quote from him: “The movie became a mawkish valentine to New York City…and as a result was thin and pretty, whereas it should have been rich and ugly.” I mean, come on! The Holly Golightly of Capote’s creation was apparently a bisexual, pot-smoking, abortion-having prostitute. What’s not to love?

Conclusion: don’t ever let me host a movie night, unless you want to watch Japanese dramas about abandoned children or films noirs starring Guy Pearce and a young Russell Crowe. (In my defense, however, I love Michael Gondry, In Bruges and South Park. See! Plenty of happy, wholesome fun to be had.)