An aspiring writer lives in the same house with the young and attractive Holly Golightly, a girl who meets rich older men, attends all sorts of social events, etc. The story tells about their friendship (no, it never turns into true love), about life in New York in the forties.
Probably even more famous than the story is the film with the charming Audrey Hepburn. I haven't watched it, but I'm thinking about watching it someday.
The story, in my opinion, is not anything special, but it is quite interesting, written in a pleasant language. It also contains a couple of interesting remarks about life. True, I personally was left with a bitter aftertaste. I always thought that being a “man hunter” was very dull. Therefore, the heroine did not evoke much sympathy.
Still, I would rather recommend reading the story to anyone interested in literature in general. It's not long, it's well written, it's well-known, and perhaps someone will find something more in it than I do...

Quote:
- Tell me what you wrote. What are we talking about?
- That’s the whole problem: these are not stories that can be retold.
- Quite indecent, right?
- I’d better let you read it sometime.
- Apples are a good snack. Pour me some. And then you can read your story.
It is rare that an author, especially one who has not been published, can resist the temptation to read his work aloud. I poured whiskey for her and myself, sat down in the chair opposite and began to read in a voice slightly trembling with stage excitement and enthusiasm; the story was new, I had finished it the day before, and the inevitable feeling of its shortcomings had not yet had time to trouble my soul. It was about two teachers who live together, and how one of them is getting married, and the other, by sending anonymous letters, raises a scandal and upsets the engagement. As I read, every sneak glance I got at Holly made my heart ache. She fidgeted. She picked cigarette butts in the ashtray, looked at her nails, as if longing for scissors; worse than that, every time I thought she was interested, I noticed a treacherous delusion in her eyes, as if she was wondering whether to buy her a pair of shoes that she saw in the store today.
- Is that all? - she asked, waking up. She thought of something else to say. - Of course, I'm not against lesbians. And I’m not afraid of them at all. But talking about them makes my teeth hurt. I can’t feel myself in their shoes. “Well, really, dear,” she added, seeing my confusion, “what the hell is this story about, if not about the love of two elderly maidens?”
But it was enough that I read the story to her; I had no intention of adding to the mistake and providing him with comments. Vanity pushed me to this stupidity, and it also prompted me to now brand my guest as an insensitive, brainless idiot.

Truman Capote

Breakfast at Tiffany's

I am always drawn to the places where I once lived, to the houses, to the streets. There is, for example, a large, dark house on one of the seventies streets on the East Side, where I settled at the beginning of the war, when I first arrived in New York. There I had a room filled with all sorts of junk: a sofa, pot-bellied armchairs, upholstered in rough red plush, the sight of which makes you remember a stuffy day in a soft carriage. The walls were painted with glue paint the color of tobacco chewing gum. Everywhere, even in the bathroom, there were engravings of Roman ruins, freckled with age. The only window looked out onto the fire escape. But all the same, as soon as I felt the key in my pocket, my soul became more cheerful: this housing, with all its sadness, was my first home of my own, there were my books, glasses with pencils that could be repaired - in a word, everything, as it seemed to me, to become a writer.

In those days it never occurred to me to write about Holly Golightly, and it probably would not have occurred to me now if it had not been for a conversation with Joe Bell, which again stirred my memories.

Holly Golightly lived in the same building, she rented the apartment below me. And Joe Bell ran a bar around the corner on Lexington Avenue; he still holds it. And Holly and I went there six, seven times a day, not to drink - not only for that - but to make a phone call: during the war it was difficult to get a telephone. In addition, Joe Bell willingly carried out assignments, and this was burdensome: Holly always had a great many of them.

Of course, this is all ancient history, and until last week I had not seen Joe Bell for several years. From time to time we called each other; sometimes, when I was nearby, I would go to his bar, but we were never friends, and we were connected only by friendship with Holly Golightly. Joe Bell is not an easy person, he admits this himself and explains it by the fact that he is a bachelor and that he has high acidity. Anyone who knows him will tell you that he is difficult to communicate with. It's simply impossible if you don't share his affections, and Holly is one of them. Others include hockey, Weimar hunting dogs, Our Baby Sunday (a show he's been listening to for fifteen years), and Gilbert and Sullivan - he claims one of them is related to him, I don't remember who.

So when the phone rang late last Tuesday afternoon and said, “This is Joe Bell,” I knew it would be about Holly. But he only said: “Can you drop by my place? It’s important,” and the croaking voice on the phone was hoarse with excitement.

In the pouring rain, I hailed a taxi and on the way I even thought: what if she’s here, what if I see Holly again?

But there was no one there except the owner. Joe Bell's Bar is not a very crowded place compared to other watering holes on Lexington Avenue. It boasts neither a neon sign nor a television. Two old mirrors show what the weather is like outside, and behind the counter, in a niche, among photographs of hockey stars, there is always a large vase with a fresh bouquet - they are lovingly arranged by Joe Bell himself. That's what he was doing when I came in.

“You understand,” he said, lowering the gladiolus into the vase, “you understand, I wouldn’t force you to drag yourself to such a distance, but I need to know your opinion.” Strange story! A very strange story happened.

- News from Holly?

He touched the paper, as if wondering what to answer. Short, with coarse gray hair, a prominent jaw and a bony face that would have suited a much taller man, he had always seemed tanned, and now he was even redder.

- No, not really from her. Or rather, it is not yet clear. That's why I want to consult with you. Let me pour you some. “This is a new cocktail, the White Angel,” he said, mixing half and half vodka and gin, without vermouth.

While I drank this mixture, Joe Bell stood nearby and sucked on a stomach pill, wondering what he would say to me. Finally he said:

– Remember this Mr. I.Ya. Yunioshi? A gentleman from Japan?

- From California.

I remembered Mr. Yunioshi very well. He is a photographer for an illustrated magazine and at one time occupied a studio on the top floor of the house where I lived.

- Don't confuse me. Do you know who I'm talking about? Well, great. So, last night this same Mr. I.Ya. Yunioshi showed up here and rolled up to the counter. I haven't seen him for probably more than two years. And where do you think he's been all this time?

- In Africa.

Joe Bell stopped sucking the pill and his eyes narrowed.

- How do you know?

– I read it from Vinchel2. – That’s how it really happened.

He pulled out the cash register drawer with a bang and took out an envelope made of thick paper.

– Maybe you read this from Vinchel?

The envelope contained three photographs, more or less identical, although taken from different angles: a tall, slender black man in a cotton skirt with a shy and at the same time self-satisfied smile was showing a strange wooden sculpture - an elongated head of a girl with short, smooth, boy-like, hair and a tapering face; her polished wooden, slanted eyes were unusually large, and her large, sharply defined mouth resembled the mouth of a clown. At first glance, the sculpture resembled an ordinary primitive, but only at first glance, because it was the spitting image of Holly Golightly - if one can say so about a dark inanimate object.

- Well, what do you think about this? – said Joe Bell, pleased with my confusion.

- Looks like her.

“Listen,” he slapped his hand on the counter, “this is it.” It's clear as day. The Japanese recognized her immediately as soon as he saw her.

- Did he see her? In Africa?

- Her? No, just a sculpture. What's the difference? You can read for yourself what is written here. – And he turned over one of the photographs. On the back was the inscription: “Wood carving, Tribe C, Tokokul, East Anglia. Christmas, 1956."

At Christmas, Mr. Yunioshi drove with his apparatus through Tokokul, a village lost in God knows where, and it doesn’t matter where - just a dozen adobe huts with monkeys in the courtyards and buzzards on the roofs. He decided not to stop, but suddenly he saw a black man squatting by the door and carving monkeys on a stick. Mr. Yunioshi became interested and asked to show him something else. After which the woman's head was taken out of the house, and it seemed to him, as he told Joe Bell, that it was all a dream. But when he wanted to buy it, the black man said: “No.” Not a pound of salt and ten dollars, not two pounds of salt, a watch and twenty dollars - nothing could shake him. Mr. Yunioshi decided to at least find out the origin of this sculpture, which cost him all his salt and watches. The story was told to him in a mixture of African, gibberish and deaf-mute language. In general, it turned out that in the spring of this year three white people appeared from the thickets on horseback. A young woman and two men. The men, shivering with chills, their eyes bloodshot from fever, were forced to spend several weeks locked up in a separate hut, but the woman took a liking to the carver and began to sleep on his mat.

“That’s what I don’t believe,” Joe Bell said disgustedly. “I know she had all sorts of quirks, but she would hardly have gotten to that point.”

- And then what?

- And then nothing. – He shrugged his shoulders. “She left as she came—she rode off on a horse.”

– Alone or with men?

Joe Bell blinked.

“She probably hasn’t even seen Africa,” I said completely sincerely; but still I could imagine her in Africa: Africa is in her spirit. And the head is made of wood... - I looked at the photographs again.

– You know everything. Where is she now?

- She died. Or in a madhouse. Or married. Most likely, she got married, calmed down, and maybe lives here, somewhere near us.

He thought about it.

“No,” he said and shook his head. - I'll tell you why.

If she were here, I would meet her. Take a person who loves to walk, a person like me; and now this man has been walking the streets for ten or twelve years, and all he can think about is how not to miss someone, and so he never meets her - isn’t it clear that she doesn’t live in this city? I see women all the time who are somewhat similar to her... Either a flat little butt... Yes, any thin girl with a straight back who walks quickly... - He fell silent, as if wanting to make sure I was listening to him carefully. - Do you think I'm crazy?

“I just didn’t know that you loved her.” Love it so much. I regretted my words - they confused him. He grabbed the photographs and put them in an envelope. I looked at my watch. I was in no hurry, but I decided it was better to leave.

Breakfast at Tiffany's can be considered one of Blake Edwards' most famous works. This movie has long been considered a classic, and this, of course, owes much to Truman Capote, on whose work the film was based. "In this world, nothing belongs to us. We and things just find each other sometimes." The plot of the film is simple. A young but still almost unknown writer, Paul Varjak (George Peppard), meets a very unusual neighbor, Holly Golightly (Audrey Hepburn), who lives all alone. Sometimes she throws parties where there are people completely unknown to her. Everyone treats her differently: some think Holly is a selfish girl, some are crazy, and some just admire her. Over time, Paul begins to fall in love with her, and everything would be fine if not for the peculiar character of Miss Golightly. “You shouldn’t let wild animals get close to your heart. The more love you give them, the more strength they have. And one day they will become so strong that they will want to run away into the forest, fly up to the very tops of the trees.” The role of Holly Golightly, if not the best, is certainly one of the best roles of Audrey Hepburn in her entire career. Stunning cinematography only emphasizes her sophistication and beauty. The main character is presented to the viewer as a very optimistic girl with a good sense of humor. No matter how Holly pretends, she is far from stupid, as she once hints to Paul. "I don't mind. Sometimes it pays to look like a fool." There are not very many active heroes here. For Edwards, Breakfast at Tiffany's is not just a beautiful and sad love story, it is an attempt to create a real person on the screen. Everything that happens is somehow her fault. A unique outlook on life makes Hepburn's heroine a real person, endowed with her own feelings and thoughts. Looking at Holly, you forget that this is a character made up by other people. The heroine from the screen seems to come to life and it seems that she is about to speak to you. Golightly loves freedom more than anything in the world. She, like her cat, does not have her own name. “My old cat, old lazy fellow, lazy fellow with no name. I have no right to give him a name, we don’t belong to each other. We just met one day. In this world, nothing belongs to us. It’s just that sometimes we and things find each other.” A capricious girl, whose favorite pastime is going to Tiffany's, is trying to marry a rich man. No, she's not looking for love. She's looking for money. Money is no less important to her than her own freedom. Holly is not interested in books; she divides people into “rats” and “not rats.” The famous final dialogue between her and Paul about how “people don’t belong to each other” puts an end to the story. Has love changed Holly herself? I have a hard time believing this. “I don’t want to put you in a cage. I want to love you. - It’s the same thing!” Either way, Blake Edwards made an excellent film with a superbly written script. This story touches the soul and makes you empathize with the characters. Who exactly is Holly Golightly? An adventuress? Call girl? Yes, it really doesn’t matter. The only important thing is that we should all learn to live the same way she lived. If you've already seen the movie, watch it again. If only to see Audrey Hepburn play Moon River again.

The budget of this comedy melodrama reached two and a half million dollars, but it more than paid off, because the box office in America alone amounted to 8 million.

The film in 1962 received several awards and was nominated for the Directors Guild of America, Grammy, Golden Globe and others. And for the song “Moon River”, created by composer Henry Mancini, lyricist Johnny Mercer and performed by actress Audrey Hepburn, the film was awarded an Oscar.

This legendary melodrama was a film adaptation of the novel of the same name written by Truman Capote in 1958.

Initially, John Frankenheimer was going to direct the film, and Marilyn Monroe was supposed to play the leading role.

The heroine Audrey Hepburn appears more than once in the frame in the famous little black dress, which was personally created by Hubert de Givenchy. Forty years later it was bought in London at auction for 807 thousand dollars. It became one of the most expensive movie items ever sold.

Steve McQueen turned down the male lead role because he was filming Wanted Dead or Alive at the time.

The scene at the beginning of the film, when Holly walks alone in New York and then looks into the Tiffany store, was actually filmed surrounded by a crowd of people. The actress was distracted by this, she could not concentrate, and as a result, this small episode took many takes.

Audrey Hepburn's fee for starring in this film was $750,000, making the actress the highest paid at that time.

For the first time since the nineteenth century, the Tiffany & Co store opened on Sunday especially for filming.

As the tailed performer of the role of Kat, nine cats participated in the entire film.

According to Audrey Hepburn, the most unpleasant scene in the entire film was the episode where she had to throw a cat out onto a rainy, dirty street.

Errors in the film

When Holly throws the cat off the dressing table in anger, it flies to the floor, but in the next shot it hits the window.

Throughout the film, you can see how the colors and breeds of cats change.

When Holly puts on nylon stockings in a taxi at the end of the film, a arrowhead is visible on her left leg, but in another scene the defect disappears.

The main character is supposedly learning Brazilian, although the voice on the record speaks Portuguese.

Paul dances in tandem with an elderly woman, in whose hands we immediately see a yellow cup, and in the next frame it turns pink.

When Golightly and Mr. Pereira return from lunch, he brings a banderilla (a Spanish, not a Brazilian attribute) and says “Ole.”

According to the script, Paul's apartment is on the third floor, but when he returns home, he opens the door on the first floor.

The cigarette in Holly's hand as she watches the stripper changes position.

After Golightly enters Paul's bedroom through the window, stockings appear on her legs.

The watch on Paul's right wrist disappears and reappears as he lies in bed.

At the party, the main character's hairstyle changes from different angles: at first several highlighted strands are noticeable, and then they disappear and it is noticeable that the hair is styled differently.

When Holly and Paul are in the taxi, the street in the background has four lanes and appears wide. But when the car stops in the next episodes, the street becomes narrow.

You should demand the impossible from life. And then the impossible will become reality. Without a second thought about the brilliant, without idealizing the present and without a gnawing conscience. You need to be simpler and always maintain childish naivety. This makes it easier to achieve what you want, no matter what the consequences. If a person is easy going and has emotions, he will always feel good. He is an optimist beyond his own will, a burner, a madman. He is perceived as an adult child, treats his actions with a smile and constantly forgives everything.

It was precisely such a person who once appeared in the life of the protagonist of “Breakfast at Tiffany’s”, leaving behind many pleasant and unpleasant memories. He was a girl with a dark past, distant plans and ineradicable naivety. Truman Capote describes what is happening as if it happened to him and it is he who decided to remember events that once took place due to the fault of an acquaintance who reminded them of them.

The main character of the work is a writer. He is embarrassed by his creativity and is not ready to introduce it to his immediate circle, for fear of receiving critical feedback. A significant part of writers are exactly like this - they are ready to share their experiences on paper, but are not ready to discuss them. Self-esteem can only be increased through naive people who are able to discern something in them that actually makes it necessary to become proud and lose a sense of reality. Even with a critical eye, the writer will still remain confident in the correctness of his craft.

They can call him at night, smile sweetly and constantly apologize: a person whose spontaneity extends into infinity can get away with anything. If the wind is blowing in your head, then there is no point in blocking the open space with a wall - the wind will definitely destroy it. There is no way to resist, you can be skeptical and try to make a number of changes. Time alone has the power to influence what is happening, changing circumstances and causing discord in the worldview. A naive person will someday get burned and think. Then no one will ring the doorbell at night anymore.

And if no one rings the doorbell, stops bothering you and leaves forever, an emptiness will arise inside the person who wanted it. The prepared mortar will be useful for building a wall. Its construction will shield you from memories and allow you to live, forgetting about the existence of the wind. And pain will pierce the body, and you will want to remember the past: write a book about it, sharing with the world the emotions you once experienced, creating a storm in the soul of the reader, whose opinion will depend on how he is ready to relate to the existence of flighty people.

Success is sure to come, just as a rise is followed by a fall - you need to wait for the required changes. The cyclical nature of processes is one of the laws of the universe. Based on both of these statements, you understand how difficult it is to wait out a bad stage of life, how difficult it is to realize the abrupt end of a good stage. But you should always believe in the best, without attaching importance to negative episodes. Even if the threat of imprisonment or eternal exile is threatened, this means nothing if the soul demands the realization of the most ambitious goals, the main one of which is a better life.

Those who are not easy-going are doomed to remain within the four walls of despondency. When a country with a warm climate, wealth and a beautiful life looms ahead, is it worth appealing to the inner self, trying to find justifications for the rigidity of the only opinion that determines one’s personal essence? A feeling of shame arises: for oneself who has stopped developing, for the confident tread of others. There is no immediate recipe for happiness for everyone, but everyone is happy at the same time, because negativity is always equal to happiness, you just need to understand it correctly.