A favorite movie of mine since high school. I do love the idea of enjoying a place for its character and not necessarily for purchasing its wares. My Tiffany's is White Castle, though I still do purchase plenty of their delicious, miniature wares and frequent their Valentine's Day extravaganzas. The dialogue is naughty yet oblique enough for its time; Cat is cute and sad; George Peppard is dreamy as all-get-out; and Henry Mancini's iconic score is playful and mischievous. I prefer Marilyn Monroe to Audrey Hepburn in general, but I can't deny that the latter brings a level of sophistication and class that the former wouldn't have if she had been cast as Holly Golightly, which Truman Capote wanted her to be. Seeing this again for the first time in a long time though has opened my eyes to an unsettling revelation: Holly Golightly is probably the first [gasp] Manic Pixie Dreamgirl! I've grown weary of the can't-be-tamed caged bird trope that has become a cliche pop culture identity with Karen Gillan's Amy Pond on "Doctor Who" and various other "too fucked up to love me" girls. I used to identify strongly with the winsome and mercurial Holly Golightly and she's still a rather complex and memorable character, but perhaps my impatience for the literary/filmic type has retroactively soured her for me.

Re-watching this reminded me how lovely, charming, and horribly racist this is. We really used to do that in movies, huh? If you can look past the choices of the times, there is a great heart under there.