A pop culture touchstone for aspiring fashionista's, folk song classic lovers, future A-Team fanboys and casual racists alike, the depth of Capote's novel seems to make it to the screen broadly intact.

The central relationship between two gigolo's trapped in their depressing cycle of casual sex, huge amounts of cash and amazing parties (hang on...….) feels really nicely drawn and eerily real even if the world they exist in is anything but. Hepburn and especially Peppard draw their relationship together through little droplets of information about their lives as they criss-cross each other and its brilliant chemistry between them that holds the whole thing together.

It doesn't do a lot, but it does have a lot to say - about the shallow lives many were living heading into the Summer of Love and about those an awful lot older taking full advantage of this. And its all about that central two - Hepburn launches a thousand magazine covers with her flaky, ditzy clothes horse with HUGE sunglasses, while Peppard is, well, just trying to hang on for dear life frankly. While Hepburn gets a huge amount of backstory thanks to the sub-plot about her past life, Peppard isn't given the same amount to work with. But that's ok, because we get just enough of his writing ambition to know that he and Hepburn are made for each other.

The lovely rat-a-tat dialogue isn't quite up to the 40s screwball comedy level, but it does breathe life into these two potential stereotypes and throw in the single best performance in film by a ginger moggy (sorry Jonesy), its got that 'classic' stamp all over it - you know the one, you're told you're watching a 'classic', you don't want to believe its a 'classic', but fuck it all to high heaven, you bloody well know it is.