By Jess Wilton
The lights go down, â€œMoon Riverâ€ begins to play, the taxi pulls up to Tiffanyâ€™s in the violet glow of a New York dawn, Holly Golightly steps out onto the deserted sidewalk, and even the most cynical, objective viewer begins to feel a bit giddy. Forty-five years after its original release, Breakfast at Tiffanyâ€™s remains a reliable source of nostalgia, sentimentality, and reckless escapism. But its staying power doesnâ€™t lie solely in the enormously appealing, slightly twisted characters from Truman Capoteâ€™s novella, nor has it held a place in our hearts simply for in its powerful themes of urban identity crisis. These things add dimension to any great film romance, and help sustain the viewer through multiple screenings, but honest-to-goodness Hollywood spectacle constitutes the shallow soul of this valentine; The City, Audrey Hepburn, Manciniâ€™s music, they are all so good to see and hear that they render actual content almost secondary.