by Rowan Wood, Contributing Writer
I love a good craft movie. A movie about someone who is very good – perhaps unparalleled – at one particular thing, but whose skill inevitably leads them to ruin when a fatal mistake is made. I also love a good New York movie; some might call it the greatest city in the world, and it’s incomparably photogenic and beautiful (when you actually shoot there). I also happen to love John Turturro. The Only Living Pickpocket in New York has all three, and it’s all the better for it.
Written and directed by Noah Segan, an on-screen mainstay of Rian Johnson’s work, The Only Living Pickpocket in New York, much like its protagonist, gets in and out fast, without a moment’s notice. It runs a scant 88 minutes but still finds time to languish with its characters, which is a boon when the characters are compelling and equally mysterious. It’s also in wide release, and not many people are talking about it. I hope that changes today.
Turturro, not usually a leading man, excels as aged pickpocket Harry Lehman, the last of the old guard of petty thieves. He represents a New York of the past, a New York where dreams could be snatched out from under you just as fast as you can find them. Maybe that’s still how New York is – I went to college nearby, though I never lived there – but Harry feels firmly removed from the modern day, like a cartoon character from the ’80s plopped into the 21st century. Turturro’s presence certainly helps with that; he has an innate gravitas and familiarity that Segan deploys skillfully; we all know a guy like Harry, or we all imagine we know someone like him. He’s archetypal, in a way, but there’s nothing wrong with that. This is a movie about a kind of person.
The story begins as many of Harry’s days do – picking pockets on the streets of the city, laying low, not making a fuss. He cares for his catatonic wife Rosie (Karina Arroyave), trades with pawn shop buddy Ben (Steve Buscemi), reminisces on the subway with old frenemy Detective Allan Warren (Giancarlo Esposito). Rinse, repeat…until he steals from entitled crypto bro Dylan (Will Price), which unspools a chain of events that could lead to devastation.
This is not a big movie – no car chases, no explosions, just good old-fashioned story. It’s a character tale with massive personal stakes, and because of that, it feels big, because it’s big for Harry. It’s sensitive and methodical and makes a good case for the continued devotion to a dying craft; in a digital world, Harry’s skills yield diminishing returns, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. Whether or not you can teach an old dog new tricks isn’t even a consideration; he wouldn’t want to learn new tricks, even if he had the opportunity. His craft is his life, and his commitment, if nothing else, is honorable.
So here it is. A small review for a small movie. There will forever be a part of me that wishes I lived in New York, even though I strongly dislike how chaotic and overwhelming it can be, but that desire feels appropriate for this movie, which loves New York as much as any movie can. It has self-reflexive needle drops galore (“New York, I Love You but You’re Bringing Me Down,” “Native New Yorker,” and “I Happen to Like New York” to name a few), but it only adds to the autumnal atmosphere and poetic reflection that the city fosters.
Rating: Loved It
The Only Living Pickpocket in New York is currently playing in theaters.
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