‘The Only Living Pickpocket in New York’ Review: John Turturro Mesmerizes as a Small-Time Hustler Facing Obsolescence in Fine-Grained Crime Thriller

Rarely does an opening song choice so precisely define the mood of a film like LCD Soundsystem’s exquisitely tortured anthem “New York, I Love You but You’re Bringing Me Down” over the opening frames of writer-director Noah Segan’s quiet knockout, The Only Living Pickpocket in New York. James Murphy’s melancholy vocals capture the unlivable but unleaveable push-pull of the city, wistfully looking back at its grubby past while lamenting the shiny soullessness and skyrocketing exclusivity of its present.

Those sentiments seem to come directly from John Turturro as Harry Lehman, a nimble-fingered thief with a watchful gaze, always scoping a potential score on the streets or subways.

The song also suggests the movie’s pervasive subtextual nostalgia for the analog past — felt by the small-time career criminal, but no less by an old-school detective being shoved aside to make way for the clever kids in the cyber unit, by a crusty pawn shop owner fencing stolen goods or a steely crime matriarch, taking care of business and adapting to the times, but not shy about admitting she misses the bad old days.

Turturro is unshowy but magnificent in his best film role in years, an honorable hustler who still carries himself with dignity despite a lifetime of regrets and a world gradually leaving him behind. At least until he unwittingly targets the wrong mark and has to think and act fast to protect the people he cares about and secure his own sorrowful redemption.

Harry could be described as a counterpart on the other side of the law from John Stone, the wearily disheveled attorney played by Turturro in HBO’s riveting limited series, The Night Of — even if Harry has a greater appreciation for good tailoring. What makes Segan’s movie so intoxicating, however, is not just the depth of its inside-and-out central character study but the granular textures of the world Harry inhabits and the incisively drawn secondary characters played by a deep bench of very fine and impeccably cast actors.

Segan has clearly been paying attention during his long association with Rian Johnson, who first cast him in Brick and has found roles for him in pretty much everything since. He moved into directing with a segment of the 2019 horror anthology, Scare Packagefollowing in 2022 with his first solo feature, the Shudder vampire flick Blood Relatives. Segan’s latest is a complete swerve into more nuanced genre territory and more complex storytelling, not to mention a singularly great New York movie. The hypnotic, patiently held closing shot alone will strike a chord with natives, transplants and ex-residents alike.

The opening scene is a model of narrative economy. A well-heeled businessman (John Gallagher Jr.) applies a spritz of cologne, slips on his chunky Philippe Patek watch and exits his upscale apartment building, heading for the subway when no cabs materialize. All we see is a quick shot of peak-hour strap-hangers packed in tight, with Harry close behind the guy. Cut to the end of a lunch meeting, when the businessman reaches for his wallet and finds it gone.

Harry obviously has been at this game since he was a young man, when more people carried thick wads of cash. Still, he scrapes by, offloading resaleable items through his old friend Ben (an endearingly spiky Steve Buscemi) and laughing off the suggestion of tech-savvy young scammer Eve (Victoria Moroles) that he should shift to online theft.

While he’s not exactly Robin Hood, Harry is an oddly principled man considering how he makes his living. He believes in circulating his stolen dough where it matters — whether it’s a healthcare worker at the facility that looks after his nonverbal, disabled wife Rosie (Karina Arroyave) during the day; or a neighbor in their Bronx apartment building who looks in on her when she’s at home and Harry steps out to ply his trade.

Turturro gives Harry a sad-eyed appearance offset by a frequently jokey manner. But it’s the thoughtfulness and resourcefulness of a man whose cerebral cogs are constantly turning that defines him.

One of the most poignant aspects of his performance is the way his face is transformed by love and devotion when he’s with Rosie — gently brushing her hair; carrying her up multiple flights of stairs and then returning for her wheelchair when the elevator is out of order; cheerfully nattering away in one-sided conversations; or spinning “Native New Yorker” on vinyl and goofily dancing around the room serenading her.

Things go wrong for Harry when he unwittingly steals from the swaggering young scion of a crime family, Dylan (punchy live-wire Will Price), lifting a gym bag from the kid’s car that contains a luxury watch, guns and a USB card loaded with a fortune in cryptocurrency. Harry has no idea what it is and nor does Ben, whose dinosaur desktop is about 500 upgrades short of the capability necessary to read the thing. Ben sends him to another fence in Chinatown (Kelvin Han Yee), who takes the USB and a few other items off Harry’s hands.

Dylan and his posse are well-connected, so it takes them relatively little time to track down Harry using CCTV footage. Threatening to harm Rosie if he doesn’t deliver, Dylan gives Harry just a few hours to retrieve the USB and return it to him.

Watching The Only Living Pickpocket in New Yorkyou are reminded of how rarely we now get to see movies fully shot on locations in the city and how there really is no substitute for the real thing.

Cinematographer Sam Levy, whose long string of credits includes Frances Ha, Lady Bird and His Three Daughterscaptures the bodegas, the subway trains and platforms, the tenements, storefronts and bustling street life with crispness but also a slightly rough-hewn, unvarnished quality, heightening the kinship with gritty New York movies of the ’70s.

Harry’s against-the-clock quest to ensure Rosie’s safety takes him back to Chinatown and from there to Brooklyn. Segan’s tight plotting amplifies the necessity for anyone in Harry’s profession of being able to come up with solutions on the fly. One such instance is an amusing bit of improvisation in which he gets backup by greasing the palm of a panhandler played by Aida Turturro.

There’s also a very moving interlude during which Harry, claiming to be “in the neighborhood,” goes to Queens to see his estranged daughter Kelly, beautifully played by Tatiana Maslany as a knot of wounded anger. It’s that strong scene, and Harry’s contrition, that planted the idea of ​​him preparing to make his exit. The encounter with Kelly — which reverberates in a lovely moment later on — is made even more touching by the heavily embellished account of it he shares with Rosie.

The ways in which Harry’s detective buddy Warren (Giancarlo Esposito in fine form), Ben, Eve and Billy (Mark Cayne), a young pickpocket who gets tips from the old-timer, all factor into the closing developments demonstrate that Segan has a real gift for intricate plotting, not to mention a deft hand at creating a satisfying ending rich in emotional shading.

The final scenes also involve a drive across the river with an extended cameo from a major-name star, whose character and Harry — in a duologue loaded with revealing insights — seem to develop an understanding, despite circumstances that could hardly be more unfavorable.

This is a remarkably layered and rewarding story, especially for a movie running less than 90 minutes; editor Hilda Rasula keeps the pace steady and the transitions fluid. A big assist comes from Gary Lionelli’s full-bodied score, with jazzy retro funk riffs that add excitement to the early scenes and more bluesy, somber sounds in the later action.

Even before the Cole Porter standard “I Happen to Like New York” comes in over the closing shot, it’s clear this is a movie very close to born-and-bred New Yorker Segan’s heart. It’s an adoring tip of the hat to the city and to the vast canon of New York movies. And it’s a gift to the wonderful Turturro, another native son, who imbues his role with a lifetime of personal history, underplaying everything with the most delicate restraint.