‘Pickpocket’ among grandest of larceny

     Labeling Noah Segan’s “The Only Living Pickpocket in New York” a quintessential Big Apple flick might be hyperbolic, but I challenge anyone to disagree. In a mere 88 minutes, the writer-director visits all five boroughs, acquainting us with a cross-section of volatile gangsters, grizzled cops, shady pawn shop proprietors and a gentleman thief who steals from wealthy Wall Street types to finance care for his severely disabled wife.  

     Even better, taking on the titular role is John Turturro, an actor who has worked for all of the city’s elite auteurs, from Martin Scorsese and Spike Lee to Abel Ferrara and Woody Allen to Noah Baumbach. He practically screams “New York,” especially in this gem, where he disappears into Harry Lehman, an analog-loving pickpocket struggling to survive in a digital world where wallets hold plastic instead of paper and Fitbits are favored over Rolexes and Cartiers.  

     Yet Harry never fails to appear dapper in his smart tweed overcoat and black Polo shirt as he works the crowded streets and packed subways of Manhattan. As always, the camera loves Turturro as we follow Harry through a typical day of lifting billfolds devoid of cash, knockoff watches and cheap cell phones before heading to the Bronx pawnshop owned by his lifelong friend, Ben (fellow NYC icon Steve Buscemi). As much as his pal would like to help, most of what Harry lifts is as worthless as the stack of microwave ovens Ben has been attempting to unload for months.  

      It defies logic how these two sixty-something relics stay afloat. They are too old to reinvent themselves, but too young to pack it in. But they do their best to get by, savoring the little things that make New York New York: the open-air newsstands, the hole-in-the-wall coffee shops, the blue-collar Joes who’ll lend you their cell phone in a pinch, or the immigrant shopkeeper who allows you to use the restroom if you really gotta go. They are the lifeblood of the city and Segan celebrates these insular but big-hearted folks with a film that succeeds at capturing the grittiness of such 1970s NYC crime classics as “Serpico” and “The French Connection.” 

    These are rough-hewn characters in a rough-hewn town, and while Harry often must trade cash for favors, others happily do him a solid out of the goodness of their hearts. Like the young man caring for Harry’s wheelchair-bound wife, Rosie (Karina Arroyave). He rejects Harry’s offer of compensation, saying he’s just fulfilling an obligation. Only after Harry practically shoves the bills down his shirt does he grudgingly accept.  

     That’s Harry. For him, everything is transactional. He’s old-school that way, but he’s also fiercely loyal, especially to Rosie, whom he dotes on day and night, making her dinner, playing her favorite records, and showering her with words of affection, even though she’s too catatonic to respond. The story never explains how she got this way, but Harry clearly feels a modicum of guilt. 

       He prays for a miracle and/or a big score. And then it happens. One late-night prowl nets him a gym bag from the backseat of a fully restored black 1969 Plymouth Barracuda.  Inside, beneath a pair of red sneakers, Harry uncovers a thick stack of Benjamins, a memory card, and a gun. The haul’s size signals this isn’t some Joe Schmo he ripped off. And sure enough, he soon discovers the loot belongs to one Dylan Diamond (Will Price), a well-connected Gen Xer who just happens to be the heir to a New Jersey crime family. And he’s steaming mad.    

       It’s a simple setup for a predictable outcome. But plot is never the point. What Segan is aiming for is a sympathetic profile of a human artifact whose time has passed. There’s a wistfulness to it that favorably harkens back to a bygone era when communication was face-to-face and people went shopping in stores, not online. Harry’s two closest pals, Ben and Giancarlo Esposito’s Detective Warren, share his distaste for the Digital Age and often commiserate.   

      These scenes, especially between Turturro and Esposito, are among the film’s best, evoking fond memories of their first pairing 40 years ago in Lee’s masterpiece, “Do the Right Thing.” They played frenemies then, and they do so again. One can even imagine Pino and Buggin evolving into these two geezers. And what a treat to see Turturro’s sister, Aida, and Jamie Lee Curtis pop up in small but pivotal roles late in the picture.  

      The entire cast epitomizes class. But it’s Turturro emphatically staking his claim to an Oscar nomination. He’s playing a thief, but an intensely likable one whose heart is always in the right place, even though his long-estranged daughter (Tatiana Maslany) from another marriage would strongly disagree. Their one encounter is heartbreaking, but as always, Harry handles it with tact and compassion. 

     Equally stirring is Segan’s obvious adoration for his hometown. You can sense it in every shot, in every location, from Coney Island to Chinatown to Queens to the tree-lined streets of Staten Island. And you can’t help but fall in love with his city, too. 

      Segan plops a cherry on top with a terrific final shot in which the camera slowly pans from the Narrows before locking on Lower Manhattan and the Freedom Tower. It’s Segan’s subtle way of persuading us to reflect on 9/11, reminding those of us who were alive that day of what it was like to have the world you knew suddenly vanish. Many long to return to those halcyon days when life was simpler and less uneasy. Like Harry, as much as we wish, there’s no going back. Yet the longing for what was lingers, never to be forgotten.  

Movie review 

The Only Living Pickpocket in New York 

Rated: R for language 

Cast: John Turturro, Steve Buscemi, Giancarlo Esposito, Will Price, Jamie Lee Curtis and Tatiana Maslany 

Director: Noah Segan 

Writer: Noah Segan 

Runtime: 88 minutes 

Where: In theaters Oct. 30  

Grade: A-