REVIEW: ‘The Only Living Pickpocket In New York’ Scrapes By

You can do worse than The Only Living Pickpocket in New York. Noah Segan’s small-scale tribute to a New York that never was sees John Turturro waxing poetic about being an honest thief while his character, Harry, gets in far deeper than he can handle.

The Only Living Pickpocket in New York is a Boomer-core nostalgia grab hidden inside a quiet indie picture. While all of the Big Apple from the Bronx to Queens and all in between serve as the movie’s ever-present backdrop, it’s really a small character study for Turturro. Festuned by longtime friends and collaborators Giancarlo Esposito and Steve Buscemi, the movie is more concerned with civility than with being a cohesive movie.

It’s not entirely wrong. The relationship between these three aging men is what’s most interesting. Harry is a deadbeat pickpocket, Buscemi’s Ben is his fence, and Esposito’s Detective Warren is a cop with whom Harry has a past. Whenever Harry interacts with either of them, it’s with a sigh of aging and a wink of understanding of something that only age can bring them. It’s exhausting, to be sure, but it feels sincere, and that’s what counts.

The Only Living Pickpocket in New York is all about respect.

Because nothing else feels nearly as sincere. Harry stole something from a young guy, Dylan (Will Price), who has dangerous connections. Now Dylan is after Harry, and his comatose wife is being held hostage until Harry gets it back. Dylan represents everything wrong with the world today, supposedly. He’s a crypto bro who hits first and asks questions later, drives fancy cars he has no business owning, and walks around with watches worth more than some people make in a year.

But worse, he’s just an utterly unlikable person. He’s clearly soaked in privilege he doesn’t deserve and treats everyone else like they’re not worth their weight in dirt. He’s loathsome to the point of being an annoying screen presence. Fortunately, he’s not on screen that much.

But the flaw with this type of outlook is that Dylan’s type isn’t new. Just because Dylan wears a smartwatch and Harry apparently doesn’t even know how to dial a cell phone, he’s such a luddite, doesn’t mean that people back when Harry was coming up were more honorable than they are today.

The movie only begrudgingly admits that young people can be okay too.

The movie’s clearly somewhat aware of this. There’s one young person Harry trusts, Eve (Victoria Moroles). And she’s good with computers. Two, if you count Harry’s neighbor across the hall. A third, even, when Harry has a run-in with somebody on the subway.

But it feels like The Only Living Pickpocket in New York only begrudgingly admits that young people can be okay too. It gets right up to the edge, and then in classic Boomer fashion, it can’t fully admit that the worldview it entered with might not hold up to scrutiny. It does, however, commit to a striking conclusion, albeit one littered with word vomit about what being a New Yorker really’s all about.

The successful end of the movie’s older sensibility is at least noticeable in its quixotic depiction of New York. Sure, it’s a cliché, but it’s undeniable that movies set in New York are substantially better and more lived-in when they’re actually shot in New York. Every neighborhood looks and feels different, and each is beautifully framed and shot.

The Only Living Pickpocket in New York lets the city shine.

Even though the movie spans several neighborhoods and boroughs, the real New York locations make it feel like everyone is part of that one, big, idealistic New York community that movies make seem so real. Maybe that magic is how New York was when its characters and actors were young. Maybe it’s still part of the real New York now. Regardless, the movie succeeds at making you feel like it might be.

Where it succeeds less is with the side quest Harry takes in the middle of the plot. A last-ditch effort to further flesh out Harry as a character derails what little momentum the movie has. Pulling over for a nonsequitur character-building moment feels out of place in the movie’s pacing. It makes enough sense as a contrivance, but the movie is already torpid as it is, matching its characters’ ages. It only ever has a beat when Dylan is driving things with his manic scenes.

It’s overly romantic, a little condescending, and a bit sleepy, but The Only Living Pickpocket in New York will suffice. There are certainly no other movies being made quite like it, with big stars and a personal scale. It just needs a little shot of adrenaline and a little less pontificating, and it would be all the more successful.

The Only Living Pickpocket in New York is playing now in select theaters.