Caught Stealing: Old Tropes in Old New York.

You know the drill: a “gritty” R-rated crime flick tries to pass off banter and humor as originality. This genre has been rehashed so many times that it almost feels burdensome to sit through the trailer, much less the movie. On the surface, Caught Stealing (2025) looks no different: Austin Butler, Zoe Kravitz, and… Bad Bunny? Check the gratuitous celebrity cameo box. The typical slog of a plot follows: our hero taking on some insurmountable enemy. Toss in rival mobsters, a crooked cop, an “unlikely protagonist,” as well as a couple of extra clichés, and you have a dish we have tasted a thousand times.

But somehow, Caught Stealing pulls it off. Director Darren Aronofsky, known for his surrealist dramas like Black Swan (2010) and Requiem for a Dream (2000), blends action, dark comedy, and emotional realism in a way that shouldn’t work but does. Despite the banality of its concept, the film pulls off an entertaining performance and manages to touch upon the brutality and thematic reflection that is quintessentially Aronofsky. 

Set in 1990s Manhattan, the film follows Henry (Butler), a washed-up barman who lost his chance at Major League Baseball because of an injury. The film attempts to develop a mystique around his “Dark and Troubled Past,” but it doesn’t take a genius to infer it was a car accident, as the film spoonfeeds a series of flashbacks that progressively reveals more. Henry’s life is derailed when his punk British friend, Russ (Matt Smith), leaves him a mysterious key linked to a drug deal gone wrong. What follows is a chaotic tangle of gang wars between Hebrew gangsters, Russian mobsters, and crooked cops, layered in betrayals and violent spirals and grounded by a single performance.

The film opens with sweeping shots of the Twin Towers and grungy storefronts, harkening back to a bygone era of NYC. Set in the ‘90s, the Lower East Side is flush with artsy types and gangsters while gentrification sweeps their lifestyle away. The film captures that Sopranos-esque feeling of being at the tail end of the “glory days” of crime and the hustle lifestyle dying out. To that end, darkness still is very pervasive throughout this early part of the film, giving that sense of the grimy, gritty New York of yore. The set is fantastically crafted in what is a beautiful love letter to the era: the old storefronts, neon signs, pay phones, bars, graffiti, and even details like the litter on the street restore the city’s rough beauty, reminding us of a Manhattan that existed before it was smoothed over by capital. Aronofsky, a native New Yorker, built the film as more of a period piece, trying to bring the energy he once felt. 

However, that beautiful grime comes with a price: brutality. Characters die unexpectedly, and not for cheap shock value. These deaths recalibrate the film’s tone, reminding viewers that this isn’t just genre play. Henry, in particular, is marked by violence; people close to him die, and he is frequently assaulted and tormented. He is shown in the aftermath of a beating, urinating blood and losing a kidney. He doesn’t bounce back like Superman; he is by no means an invincible, John-Wick-esque, action movie protagonist. He limps, winces, and spirals. In one scene, he pukes all over the front door of his apartment complex as he struggles through pain and alcoholism, all while trying to escape the Russian mob. This cultivates a sense of gritty realism—the violence feels very real despite the absurdity of the circumstances. 

Butler is the core of the film. Reminiscent of his Elvis (2022) performance, he brings intensity and fragility to a role that could’ve been one-note. Henry begins wearing the veneer of a tough, pretty boy—cool, composed, and effortlessly magnetic—but Butler lets that veneer crack. He depicts a man unraveling: an alcoholic plagued by nightmares and guilt, slowly losing control. In one powerful scene, Henry drunkenly lashes out at Yvonne (Kravitz), his girlfriend, over the failure of his life before collapsing on the floor. Later, after another death, we see him alone at the beach, staring out at the water, barely holding it together as he leaves a voicemail for his mother. He does not overact; he just lets his anguished expression and silence do the heavy lifting, taking what could’ve been a very shallow character and filling it with nuance. 

The supporting cast doesn’t always rise to the same level. Kravitz is sadly underused, reduced to little more than emotional support rather than a fully fleshed out character. Smith’s Russ is full of punk, British energy but ultimately serves as a vehicle for exposition. And while the rival mobsters are entertaining and funny, they rarely transcend their tropes—with the notable exception of Regina King, who plays Det. Elise Roman. She brings a surprising warmth and realism to the role; her scenes with Butler crackle with chemistry, especially when discussing baseball. She’s one of the few side characters who feels fully alive.

Thematically, the film reaches for big ideas: guilt, self-destruction, failure, or the aforementioned gentrification. Some of these threads work better than others. The film flirts with the philosophical reflections of Aronofsky’s older works, like The Wrestler (2008), as, like Randy, Henry is a man past his prime. Unable to escape their past or imagine a future, they spiral downwards. It is a great discussion of the nature of failure, and it digs in well. But when the movie attempts to entertain deeper conversations about gentrification, it often feels rushed or out of place—just packaged into a short 107-minute time frame. While the setting evokes this theme, only one conversation in the movie attempted to build this theme up. It feels disappointing since the set and period seem to really try to capture that essence, but the script comes up short, leaving it underseasoned. 

Overall, Caught Stealing was both a quintessential action movie and a film that shouldn’t have one distinct label. It is a film of contradictions: stylish yet grounded, clichéd yet self-aware, and funny and tragic in the same breath. In many ways, it is a tribute to classic gangsters and old New York. It is not a reinvention of the genre, but it is a reminder that even a well-worn formula can feel fresh when done well and performed with heart. Aronofsky may be playing with pulp, but Butler brings the soul. It’s not perfect, but it’s definitely not boring nor shallow. And in a genre drowning in noise, that may be worth something.