“Caught Stealing,” Darren Aronofsky’s freewheeling and grimy adaptation of Charlie Huston’s 2004 novel of the same name, is a testament to the sometimes deceptive nature of movie marketing. Anyone who has been to a theater in the last few months has seen the same trailer, which tries to present the film as a romp, a run and gun, shoot first and ride the subway to safety, Big Apple-spanning crime caper with Austin Butler’s booze soaked former baseball player racing his way from Russian, Puerto Rican, and Jewish gangsters with Matt Smith as a punk rock drug dealer who just wants to take care of his cat. Sounds like a fun time; a throwback, really, to a kind of gritty, seventies-style thriller that they don’t make much anymore. “Caught Stealing” has all the trappings and outer casing of that kind of movie, but at its heart is a darker, introspective experience and is perhaps too glitzy for its own good by half. I get that Aronofsky, the man who just won Brendan Fraser an Oscar for “The Whale”, is trying to get more personal and intimate for his follow-up film, but the only thing that feels punk rock about “Caught Stealing” is the grain in the celluloid.
It’s 1998, and Hank Thompson (Butler), a San Francisco Giants-obsessed former baseball prodigy, is slinging shots in a New York dive bar a decade after ruining his career in a car accident. He’s a functioning alcoholic, but the hottest functioning alcoholic you’re bound to see, with an eight-pack of abs that imply you can burn off any amount of Miller High Lifes with enough crunches. He’s dating a paramedic named Yvonne (Zoë Kravitz), who senses that Hank is sprinting away from a dark past. She hopes to pull him out of it, yet her patience is wearing thin. When Hank’s mohawk-wearing, British Ex-Pat ex-next-door neighbor, Russ (Smith), needs to visit his dying father in London, he leaves Hank in charge of his cat, Buddy. All is well and good until Russian Gangsters show up at Hank’s apartment, beat him so viciously that they rupture his kidney, and spiral his somewhat cohesive life into utter insanity. As people die around him, Hank must stay one step ahead of warring criminal factions who are looking for something that Russ left behind, all while keeping Buddy the Cat as safe as possible.
That “Caught Stealing” is based on a novel is actually helpful information, as the film’s structure is inherently episodic; with Hank being battered and bashed from one shady interaction to another, barely keeping ahead of the bullets. Hank is no square-jawed hero; he’s a broken man with blood in his rearview that he senses might one day consume him, Blob-like, if the booze doesn’t get there first. Butler plays Hank as a haunted man compelled to prove he can handle himself, an addict whose new fix might just be side-stepping into danger. There’s fun to be had in this kind of setup, but “Caught Stealing” isn’t much interested in antics; as a very early, and quite brutal, death makes abundantly clear. Even Hank doesn’t seem to understand the severity of the movie he’s in until he’s being chased by a pair of murderous Jewish brothers (Liev Schreiber and Vincent D’Onofrio) and guided by a tough cop looking for her ticket out of New York for good (Regina Hall). It’s difficult to say whether “Caught Stealing” should be funnier or grimier, but it fits into an awkward middle ground that leaves everything tasting like tap water with a grimy aftertaste, hydrating if not wholly refreshing. The film oscillates from expensive-looking drone shots, driving sequences, and explosive shootouts to lingering shots of excrement-filled toilets and spewing vomit stains. Aronofsky is clearly trying to put some authentic New York character in the movie, something he made his name doing early in his career with the black and white independent middle finger to the screen grime of “Pi” (1998). It’s hard to find that sense of danger in a studio movie; every costume looks too perfectly calibrated, every location too expertly staged. There’s a certain level of impeccable craft that can actually hurt a movie looking for authenticity. Yvonne’s apartment, for example, is a gorgeous space anyone might want to live in; a glass-lined library with greenery overflowing, truly a museum where people come to see ‘em. But are you telling me a New York paramedic in 1998 has the money, nay the time, to put together something so extravagant and quaint? It’s not like she’s side hustling on Instagram. Perhaps this is a petty gripe, yet it lingered over the film like a multi-million dollar fragrance meant to illicit the stench of street trash; impressive for its approximation of something that you’d be able to find for real for twenty bucks.
Speaking of authenticity…let’s talk about Austin Butler’s baseball swing.
The cinematic history of Baseball is largely one of at least passable authenticity. Movies like “A League of Their Own” or “Bull Durham” feature actual ballplayers while movies like “The Sandlot” or “Bad News Bears” use the amateur nature of the players to it’s advantage. The toughest ask of any actor is to portray a phenom, an absolute stud at the game, when it is clear the actor is not that. They can’t all be Kevin Costner or Kurt Russel, who actually played college ball. Some actors are just actors, and God bless them for it. Austin Butler is a great one, but a ball player he ain’t. Just look at the way he drops his back hands, the perpetual wiggle of his hips, the complete lack of stability on his back foot, and poor follow-through; this kid couldn’t make contact, let alone get the ball out of the infield. Maybe we can chalk his poor form to his career-ending knee injury, maybe he was one of those freaks like Gary Sheffield who can just swing loosey goosey like that and still hit dingers. Maybe. But it’s quite telling that I spent a good portion of the movie focusing on these inconsistencies instead of the film itself. I’m just saying, the guy doesn’t even fire his hips at the ball! He’s a buck-twenty-five hitter at best. Alright, I’m done.
“Caught Stealing” is as much a movie about baseball as it is a movie about alcoholism, which is to say it uses these things as window dressing for what’s trying to be a more grounded crime story. It’s not that the movie doesn’t succeed; it’s just that I wish Aronofsky had really leaned into his filmmaking roots and made something genuinely upsetting without the spit shine of Hollywood. While some performances stand out, Schreiber and D’Onofrio are clearly having a blast as loving brothers who’d just as soon cut your eyes out as invite you over for Shabbas with their mother, the journey does not fully warrant the destination. To use a metaphor that the movie shockingly does not utilize, “Caught Stealing” tries to steal third but gets stuck in a pickle between the bases; unable to commit to one extreme or the other. Perhaps the movie scores on an overthrow or makes it back to second base safely, but a home run it is assuredly not.
It’s nice to see Aronofsky side-stepping the self-seriousness that has plagued the last ten years or so. More big-time filmmakers should use their clout to make something as aggressively OK as this. “Caught Stealing” isn’t the fun time it’s advertised as, but you’ll most likely find the ride worth taking.
And for the love of God, keep your elbow down and your eye on the ball.
You’ll be glad you did.
“Caught Stealing” is playing at Prytania Theatres at Canal Place.
