The bustling metropolis whose seedy underbelly once was the setting of films like Taxi Driver, Klute, and Mean Streets (to name a few) is no longer a place where many can afford to live. Patti Smith famously said that New York has “closed itself off to the young and struggling.” Surely that isn’t the only demographic unable to find a footing in the city’s 21st-century landscape. We might add the non-affluent elderly, the technoskeptics, and the unlikely outcasts who live by their wits. Certainly Harry (John Turturro) fits all three categories as one of the few remaining pickpockets in a city that has passed him by.

He is, after all, an expert. No one catches him nicking their wallets, watches, and phones on the subway and on the street. Even if his pal Ben (Steve Buscemi), who specializes in reselling stolen goods, can only use a small portion of what Harry brings—times are changing; old watches aren’t worth what they once were, and smartphones have tracking devices—he still can afford to hand out wads of bills as a favor to those who care for his wife, Rosie (Karina Arroyave), who is nonverbal and disabled. Then, as so many cinematic petty criminals do, he crosses the wrong person. Not an aging mob boss or a psychopathic tycoon, but a spoiled, destructive 20-something, Dylan (Will Price), who won’t let him get away with it so easily.

This is a sort of gentle, deeply felt thriller that pits an aging criminal of years past against an amoral and soulless rich kid. Once I realized this, I cannot tell you how on board I was, and how willing to drop objections. This felt like the movie I didn’t know I wanted, and I was beyond ready to see Harry mop the floor with the stereotypically obnoxious Dylan. Furthermore, the story is anchored by genuine feelings brought to life in Harry’s relationship with Rosie and his care for his friends. Plausibility was never going to be its strong suit, and there are enough plot holes (involving timetables, technology, and money) to fill a book. But initially, the charm—its emotional core, quiet humor, and unlikely protagonist—is hard to resist, even as routine plot points and unimaginative dialogue are easy to spot.

Objections, unfortunately, must be raised, and by the end, the movie is no longer one that can be recommended without serious reservations. In short, by the third act, it turns seriously cheesy. The feeling we witnessed in private between Harry and Rosie has now swelled beyond proportion to eye-rolling, sentimental extremes, and, much worse, a need for an overly neat ending replete with bluntly stated life lessons. I might be inclined to call the sentimentality just sentiment if writer and director Noah Segan’s need to tie up every loose end and teach us something did not feel so much at odds with Harry himself, an unlikely hero who demands a less routine end to his story.

Nevertheless, it’s hard to get too angry about this thriller’s failings, even when we can’t deny the degree to which it was a missed opportunity. That’s because The Only Living Pickpocket in New York serves as a kind of object lesson in what an excellent actor can accomplish with a lackluster script. Tom Waits has called Jack Nicholson a “consummate storyteller… You can learn a lot from him just by watching him open a window or tie his shoes.” I’m inclined to say the same about John Turturro, who brings a whole emotional history, an unforced precision, and an individual sensibility to Harry’s every action, whether he’s simply stealing a wallet, sitting alone, knocking on a door, or glancing to see if he’s being followed. It’s thanks to Turturro that the film’s flaws are so easy to forgive.

This is true also of the other cast members of his generation: Steve Buscemi (born for roles like this one) and Giancarlo Esposito, who plays a long-time detective and doesn’t get as much screen time as he should. These three give performances so complete we can see them walking off screen and continuing to lead imaginary lives. In a way, it’s a subtly meta decision to feature these actors, all of whom have populated cinematic New Yorks of years past. (Turturro and Esposito are, for instance, both in Do the Right Thing; Esposito and Buscemi play supporting roles in King of New York.) It’s almost like you can see them winking at each other in full knowledge that the city which formed such a compelling backdrop to their earlier performances isn’t there anymore.