Lansky (2021) Review

Few genres are as seductive or as enduringly popular as the gangster movie. Since the earliest days of cinema- with 1906’s ‘The Black Hand’ often cited as the first- audiences have been enthralled by the suave thuggery of characters like Fat Tony and Joey Two Fingers. From the explosive fury of ‘White Heat’ to the operatic grandeur of ‘The Godfather’, we’ve watched countless mobsters rise and fall in clouds of cigar smoke, drawn in by the glint of power and the promise that crime can sometimes pay- for a while, at least.

The best gangster movies crackle with energy. They’re fast-talking, blood-soaked morality plays. ‘Goodfellas’ doesn’t just show you a life of crime- it sweeps you up in it, dazzles with its rhythm, then punches you in the gut. The camera moves like it’s in on the scam. The characters are magnetic, dangerous, deeply flawed. The dialogue crackles with razor-blade wit. There’s urgency, chaos, consequence.

Sadly, Eytan Rockaway’s ‘Lansky’ is no ‘Goodfellas.’ A tired, cliched slog, the film takes one of the most intriguing figures in organized crime and renders him about as exciting as a tax audit. It follows an aging Meyer Lansky in the twilight of his life, doing a series of interviews with a struggling journalist under the pretence of telling his side of the story (a narrative device strikingly similar to the one used in John McNaughton’s 1999 ‘Lansky’).

In theory, it’s a chance to peel back the layers of a mythologised figure, to explore the man behind the headlines. In practice, it’s a lot of talking, not much showing and a distinct lack of bite. For a film about a man with blood on his hands and the FBI breathing down his neck, ‘Lansky’ feels oddly low-stakes and low-energy. Rockaway’s screenplay- written alongside his father Robert- brings nothing new to the table of gangster fiction, relying on overly familiar tropes, ticking boxes; sketching the outline of a legend without ever colouring in the man.

The film could be the poster child for ‘generic gangster movie’. However, while some, like ‘Black Mass’, may be generic, at least they’re a bit of fun. For the most part, ‘Lansky’ is dull. Flashbacks to his glory days are flat, drained of urgency or danger. The dialogue plods. Even the violence, when it arrives, feels perfunctory- as if included out of obligation rather than narrative necessity. There’s no momentum, no grit; no spark. It’s a film that mistakes solemnity for substance and slow pacing for depth.

There are brief moments that hint at what could have been. Some scenes involving Lansky and the journalist crackle with, if not quite excitement, at least life. The character of the older Lansky is believable, with some good dialogue. Throughout, there are glimpses of a more engaging film- one properly exploring Lansky’s morally ambiguous character. Sadly, these moments are fleeting, overshadowed by the narrative's relentless stagnation.

Moreover, Peter Flinckenberg’s cinematography ticks every box on the generic gangster movie checklist- moody lighting, smoky rooms, endless slow zooms- but forgets to add any actual atmosphere. It isn’t by any means a bad looking picture, but it feels like style without soul. Although it contains all the visual hallmarks of a gangster drama, it has none of the menace, energy or allure that makes a film in the genre stand out.

Although April Lasky’s production design is serviceable, it suffers from the same sense of checkbox filmmaking. The sets dutifully hit all the expected notes- dingy offices, smoke-filled bars, opulent hotels- but they rarely feel lived-in or evocative. Like much of the film, they look the part without ever truly selling the world they’re meant to create. The same can be said for Laura Cristina Ortiz’s costume design; forgettable and generic.

Really, there’s only one reason to watch ‘Lansky’: Harvey Keitel. As the titular mafioso, Keitel is far and away the film’s most compelling aspect. Nuanced and credible, he injects the film with a certain quiet gravitas. While the script does him no favours, Keitel brings layers to a character who could’ve easily been a one-dimensional gangster archetype. He’s a man at the crossroads of a legendary life; Keitel captures the weariness, the wisdom and the dubious morality of someone who has outlived the thrill of his own story.

Sam Worthington does steady work as the journalist, though there isn’t much for him to work with in the face of the Rockaways’s scant, cliched characterisation. John Magaro’s performance as the younger Lansky is so over-the-top and hammy he might as well be hanging in a butcher’s shop window, and the same can be said for David Cade’s Bugsy Siegel. Additionally, as an FBI man, David James Elliott fades into the background completely, while the talents of AnnaSophia Robb are wasted entirely in the criminally underwritten part of Lansky’s long-suffering wife.

Eytan Rockaway’s ‘Lansky’ is a far cry from the best gangster films. Generic, cliched and frequently dull, it really doesn’t have much to offer. While Harvey Keitel manages to breathe some life into a character who deserves better, the rest of the film stumbles through checkboxes without ever finding its own pulse. If you’re looking for a glimpse into the complex mind of the mob legend, you’d be better off reading his Wikipedia page- at least there, your interest won’t get lost in a haze of smoke and missed opportunities. In short, ‘Lansky’ is an offer you can refuse.