"Caught Stealing" Review — Darren Aronofsky’s Most Playful Film Yet

Image courtesy of Columbia Pictures Philippines

Whenever I hear that Darren Aronofsky is making a movie, my gut reaction is always the same: here we go again with another existential dread fest. Not that his movies are bad; they’re often great, even unforgettable. But the man has made a career out of stories about broken people spiraling with zero hope of redemption. So when Caught Stealing rolled around, I wasn’t expecting much beyond the usual descent into cinematic misery.

Which is why I’m still stunned by how much fun this movie is. It’s Aronofsky at his most accessible (dare I say playful), and I genuinely didn’t know he had this in him. Instead of his usual moody, metaphysical spiral, we get a kinetic, 1998-set caper about a washed-up baseball prodigy who accidentally falls in with the wrong crowd. What follows is a madcap gauntlet of shady deals, double-crosses, and ridiculous encounters with Russian mobsters, Hebrew mobsters, Puerto Rican mobsters, a drugged-out British punk, and the most adorable feline in Manhattan.

It feels like something Guy Ritchie or early Edgar Wright would direct, especially with the Baby Driver vibes pulsing throughout. But it’s nice to know Aronofsky doesn’t always have to be the guy you call when you need two hours of cinematic despair. The script, adapted by Charlie Huston from his own novel, is sharp and chaotic in all the right places. Huston, who’s also written for shows like Gotham and Power, doesn’t break new ground here, but he knows how to keep things moving. The plot may be familiar, but the way it’s brought to life by a stacked cast and relentless pacing gives it all the juice it needs to hit hard.

Leading this chaotic parade is Austin Butler as Hank, a quiet, haunted guy who’s spent most of his life drifting in the shadows. Thankfully, the Elvis voice is gone. In its place is a simmering performance that feels internal, bruised, and beautifully restrained. He’s not the kind of guy who grabs fate by the throat. He lets others decide for him... until the day he can’t anymore. And when that switch flips, Butler channels the reluctant hero energy of someone like John McClane, if McClane were a little softer and far less foul-mouthed.

Zoe Kravitz plays the femme fatale, but what’s refreshing is that she doesn't just serve as eye candy or a twist engine. She brings out the human in Hank, not the hardened survivor. The supporting cast is equally stacked: Matt Smith is an unhinged punk bagman with unclear loyalties; Bad Bunny goes full chaos as Colorado, a hothead with a vendetta; Liev Schreiber and Vincent D’Onofrio chew scenery as the Hebrew gangster duo Lipa and Shmully; and Regina King lends real gravitas as a detective who sees more in Hank than even he does.

But let’s be real: Bud the Cat steals the movie. Played by Tonic (yes, the cat has a name), Bud becomes the unlikeliest emotional anchor in a story filled with bullets, betrayals, and back-alley brawls. He’s not some loyal sidekick or plot device; he gets lost, tossed around, and even hurt. But the moment you see him, you just want him to make it out alive and find a warm spot on a windowsill somewhere. In a movie packed with chaos, he’s the one you silently root for the hardest.

Holding it all together are some top-tier production elements. Cinematographer Matthew Libatique paints ‘98 NYC with just the right level of grime and nostalgia; the score by Rob Simonsen pulses with life; the editing by Andrew Weisblum keeps the pacing tight without ever feeling frantic.

But the real standout behind the scenes is Mark Friedberg, whose production design deserves serious Oscar attention. It’s no surprise, though; this is the same guy who gave Joker (2019) its oppressive mood and Selma (2014) its emotional texture. With Caught Stealing, Friedberg turns 1998 New York into a gritty, lived-in playground of chaos and character: think trash bags on curbs, chunky Nokia phones, and yes, a Nintendo 64 chilling in the corner of Hank’s dingy apartment. Every set piece (from graffiti-stained stairwells to dingy dive bars) feels layered with story and purpose. You can almost smell the stale cigarettes and street pretzels. It’s one of those rare cases where the environment doesn’t just support the narrative; it heightens it. If this film gets any awards season love, it’ll be because of him.

There’s no metaphor to unpack here, no meditation on the human condition. Just a tight 100-ish minutes of fast-talking gangsters, frantic chases, a hero who’d rather be anywhere else, and a cat you’ll want to take home. And somehow, that’s exactly what makes it feel like a breath of fresh air.

CINEGEEK RATING: A-