Tuner

The final scene of documentarian Daniel Roher's first narrative feature is of Niki (Leo Woodall) finally playing the piano. With each refusal, it became more and more clear he would eventually acquiesce; it was just a question of when and why. He'd been espoused as brilliant by Harry (Dustin Hoffman), and even referred to himself as a prodigy during a particularly heated moment just before things went sideways. When, at long last, it finally comes, it is indeed a wondrous sight. Woodall sells the passion and intensity with aplomb, the unleashed yearning of his adult life commingling with lamentation of its irrevocable alteration over the past few weeks pouring out of him, resulting in a powerful, beautiful, heartbreaking piece of music that envelopes and overwhelms the audience¹. All the while, there's an unmistakable sadness on his face that tells us while this could be the beginning of something new, it will more likely be the last time he ever plays.

The broad strokes of the movie's journey to get to that point is hardly surprising. We're introduced to the piano tuning duo through a lovely, warm, jaunty montage over the credits interspersed with some longer interactions as they go about their house calls. Harry is the old master whom everybody loves, but has lost much of his hearing and suffers from arthritis. Thus, he's forced to rely on vibrations to supervise the work of his apprentice, who has the savant-like ability to instantly identify notes by name in isolation or in concert. It's unclear which came first: Niki's perfect pitch, or the hyper-sensitivity to sound that forces him to wear ear plugs at all times (and occasionally noise cancelling headphones, when the chaos of NYC gets too overwhelming). What is certain is that his condition makes him quite adept at both piano tuning and safe-cracking, the latter being a skill he picks up when Harry forgets his safe's new combination. Soon, a chance encounter with some shady characters at a wealthy customer's home shortly before Harry experiences some severe (and expensive) health issues lands him in a world of crime and financial security that he could previously only fathom.

That said, Roher exercises tremendous restraint, refusing to turn it into a full-blown thriller until he's carefully set each character in motion, such that a change to their situation is even more arresting. Until the third act, much of the film concerns his burgeoning relationship with conservatory student Ruthie (Havana Rose Liu). Their dynamic is refreshing, as their "meet-cute" doesn't actually involve either being particularly interested in the other. Rather, it emerges over time as they run into each other, finally turning into something more when she calls him in a panic over a piano in distress courtesy of a leaky ceiling. Their chemistry is easy and undeniable, softening as they become more comfortable with each other. Niki has been so closed off and single minded, kind but distant, looking for companionship but obsessed with work as he stands still, unable to get past what stopped him from playing in the first place. It's through these conversations with someone else who really understands musicianship at such a high level that he begins to find a more concrete purpose once again, and finally come around to facing reality rather than running from it.

Each intervening heist is exciting, balancing a focus on Niki's safe-cracking with a montage of gears and dials and sweat all fading into each other over long, tense minutes, far longer and more grueling than such scenes in most movies. You feel the danger, right alongside Niki's hesitant resolve to push forward. And Will Bates' score plays into both sides of the story, its frequent lively piano-centric jazz morphing into something more anxious and insistent while Niki toils away.

Even more crucial for heightening our nerves is the work from legendary sound designer Johnnie Burn. At a dozen or so moments, some mundane and others dramatic, we go inside Niki's head and hear the world as he does. However, those showy (and highly effective) instances are just part of the magic. For throughout much of the film, background noises are just a little louder and more distracting than normal. Not so much that they pull your attention away from what's on screen: this is a movie, after all. But the whole world feels just a bit louder. Traffic feels more intense, doors close emphatically, and background voices are slightly more present. We're being primed to understand Niki long before we truly know the reason for his ever-present ear plugs.

Narratively, there's nothing exactly new here, save for Roher and Woodall's combined ability to make listening to someone talk about tuning a piano compelling. Woodall's performance is laid back and detached, very well-calibrated for a character drifting through life in the wake of giving up on his dream. He slides appropriately into his role with the gangsters, confident in his abilities but visibly anxious due to their clear willingness to inflict violence (both physical and aural), his moments of boldness leading to more trouble rather than absolution. That said, the movie wouldn't work without Hoffman and Liu. He's charming as hell from the very first moments, an oblivious but kindly old motor mouth who provides many laughs and is a friend to all, and deeply cares about the son of his late friend. And while it would be easy to call her the beating heart of the film, as she's warm and thoughtful and ambitious while still being a joy to be around. But what makes Liu's performance special is her skill at acting with just her face. It allows Roher to leave things unsaid, because the subtle shifting of her eyes and wavering corners of her mouth say it all.

As we push into the final third, the screenplay stumbles a few times before catching itself. There was one early moment of inelegant exposition, but as we push towards the end, the writers' pen pokes through on a handful of occasions, including blowing past what felt like the natural end point of the story. Granted, what comes next is exciting and apt, and the actual ending it leads us to is wonderful poetry and poignancy. Roher plays with fire in his first fictional outing, yet avoided getting burned, unlike so many others this year whose endings failed at being a satisfying endcap on what came before.

Given the way Roher was able to inject tremendous anxiety and tension into his award winning documentary Navalny, it's fitting that he's able to craft the same energy when he has control over the story being told. While the bones of the plot are incredibly recognizable, it's the actual telling of the story that really shines. There have been no shortage of compelling thrillers at the theater this year, but none have been as quiet and thoughtful and deliberate as Tuner. It's not perfect, but it doesn't need to be: as Niki explains to Ruthie, he never refers to a piano as perfectly tuned, because what matters is how all of the notes play off of and compliment each other. Perfection means nothing without context, and Tuner rarely misses, making for a lovely concerto from start to finish.