When Nazerman’s kindly employee Rodriguez points to the Nazi-given tattoo on his arm, he asks, “Is that some kind of secret club… how do I join?” The deeply introverted Nazerman responds, “What you do to join? You learn to walk on water.”
The Pawnbroker is a magnificent film. It tells the story of a survivor, a man in his later years who now runs a pawn store amidst the bustling madness of 1960s New York. This film serves as an examination of a psychological torment shared by many survivors, my grandfather included. Survivor’s guilt and PTSD.
Through beautifully written and gorgeously shot sequences, Nazerman is forced, for the first time in years, to feel fear again. To feel life again. To feel alive. But opening the vault of his suppressed emotions unleashes a flood of pain, leaving him petrified by living nightmares. Each encounter becomes a trigger, pulling him back into past trauma.
Lumet’s toolkit for showcasing the energy of New York against the quiet inner death of Nazerman is simple but executed with breathtaking precision. Sharp dialogue, exceptional performances, and an effective use of editing. The film slices frames of the past into images of the present, culminating in a stunning sequence where Lumet cuts between past and present as if they are two sides of the same conversation. It is startling how well this works, seamlessly transporting us from the claustrophobic metros of New York to the cattle cars that transported prisoners to the camps. It made me physically shudder in fear.
The film opens with a memory, a scene of delicate and otherworldly beauty presented through score and cinematography. Later, as Nazerman’s mental collapse takes full hold, the same memory is called back—but now with music fit for a horror film. Because that is what war has done to this man. It has turned every beauty in his life into nothing but pain.
This is a deeply moving picture and a truly fine character study of Nazerman, and to a lesser extent, Rodriguez. A study of a man who built walls around his pain so high and vast that he sacrificed the essence of his own humanity. To feel is to feel pain. To love is to remember death. To die is a blessing.This is the world Lumet and writers Morton S. Fine and David Friedkin have created for poor Nazerman.
“I was in Auschwitz too. I came out alive, and you came out dead.”
Interesting fact. This was Quincy Jones’ first foray into film scoring.
2025 update: still think about this film once a month, 5 years on
