Directing a number of Manhattan-based movies that border on noir, Sidney Lumet gives an almost foreign film feel to his better works that explore urban depths without providing a happy Hollywood ending—Dog Day Afternoon and Prince of the City, among many. His 1964 work on The Pawnbroker presents one of the earliest films to depict the after-effects of the Holocaust on its survivors. Despite its theatrical staging and sometimes inappropriate Quincy Jones score, the film creates some haunting images and gives Rod Steiger a chance to blossom.

The black and white film begins idyllically in a grassy field with two children at play chasing butterflies, a beautiful young woman twirling in slow motion, an elderly Jewish couple relaxing on an afternoon picnic blanket, and a cheerful father (Steiger) beckoning his children in open arms. Although the slow motion long grass scenes now seem cliché, the technique hadn't been overused by 1964 so Lumet cannot be criticized for using it to show the daydream point of view.

Soon we are looking at the impassive older father in an American suburban setting, sitting under stark sunshine in the backyard of relatives with Leslie Gore music to identify the period as the early 1960s. The contrast with the happy image of the father indicates that tragedy has struck our protagonist, Sol Nazerman, a pawnbroker in upper midtown Manhattan. There seems to be no joy in his life.

Nazerman routinely manages his pawnshop, indifferently looking down as regular customers bring in oratory trophies, candlesticks, or costume jewelry to exchange for a dollar or two. They threaten to go elsewhere if they don't get $10, but they always accept the token exchange as Nazerman stamps the pawn tickets without glancing up to recognize their humanity. One needy soul comes in daily with a small item, but is really seeking to alleviate his emptiness, conversing one-sidedly about Socrates or Baudelaire or some other subject that Nazerman has no interest in.

The closest human contact he has is with his young apprentice, Jesus Ortiz (Jaime Sánchez), whose high energy and enthusiasm balance out the moody zombie state of the pawnbroker. The Hispanic character was once a hoodlum, but he's attempting to straighten himself out and seeks the mentorship of the neighborhood pawnbroker. Ortiz balances out the deadpan pawnbroker theatrically as he moves and talks quickly around the shop, only pausing to get his daily lesson on determining the value of jewelry or the importance of money.

Occasionally, the play becomes too staged, making little sense. Why does Steiger's statement, “Money is the only thing that matters,” inspire Ortiz to consider going back with his gang buddies? Why does Steiger's later exasperated remark that, “(He) is nothing to him,” instantly convince Ortiz to plan a robbery? These ideas are only explored on a superficial level and provide a flimsy framework for the plot.

Similarly, the role of Brock Peters as Rodriguez, who uses Nazerman's pawnshop as a front for nefarious business enterprises, is minimal and non-sensical. Are we really to believe Nazerman's naivete about the nature of the financial support he receives for his non-profitable business?

The Pawnbroker doesn't receive notoriety for its plot. Rod Steiger's acting garnered recognition (including an Academy Award nomination) for his often underplayed persona, tortured with concentration camp visions. Credit the editing—and Lumet's sensibilities, which allow the haunting images of the past to creep into the present without overwhelming the film. One of the better sequences juxtaposes a ride on the subway with a Nazi deportation train, where Jewish faces bring back the harrowing past, revealing what happened to one of Nazerman's children.

Another scene that leaves impressions is the one where Ortiz's girlfriend, a professional whore, bares her breasts to entice Nazerman, only causing another concentration flashback to his wife. It's one of the earliest times that a mainstream film dared show a lingering bare bosom to good effect.

The final scene is devastating and creates a painful, lingering image. Just as the pawnbroker seems on the verge of some redemption, showing a measure of compassion for another human, he sinks back into depression and alienation, signified with that final act. Some may interpret it as Christlike, but more will see another sign of his indifference. The jazzy score doesn't match the mood of the ending scene, but in another sense it underscores the incongruity of living in the modern world while continually imagining a living hell. Overall, this once widely-discussed film has been overlooked in recent years, due to many other more relatable Holocaust films and more modern treatments. The Pawnbroker now feels a bit dated, but it's still a worthy rental.