Netflix: Fingers

I've got blisters on my fingers!

Fingers is one of those gritty New York-based dramas (think Serpico, Mean Streets, The French Connection) that compels you to take three showers afterwards, all the while scrubbing, clawing at your skin stammering, "Won't . . . come . . . clean." It doesn't matter that you didn't do anything wrong.

Harvey Keitel portrays a dichotomy of sorts - on one side a wicked-sweet pianist and on the other side a heavy for his dad's loan-sharking outfit. He also annoys everyone in the movie by constantly toting a radio and playing his mix tapes - loudly. (You see, this was before the widespread distribution of the walkman or Harvey had incredibly poor social skills.) I'm sure there's a lesson or a message somewhere in the hour and a half, but I will have to concede to smarter folk to decipher.

(Fyi, I just learned that Mia Farrow has a sister named Tisa who is also in this movie.)