In one way or another, we’ve already experienced every plot beat of Daniel Roher’s Tuner: the crook with a heart of gold, the reluctant thief with a special talent (and weakness), and the adorably clueless love interest, to name a few. Yet, despite recycling every popular crime fiction trope, Roher’s first narrative feature, after the Oscar-winning Navalny, elevates deeply familiar territory through earnest emotions, authentic characterization, and pure filmmaking craft.

Though Tuner remains a brisk, intimate crime yarn at its core, it unfolds as an aural epic-in-miniature that engulfs audiences in a jazzy symphony of snappy, scrappy, and snazzy soundscapes, where the twanging of metal and clicking of locks take on their own hypnotic, pulse-pounding rhythm. In a post-postmodern world, Tuner’s pitch-perfect sensibilities feel refreshingly straightforward and sincere, committed to stylistic flourishes and layered arcs that deepen its well-worn genre scaffolding. As it harkens back to classic character-driven cinema, Roher cements a film that you undoubtedly feel and, importantly, hear, as it places us directly in the hyper-sound-sensitive shoes of its protagonist.

Leo Woodall stars as Niki, a former musical prodigy turned piano-tuning apprentice under Harry Horrowtiz (Dustin Hoffman), a friend of his late father. Suffering from a condition that makes him allergic to loud noises, Niki dons ear protection at all times to dull the affliction that snatched musical gifts. But, where one door closes, another opens, as Niki learns his heightened hearing makes him a natural safe-cracking maestro.

When Harry falls ill and is racked with a crippling insurance bill, Niki secretly falls in with the criminal underworld, joining a trio of Israeli thieves that steal from the uber-rich. As Niki struggles to balance his 9-5 and his criminal extracurriculars, he strikes up a romance with Ruthie (Havana Rose Liu), an aspiring pianist and composer, that quickly turns his life upside down.

While key sections of Tuner feel derivative and predictable, they’re quickly upended by a directorial touch that fosters its own artful, sonic-visual language. Pure sound and vision syncopate in an experience that renders each plink, whirr, and clang all elements of an engrossing, addictive cinematic chorus—whose tempo and chaotic harmony rarely let up, whether in a rat-a-tat montage or a devastatingly intimate confrontation.

Roher and company entwine overwhelming noise and deafening silence to establish a permeating atmosphere that feels like a seamless extension of its protagonist’s frazzled perspective and jaded outlook, whether it’s an overheard airplane, a piano solo, or a rattling techno party; each facet of Tuner’s meticulous sonic tapestry braces with the force of an artillery shell or the vitality of staccato.

It all coalesces in a ballad of broken characters, struggling to make sense of scattered pieces and broken dreams that define their lives. Despite its brisk pace and light charms, Tuner miraculously teems with real, emotionally felt stakes, the result of instant, genuine chemistry between its vibrant cast of characters.

Woodall’s star-making turn exudes a silent, lived-in charisma that’s both endearing and tragic. As Niki labours through sharp, painful sounds and emotional quandaries, Woodall pours every pent-up emotion into a dazzling, climactic piano solo that doubles as one of the most magnetic final scenes of the year. But it’s Hoffman’s scene-stealing performance that lends Tuner its pitch-perfect charm despite his limited screentime.

In a cinematic landscape inundated with repetition and regurgitation, Tuner is far from an antidote. Instead, it plays the hits, fine-tuning the greatest elements of crime fiction to near-harmonious perfection—transforming a seemingly modest outing into something almost revelatory.

Tuner releases May 29th.