Daniel Roher’s Tuner approaches the crime thriller from an unusual angle, less interested in action set pieces than in the textures of sound, routine, and human fragility.
Known previously for his documentary work, especially the awar-winning Navalny, Roher brings a patient observational style to the material. There’s a grounded quality to Tuner that keeps its stranger elements believable for most of its runtime. New York is presented not as a glamorous noir playground but as an exhausting wall of sound that constantly presses against the protagonist.
Leo Woodall gives his most restrained performance yet as Niki, a gifted former pianist whose hyperacusis – a rare hearing condition that translates into having perfect pitch but also into a world of pain – has forced him away from music and into the far less glamorous profession of piano tuning. Woodall avoids turning the character into a tortured-genius cliché; instead, he plays him as withdrawn, observant, and quietly lonely. Opposite him, Dustin Hoffman is terrific as Harry Horowitz, Niki’s aging mentor and employer. Hoffman brings humour and tenderness to the role, especially in moments that reveal the quiet dignity of craftsmen whose expertise is largely invisible to the wealthy clients they serve.
The story gradually shifts when Niki realises his extraordinary hearing can be used for more than tuning pianos. A chance encounter with Uri (Lior Raz), a home security consultant with a lucrative criminal sideline, pulls him into a world of safes, theft, and escalating moral compromise. Havana Rose Liu also impresses as Ruthie, an ambitious classical music student whose relationship with Niki adds warmth without slowing the film’s momentum. Their connection feels believable because both characters are bound together by ambition, insecurity, and a complicated relationship to music itself.
What makes Tuner stand out is the way it links musicianship and criminality. Roher repeatedly frames safe-cracking almost like performance art — rhythm, patience, instinct, touch. The film asks whether talent has any inherent morality, or whether skill simply adapts to whatever circumstances survival demands. Beneath the thriller mechanics is a story about grief, economic pressure, and the fear of losing the thing that once gave life meaning.
Not everything lands perfectly. The final act becomes more convoluted than necessary, introducing developments that feel overly engineered compared to the grounded realism of the opening hour. The film never completely loses its grip, but there is a noticeable point where the plotting becomes slightly too busy for its own good.
Even so, Tuner remains deeply compelling because of its atmosphere and performances. Roher’s documentary instincts give the film an unusual authenticity, while Woodall proves he can carry a feature without leaning on obvious star power.
