The best thing in “Lansky” is Harvey Keitel’s turn as the gangster Meyer Lansky.
In a delicatessen on his home turf in Miami, Lansky orders tongue sandwiches and quickly lays out the rules for the writer, a fictional character called David Stone : He can’t use a recorder.
The heart of this movie, directed by Eytan Rockaway, is the relationship between the writer and his subject.
“If you need any weapons or ammunition, you let me know,” he says after slipping cash to an emissary for the future state of Israel.
And the ending, in which Stone ponders what he learned from Lansky — “We measure ourselves through the eyes of the ones we love” — is a baffling detour into soppiness.