Paul Auster’s has made a career out of showing his readership the minutiae of meaninglessness in an array of novels. But the man’s also made a few stabs at the film industry when not otherwise engaged with translating the work of French poets and fiction writers.

Following the long tale of Smoke’s narrative is a bit difficult. At first viewers are led to believe the story’s set to focus on a corner store, a smoke shop amongst other things, helmed by Harvey Keitel’s Auggie character. And while that’s not completely wrong, it’s not wholly correct either.

In its entirety, if explained and not watched, Smoke might seem like an endless series of disconnected events. Auggie’s storefront, though, functions as a fulcrum on which the rest of Smoke’s narrative hinges.

Viewers begin by watching William Hurt’s Paul character explain some heavy story and after he leaves, we find that his wife, who was pregnant, got hit by a car while walking home one day. That image colors the rest of Paul’s appearances on screen, but can’t explain the odd temper he displays on occasion.

Either way, Paul and Auggie are as close as a store owner and customer can get, even referring to each other as friends, even as it doesn’t seem like that’s always the case. But when Paul almost get’s nailed by a cab – he’s saved by a runaway – he lands the kid a job at the smoke shop.

Of course, any runaway’s going to be accompanied by a spate of meticulously plotted historical problems. There’s the issue of the kid’s father having split town on top of the fact that the runaway’s recently come into six grand by ripping off some stick up guys. The two disparate aspects of the character pushes the rest of the film forward and eventually takes us, the kid, Auggie and Paul to upstate New York to locate that estranged parent.

The film cops several different tones over its run time, not always jiving with one another. And when the stick up guys come through, they seem better suited to drug dealing than knocking over a store. Despite that as well as a few slowly developed scenes, Smoke really comes off as if it was a radio drama. It might be appreciated as much if it were simply heard and not watched. That’s not to say it’s a poorly shot movie, but what’s remarkable about Auster’s work isn’t his directing (in concert with Wayne Wang), it’s his writing.