The Orangutan Guy

Ray Molloy, a down-and-out baggage handler at Boston Logan Airport, is flat broke, drowning in debt, dodging child support, and trying not to get his kneecaps broken by a local loan shark. One rainy day, he stumbles across a mysterious unmarked crate in the cargo bay. Inside? A painting that looks like an orangutan having a nervous breakdown. It’s not his taste, but it might just be his salvation. Unbeknownst to Ray, the painting is a missing Picasso — worth $18 million and the subject of an international manhunt. With the FBI, IRS, art dealers, loan sharks, neighbors, and Craigslist weirdos closing in, Ray tries (and fails) to fence the artwork through increasingly absurd and shady channels. Every attempt — from a brothel-lobby meetup to a minimalist gallery’s “wine and art night” — only digs him in deeper. As the myth of the “Orangutan Guy” spreads across the internet, Ray becomes a viral anti-hero: a blue-collar Banksy who never meant to steal anything but accidentally stole everything. Arrested, humiliated, and caught in the media machine, Ray winds up with a ghostwritten memoir, a Netflix documentary, and a courtroom hearing where he’s finally asked to explain himself. All he can say is: he thought maybe, just once, something good had landed on him by mistake. But in the end, stealing a Picasso didn’t fix his life — it just proved how broken it already was. A dark comedy about class, value, and the absurdity of chasing meaning in a world that confuses wealth with worth, The Orangutan Guy is equal parts Coen Brothers and Better Call Saul, with a heart that’s as cracked and crooked as the painting at its center.