Thief (1981)
Crime drama director Michael Mann's debut feature, Thief, is his early stylistic brainchild, and a fantastically crafted one at that. Stealthily, Mann traverses the pitfalls of showy heists to develop a palpable human connection to the characters, more so than their goals and/or success. The film follows an ex-convict turned safecracker, Frank (James Cann), who pulls off massive jewel heists under the guise of automobile and bar businesses with his trusted security system hacker plus one. Mann's signature atmospherics highlight Frank's tumultuous life as he juggles the various facets of deciding when to call it quits with living a double life and his ties to a dying mentor still in prison. Thief's success is hinged on its ability to keep the drama afloat amidst the technical attention to detail because this is still, in some capacity, a heist film. The appeal of the screenplay here is that while the events are indeed crimes, the motives and contemplation are structured in hindsight, in Frank's reflection of already having served time. It's not often that one witnesses a character having wasted a large portion of their life only to attempt the same things again, but this time with the confidence of fast-forwarding to the pleasures of life to make up for missed time.
It's worth diving into Frank's character in greater detail, as it's essentially a testament to the unalienable desires of most of us. Like life and liberty, modern happiness entails financial security for a family. Frank, having found a pretty waitress (Jesse), is ready to settle down. It's not an easy task to accumulate these huge payouts quickly and get out of the business. Thief's theming on the outside encompasses a larger discussion about an ex-convict's feeling of helplessness. There's an incredibly heartfelt scene in a diner where Frank explains the apathy he needed to survive in prison for more than a decade, and even if one develops goals, their clock is ticking fast once they're free. The narrative approaches many of its major scenes through a hopeful lens, with the hope that Frank can truly make it out of the gutter. He lives a flashy lifestyle, driving nice cars and wearing classy suits, but the flashiness is a facade because he hasn't truly bought his way out yet. This optimism that one can flip a criminal lifestyle into a clean slate is akin to an inverse American dream. Traditional opportunities simply aren't accessible or feasible for Frank, a man at a critical stage of his life. A sense of desperation creeps over him—a need to provide for his family.
Mann juxtaposes the dramatic side of the story with Frank's technical skill in what he does. James Cann was encouraged to research the lives of inmates post-prison, and his findings inform the acting decisions he makes in his portrayal of social awkwardness and flaring tempers. Frank’s confidence isn't empty, and his experience is shown in the meticulously choreographed sequences of a heist in action. The shot selection is thoroughly exciting, employing soft or cold blue lighting, always an imperative part of the forthcoming calculated schemes. I was particularly fond of the scaling across our initial introduction to Frank and his methods, and as he's preparing for something bigger, the viewer is bought into the equipment being more complex and the strategies requiring more time. The procedural aspect of the film really makes the suspense click, and as we're aware of what it took to get to that point, knowing authorities are on their tail, the sparks flying from drilling through steel are a thing of grandiose beauty. Add to that the Tangerine Dream electronic synth score, and Thief has constant style during its neo-noir nights.
Intrinsically, the story is about risks because it urges the notion of seizing opportunity. It goes without saying that Frank's idea of it is unethical and outright criminal, but the external message remains effective all the same. The diner scene is the intimate turning point for the viewer, where we come to understand Frank's headspace. He's spent a third of his life in prison, and now that he's finally out, the world will inevitably leave him behind if he's not curating what he wants his life to look like. I reckon he'd be the first to admit that he hasn't been making the absolute best decisions, but just like the postcard collage depicting his past and intended future that he carries in his wallet, he's capable of achieving stability and his version of happiness. Mann's sentimental plotline is potent against the backdrop of Chicago's unrelenting corruption, and if not for a somewhat controversial ending sequence, Thief would be nigh-perfect. It's visual integrity complements a narrative tailored around working-class aspirations. Everyone has these sorts of dreams, but grasping for them like Frank does greatly appeals to the demographic of an average person striving for a quiet, comfortable livelihood. Thief establishes an electric rapport with instinct and high rewards.