FILM REVIEW: ‘THIEF’
“Why don’t you join a labor union?”
“I am wearing it.”
Thief, the unsung 1981 masterpiece from director/dudes-rock artist Michael Mann, bears no signs of a directorial debut in its opening minutes. The camera slowly pans down a neon-lit alleyway in one of the first shots of the film, capturing the night rain falling through the outdoor fire escapes as Tangerine Dream’s unmistakable synthesizer score begins to pick up. Our protagonist and his team are wordlessly shown positioning themselves — not an ounce of dialogue is required to inform us that these are professionals adept at whatever task they’re prepping for. A close-up of a police radio, wires being cut, cars hiding in the shadows — all Mann needs to provide to inform us that this activity isn’t on the up-and-up. As soon as James Caan’s Frank is introduced with the drill, we know all we need to about what is occurring before our eyes. In all of maybe five minutes, Mann establishes the world these characters exist in — a dark underbelly of Chicago that has no room for error.
Frank, our protagonist, is a seasoned “master thief” who works independently with a small crew, including the wonderful Jim Belushi as Barry, Frank’s partner and best friend. Frank feels like a personification of the film’s efficiency. Frank doesn’t waste any of his words — in fact, he doesn’t use any contractions at all when he speaks — “I am” is said with distinction, as opposed to “I’m” (an awesome character choice from Caan). This clarity and directness bring an intensity to his character that makes him feel incredibly lived-in.
The precision he demonstrates is entirely upended by Jessie (Tuesday Weld), a waitress Frank completely, hopelessly falls for seemingly before the events of the film even started. She represents everything he isn’t supposed to be allowed to have in his occupation — which is why we see him try to play things differently. He immediately admits to being a thief and wants to wear his entire heart on his sleeve — normally in films like this, we’d expect this to be a secret she’d eventually find out about.
The juxtaposition in the way Frank operates in his day-to-day vs. what he wants at his core is deeply saddening- he even has his fantasies and goals crudely drawn out through a crumbled picture collage he carries around in his wallet. He knows the realities of his lifestyle but he doesn’t quite understand them and the limitations that come with them. As efficiently paced as the film is, the little moments with Frank and Jessie makes the inevitable clash between the two roads he’s been traveling all the more devastating.
Frank’s independency could have allowed for an escape, but it is Frank’s burning desire for something more that ultimately costs him. As the audience, we know it will go badly when he agrees to work for the mafia, but we also understand why. The Chicago mob boss, Leo, played by the great Robert Prosky, wonderfully balances being a sweet grandfather-type and a sociopath, and the approachability he brings to the character makes Frank’s fateful decision feel believable, from a protagonist already demonstrated to be hard-headed. The constriction placed on Frank by the rules of organized crime and its unforgiving nature make it impossible for him to bring his dreams to fruition.
With all of this build-up, we are finally treated to the central heist sequence. Michael Mann is known for his extreme realism and Thief is no exception. We are briefly walked through the requirements of the job in quick spurts of dialogue, but to see it in action is something else entirely. Sparks fly across the screen as the team painstakingly cuts a door into the safe — all to no music whatsoever. The celebratory piece of music from Tangerine Dream only kicks in as Frank sits down and lights a cigarette to admire his work.
I don’t want to get too spoiler heavy here on how the film resolves, but Mann brings all of the pent-up tension to an explosive conclusion that is guaranteed to get a fist-pump out of you at some point. The point is, please watch Thief. They don’t make ’em like this anymore.