To play a safecracker in Michael Mann’s Thief, James Caan learned from the best: By working with a team of convicted thieves who served as technical consultants on set, teaching Caan how to operate the machinery for a real-life heist.
Backed by Tangerine Dream’s atmospheric techno score, the film’s opening scene sees Caan crack a real safe on camera, hefting a near-200lb magnetic drill in order to punch through its thick steel door. During this wordless sequence we come to understand the rare skill and perseverance of Caan’s character Frank, a man whose expertise lies in an area that most viewers will never encounter. As he penetrates each layer of metal, the camera cuts between close-ups of the safe’s enigmatic interior mechanism, and shots of Frank himself, working with furious efficiency in a boiler suit and safety goggles.
This level of technical detail is a defining factor in Thief’s appeal, introducing Frank as a blue-collar craftsman in a tough, physically demanding job. Rather than going the traditional route of depicting a heist as an opportunity for glamorous antics, Thief fixes its gaze on heavy machinery and logistics, as Frank prepares for an archetypal One Last Job that will hopefully set him free from the daily grind.
Frank hopes to use his ill-gotten gains to settle down and build a family, yearning for a life of suburban comfort he never received as a child. To execute this more nebulous plan, he must persuade his girlfriend Jessie to get onboard.
In the grand tradition of noir cinema love-interests, Jessie’s personality and motives aren’t quite as comprehensible as the film’s male lead. But do we learn that she is also coming from a place of instability — amplified, perhaps, by the public image of actress Tuesday Weld, a former child star whose formative years were something akin to a 1960s version of Lindsay Lohan. Weld makes a convincing case for Jessie’s decision to move in with Frank, as a pair of vulnerable individuals with a lot of rough mileage under their belts. Frank’s familial aspirations already feel worryingly optimistic in the film’s first act, but with a life-changing payout on the horizon, why not dream big?
As Mann’s debut feature film, Thief is extraordinarily confident right out of the gate. After working on several popular TV shows (Starsky and Hutch; Miami Vice), along with documentary projects and a TV movie (The Jericho Mile) requiring extensive research among the inmates of Folsom Prison, he embarked on a career that largely focused on crime fiction, covering serial murderers, thieves, hitmen, and corporate corruption. Known for his gleaming nighttime cityscapes and reflective metallic palette, his most recognizable mode of storytelling combines grounded characters with noir influences. Later on, projects like Collateral would bring this aesthetic forward from the grimy Taxi Driver era into a more sterile, 21st century urban environment, continuing Mann’s fascination with troubled masculinity and characters whose unusual skills lead them to dangerous places.
Like several of Mann’s films, Thief wasn’t a commercial success. Yet it set the tone for his eventual legacy as an influential American director, instantly establishing his brand of stylish yet grounded crime thriller. Watching Thief today, his impact on later filmmakers is glaringly obvious. Nicolas Winding Refn’s Drive is the most direct homage — not just due to its famous retro-1980s score, but also the way it revels in the competence of its criminal protagonist, using his career to explore themes of masculinity and economic tension. Ryan Gosling’s nameless antihero could almost be a mirror image of Frank himself, dialing up the boyish sensitivity where James Caan leaned into 20th century machismo.
In a story that inevitably leads up to a bigger, more ambitious heist, Thief’s conclusion homes in on the working-class foundation of Frank’s role. As his unique technical expertise comes to the foreground, so does his place on the economic food chain. Unlike the fast-talking heroes of a glossy caper like Ocean’s Eleven, Frank is a worker whose labor is exploited by people higher up in the criminal hierarchy, embodied by Robert Prosky’s repellent and manipulative gang boss character Leo.
Despite Michael Mann's legendary status and a star turn from James Caan, Thief feels almost underrated compared to later titles like Heat and Collateral. Yet it sets up many of the qualities that made those films so popular, while also being a genuinely bold entry from the heyday of New Hollywood crime cinema. Its visual precision and political underpinnings still seem refreshing four decades later, reminding us that the right storyteller can always find a smart new twist on classic material.
