Ill-Informed Gadfly

It’s strange to see a Michael Mann movie that isn’t completely assured. “Manhunter,” “The Last of the Mohicans,” “Heat,” “The Insider,” “Ali,” “Collateral” and “Miami Vice” — whatever their shortcomings, they represent breathtaking control of film grammar and aesthetics. “Thief,” released in 1981, was Mann’s first feature, and while it announces him as a rare and prodigious talent, it also shows him falling in love with indifferent slo-mo gunplay and a loud, undistinguished electronic score by Tangerine Dream. (On the DVD commentary he eloquently defends his choice of electronic music, but this particular electronic music does a disservice to this otherwise subtly textured movie.)

James Caan stars as Frank, who since his release from prison has fashioned himself into one of Chicago’s premier safecrackers. He’s approached by a shadowy crime syndicate led by Leo (the great Robert Prosky, oozing sinister entitlement from his plump, soft features). Meantime, he woos Jessie (Tuesday Weld), a woman with a troubled past, and Mann demonstrates his underrated skill as a writer of dialogue in an extaordinary 10-minute scene in which Frank pours out his life story to Jessie, whom he barely knows, in a coffee shop. At the end, she quietly takes his hand and agrees to be his companion.

Mann demonstrates his legendary commitment to research and authenticity by using real thieves as consultants (and, at times, as actors) and by having Caan crack open real safes. Like all his movies, “Thief” chronicles a man at the very pinnacle of his profession, whose commitment to his job penetrates into every nook and cranny of his life. Mann and his actors work rigorously to develop characters’ backstories, creating genre films with soul and specificity. Frank was a ward of the state, shaped by the streets and prison, and he has almost pathetically underdeveloped ideas about interpersonal relationships and how to build a life. He carries with him a collage that represents his simplistic personal idyll.

The fruit of Frank’s scores means little to him. He’s committed to the process, to the planning and execution. In the big score at the center of the movie, Frank looks bored and spent at the point where his partners are actually cleaning out the safe: His work, at this point, is already done.

The quiet moments in “Thief” are the most extraordinary: Frank and Jessie trying to adopt a child; Frank turning on the water and whispering to Jessie that their house is bugged; and their chillingly desolate final scene together, after Frank has found that he’s unable to break free of the crime ring he reluctantly started working for.

Mann is a true auteur, one who brings the same thematic concerns to all his movies and who, to some extent, tells the same story over and over again. “Thief” can be read as Version 1.0 of Mann’s brilliant, existential crime saga, “Heat.” It follows a path remarkably similar to the Robert De Niro sequences in “Heat,” without the counterbalance of the Al Pacino character. It’s remarkable how many scenes in “Thief” he revised, refined and used again in the later movie. “Heat” actually went through two iterations before it emerged in its complete and masterful form. Mann made it as a 1989 TV movie called “L.A. Takedown,” which even used the same character names. I haven’t seen it, but it’s easy to figure that, with journeyman actors and a two-hour running time, it had nothing close to “Heat’s” gravitas. Give Mann credit: He kept remaking the movie until he got it right. No wonder he thought the themes and milieu of “Miami Vice” were worth revisiting even after a TV series that ran for five seasons.