The Beating Heart of Michael Mann’s THIEF

There’s something undeniable about the diner scene in Michael Mann’s Thief, where James Caan as Frank and Tuesday Weld as Jessie are talking about their pasts and futures over coffee. The sun is coming up just outside the diner windows, so we know they’ve been talking all night. They’ve made bad choices, but at this moment they’re simply two people, laying out their mistakes, their dreams and desires, in the hope that maybe they’ll be seen and understood and accepted by each other. This tenderness is one of the things I love the most about Thief — aside from the fact that it simply fucking rules, with its Tangerine Dream soundtrack, “Dudes Rock!” ethos, neon Chicago setting, and beautiful extended shots of burglary tools breaking into safes. The most important element of its tenderness, the glue that holds it all together (in my opinion), is James Caan’s singular performance as Frank.

Caan, playing the titular thief, is bringing a lot to the table in this movie. Frank’s a skilled, smooth guy who “wears $800 dollar suits,” daylights as a bar owner/car salesman, and feels like he’s always running out of time. He’s a defensive asshole, putting up an aggressive front to hide his deepest fears. And yet when he’s talking to Jessie, trying to convince her to give him a second chance after being late to their date AND dragging her out of a bar, it’s clear that the thing he wants most is an honest connection with someone — even if he’s going about it the wrong way. As they speed down the street to the diner where they’ll come clean to each other, he says, “I am a straight arrow. I am a true blue kind of a guy. I've been cool. I am now unmarried. So let's cut the mini-moves and the bullshit, and get on with this big romance.” In another actor’s mouth, this line could easily read as shitty and dismissive (and it is), but with James Caan’s impassioned delivery, you can’t help but fall for it, too.

Another great element of the tenderness in Caan’s performance can be found in the way he portrays Frank’s connection to his mentor, Okla (an incredible Willie Nelson, laying his heart bare in the few scenes he’s in). Anytime he speaks about him, Caan’s eyes get glassy and soft, and his demeanor instantly changes. Frank’s connection with Okla is so strong, it cuts through the macho bullshit and gets right to the heart of what makes Frank tick. During their conversation in jail, Caan and Nelson get as close to the glass as they can while they catch up — it might as well just melt away.

What Caan is doing here is a balancing act. Frank is a gruff professional concerned with the bottom line and keeping his professional and private lives separate. He’s also a person who wants to do right by the people he loves, and who ultimately loses everything by trying to do so. Caan’s commitment to making Frank an imperfect, vulnerable person is precisely what gives Thief its lasting power and its beating, broken heart.