Crime 101

The film doesn’t start with originality. It has the hardened criminal in Davis, played by Chris Hemsworth, who in the beginning intercepts an under-the-table diamond delivery from a jewellery store with callous efficiency. It has the maverick cop in Lou (Mark Ruffalo), who’s in psychological tune with the thief and picks up on the pattern of his latest robberies along Route 101; despite this, and true to trope, he is treated as a problem child by his higher-ups. It also has – and this is perhaps the most novel of the three leads of the movie – an insurance rep Sharon Combs (Halle Berry) struggling to realise a promotion that has been dangled in front of her for a long time like a carrot on a stick. 

Eventually, all of these seemingly disparate threads converge into a single storyline, showing the common ground between the characters. Combs is sent to sweet-talk Lou into giving the jeweller a polygraph, in an effort to avoid an insurance payout – but what is most evident from their interaction is the displeasure they have with their lives. No matter how many new clients she brings in, Combs remains excluded from the boys’ club of the partners at the firm; and although he is a regular Columbo, Lou is also reeling from a divorce following a dying marriage. Even Davis has his own share of misery: after the diamond heist, he swears off his work, leading to a relationship with Maya (Monica Barbelo) who’s enamoured with his ‘air of mystery’ – but when he’s presented with one last job and has to skip town, she calls him out on his tight-lippedness and ends the affair.

It’s the humanisation of these characters that forms the real asset of Crime 101: it introduces each within their own stereotype – professional thief, ambitious insurance rep, and so on – but eventually peels back the layers, revealing their disappointments and their shortfalls. Even the other career criminal Ormon (Barry Keoghan), an erratic, violent figure who spends the runtime terrorising anyone Davis has talked to in order to find out his next job, is ultimately shown in his tragic end as desperate and way in over his head, almost like a child trying to mature too fast. Certainly, most movies do this sort of character development, but I specifically find it fascinating that a crime drama engages with this so well.

Really driving this point home is an interesting conversation towards the end, where Lou and Davis discuss their favourite Steve McQueen movies. Albeit an attempt to psych out the other, it does highlight a contrast between the sort of characters that McQueen played and those in this movie. Take Davis’ pick, the 1968 film Bullitt: McQueen plays a no-nonsense, well-respected police lieutenant treated as a figure of authority by those around him and given free rein by his captain. Bullitt is a fun character for sure, and I have nothing against those strong, silent types, but in contrast with his fleeting moments of vulnerability in that movie, I find Lou, who’s been kicked around by life, to be a more endearing, grounded figure.

I’m particularly a big fan of the ending, which doesn’t shy away from being wholesome, and that too considering how the story was barreling towards catastrophe for all involved. It doesn’t come across as cheesy or maudlin at all – rather, it serves as a refreshing alternative to the more pessimistic films of its genre.