In Thief, an aching but clearly mobile Frank leaves the scene of his showdown having freed himself from any further obligation to Leo (Prosky) and his top-heavy, strip mall approach to petty crime. In Le samourai, Jef basically commits suicide because he could no longer live according to his tenets.
#THIEF 1981 FULL MOVIE MOVIE#
In Taxi Driver, not to wade into “WHAT REALLY HAPPENED” discourse, but if you take the movie on its face, the movie is a little amazed that a vigilante is accepted as a hero with so little blushing by the city. Like both of those movies, the climactic scene involves a hail of bullets. It’s not nice to compare a guy’s first movie-heck, it’s not nice to compare any movie-to Taxi Driver and Le samoura i. Yet Thief invites those comparisons, and it can’t be any surprise that it falls well short of both in ways that I think are basically cynical.
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Call it Le voleur instead of Thief and you’d get the picture. It turns out that Frank is not really a Travis Bickle but more of a Jef Costello, an individualistic type, a criminal whose professional ethics are so tight that they can stand in for a more normative moral structure. Thief has some of those same qualities in its look in that opening sequence, and the allusion is so clear (and so recent) that it must be impossible to look at a Frank (Caan) in the middle of his seedy enterprise, driving off into the wee hours after having robbed someone, and not see Travis driving a car length ahead after having dropped off some slightly shell-shocked customer. The dingy glow of Travis’s cab sploshing through the light-reflecting water in the ugly streets is hypnotic and marvelous. Watching Thief, I was put in mind of Taxi Driver.
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Neon lights blurring out the moon, dark asphalt streets, wet pockets in potholes, the lights of cars glowing: it’s all very yellow fog rubbing its back against the window-panes. The opening sequence of Thief is gorgeous in that sort of meretricious urban way. Starring James Caan, Tuesday Weld, Robert Prosky