Michael Mann is the American heist movie grandmaster. He eschews the traditional form so drastically that its technically classed as neo-noir. Gone is the slick banter between thieves. Gone too is the romantic elegance that makes you think if you got a good enough group of friends together you could probably break into a bank vault. This is a heist movie that has been gutted of all the glitz and glamour you usually find in a movie about diamond thieves. Its all straight talking, bleak visuals and is grittier than Micky Rourke's stubble. Thief also has the best soundtrack to any movie from the 1980s, and if youve got a problem with that then you can meet me behind the bike sheds after school and we can duke it out Queensbury style. Thief ends in a litany of double crosses, night time explosions and a maelstrom of violence set to pounding German electro. Nothing like your standard heist movie, but you wont hear anyone complaining. Mostly because theyll all be listening to Tangerine Dream on repeat for the next two weeks.
