I recently rewatched — for the thousandth time — the 2001 film “Ocean’s Eleven.” Oscar-winning director Steven Soderbergh’s stylish crime thriller, with a cast of superstars including George Clooney, Brad Pitt and Matt Damon, revolves around a team of smooth-talking, charismatic rogues who knock over three casinos in one night. It has long been one of my comfort movies, because I love stories where rascals do a good job. But this particular viewing was also perfectly timed, because a real-life “Ocean’s Eleven” played out in France.
I’ve had heists on my mind since the brazen smash-and-grab of more than $100 million in jewels from the Louvre in Paris. This past Sunday, around 9:30 a.m., a team of thieves entered the museum by breaking through a second-floor window, busted open three displays and, within four minutes, spirited away with Napoleonic-era treasures.
We live in a golden age of high-profile (though not always successful) plunder.
It was a breathtaking crime at what was thought to be an impregnable home of some of the world’s most famous artworks, including the “Mona Lisa” and the Venus de Milo. But the thieves instead targeted jewelry that once belonged to the French royal family and that, according to some experts, could be melted down for easier sale on the black market. An investigation is underway, and the thieves are now the most notorious criminals in Europe.
We live in a golden age of high-profile (though not always successful) plunder. This heist comes on the heels of a lesser-known crime in Paris last month, when a woman allegedly stole 13 pounds of gold nuggets from the National Museum of Natural History. She was arrested two weeks later in Barcelona, Spain.
In 2022, seven thieves knocked over a Brinks truck in California, in what was called the largest jewel heist in U.S. history; the loot totaled $100 million. In 2019, five men stole a cache of precious 18th century jewels worth $113 million from Germany’s Green Vault museum.
The Louvre heist was a crime that will negatively affect the lives of otherwise innocent people. Museum officials have admitted to security lapses, including insufficient closed-circuit television coverage outside the Louvre’s perimeter. The blame game is just beginning.
But it’s hard to read about this daring plot and not, in a small way, root for these villains. There are far grislier and more destructive crimes committed every day, big and small. This might sound like a rationalization, but petty crooks routinely mug regular folks while wealthy pedophiles escape justice. The thieves who robbed the Louvre, on the other hand, just ripped off the French government.
The sense of rooting for the robbers plays a part in Hollywood’s and audiences’ enduring love for heist movies. One of the genre’s most influential films is Jules Dassin’s 1955 French noir “Rififi,” about a jewel heist led by a debonair maître criminel. The black-and-white classic is anchored by its iconic 30-minute break-in — a silent nail-biter as the crew painstakingly muffles the sound of their drilling.
Heist movies are Robin Hood fantasies where hypercompetent thieves take on powerful institutions.
In the decades since, many of Hollywood’s biggest directors have put fresh spins on the genre, including Spike Lee’s lively bank-heist-turned-standoff thriller “Inside Man” (2006), Edgar Wright’s “Baby Driver” (2017) and Christopher Nolan’s “Inception” (2010), about a heist team that infiltrates dreams. Even “Avengers: Endgame” (2019), the second-highest-grossing movie of all time and the climax of more than a decade of Marvel movies, hinges on a time-travel heist.
Crime doesn’t always pay in these movies: My second-favorite heist film is Michael Mann’s “Heat” (1995), about a seasoned team of seasoned thieves led by a smoldering, goateed Robert De Niro, who are constantly having to look over their shoulders for a Los Angeles police detective, played by Al Pacino. Despite knowing the police are on their tail, the robbers can’t give up the action, and in the end, most of them pay the ultimate price. But we root for these doomed men nonetheless.
Heist movies are Robin Hood fantasies where hypercompetent thieves take on powerful institutions that loom over our moral lives. They cut across cultural and political lines because everyone’s been screwed over by a bank, or an insurance company, or, if you’re a formerly colonized country, a Western empire.
Like their thematic siblings, the prison break flicks — one’s about breaking in, the other’s about breaking out — heist films are tales of the little guy versus the system. The main characters are frequently skilled criminals who adhere to a moral code. They’re committing crimes, but for the most part, they’re “victimless” —banks, casinos and museums are insured and loaded with cash, right?
But the most important part of the fantasy is asking yourself: What if you could get away with it? I am no master criminal. I don’t even like to jaywalk. But I’d make an excellent member of a heist crew. For instance, I have dainty fingers that would be perfect for safe-cracking. I’d certainly enjoy the planning stages: I’m a fan of maps and spreadsheets. But heist movies are simply safe spaces for me to make believe I can wear a tuxedo like George Clooney.
Now that I think about it, I may have to watch “Ocean’s Eleven” again.
