Delinquent protagonists in true-crime stories tend to have a memorable MO: Young lovebirds might find the thrill of theft romantic, while a teenager might relish roping her friends into targeting their favorite celebrities’ homes. But Jeffrey Manchester, the robber known as “Roofman,” made headlines for being unusually polite when he executed his misdeeds. After he surprised McDonald’s employees by dropping in through the roof—hence his nickname—and holding them at gunpoint, he gently reminded one of them to breathe while they collected cash. Before he locked them in the walk-in refrigerator, he made sure that they had coats to wear so they’d be comfortable in the cold.
Roofman, a movie dramatizing Manchester’s life, is similarly eager to please. Starring Channing Tatum as the titular crook, the film transforms the absurd tale of a criminal on the run into an intimate character study. It begins in 2004, with Jeffrey landing in prison—only to escape shortly afterward and find shelter inside a Toys “R” Us. The ensuing series of events incorporate elements of romance and melodrama with farce and action. Anxious to reunite with his estranged family, he ventures outdoors under a false identity; he ends up falling in love with a single mom, Leigh (played by Kirsten Dunst), who works at the store Jeffrey has turned into his hideout. Roofman deftly blends genres to create a low-key crowd-pleaser—one that avoids merely reveling in what made Manchester notorious in the first place.
Movies based on the lives of real people can easily turn into hagiographies, hyperbolizing their circumstances or papering over their scandals. Even an uplifting sports drama such as Rudy or a period piece such as Argo exaggerates scenes for added tension, treating its heroes like unassailable underdogs. But the writer-director Derek Cianfrance, who’s best known for making Blue Valentine and other complex tragedies, doesn’t excuse Jeffrey for his lawlessness. Cianfrance depicts the character evenly, as someone who can be as clever as he is careless. Jeffrey is resourceful enough to build a security system for his refuge by stringing up baby monitors throughout the store—but he also eats so much candy that he gives himself a toothache. The opportunities for big set pieces are similarly subdued. The closest thing to a car chase comes when Jeffrey drives a used sedan he purchased for Leigh’s elder daughter, pushing it beyond the speed limit to impress her. Tatum, too, infuses Jeffrey with a disarming naivete that makes him compelling to watch.
The actor is especially charming in his scenes with Dunst; the two share a down-to-earth chemistry as a pair of single parents who are surprised to find themselves in a budding romance in their 40s. Their relationship fuels the plot, making Jeffrey delay his getaway and revealing what the story is actually about: the emotional toll of starting over. If Leigh likes his cover identity—he calls himself “John Zorn” and gives her an invented backstory—Jeffrey reasons that maybe he doesn’t need to keep looking for a way back to his old life of heists. Would acceptance into a new family, even under false pretenses, be enough for him to abandon his past? Is quiet domesticity worth the risk?
Cianfrance uses these questions to explore the humor and suspense in mundanity—how everyday drama can become all-consuming. For Jeffrey, accessing the Toys “R” Us security cameras has become quotidian, but decorating Leigh’s apartment for Christmas provides a genuine thrill. Cianfrance captures Jeffrey’s misadventures inside the store as if his protagonist is trapped in a cage, underlining how tiny his fugitive life is compared with the immensity of his relationship with Leigh. Even Jeffrey’s initial escape from prison is small in scale, his movements practiced, his expressions stoic. He seems much more engaged when he’s studying the store employees on the baby monitors as if they’re the cast of a reality show. These moments help the film feel lived-in, its sentimentality earned rather than maudlin.
Roofman isn’t entirely devoid of more conventional big-screen beats. Tatum mines plenty of laughter from the sillier parts of Jeffrey’s story—he almost gets caught while naked one night—and a third-act heist leads to an explosion. But what’s most pleasing to watch is Jeffrey’s search for companionship: The real Jeffrey Manchester will perhaps always be remembered for his odd behavior as a burglar, but Roofman is more interested in why he couldn’t resist connecting with a stranger. In the film, he had the money and the means to flee much earlier. Yet, as Jeffrey puts it in an early scene while attempting to fill a sorry-looking kiddie pool for his daughter’s birthday, “it’s the trying that counts.”
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