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Emily the Criminal

"You will figure out your gift."

It’s tough out there.

Emily the Criminal, John Patton Ford’s debut feature, knows that a little too well. It wants to make sure you know it too, so its characters narrowly avoid staring straight into the camera as they deliver lines about unpaid internships and independent contractors. I agree that all of this is heinous bullshit, but I don’t like being asked to applaud1, and the writing is less clunky and more effective when it’s communicating its message through narrative, not dialogue.

But that’s about my only problem with the film, which is a taut, well-plotted, unconventional crime story grounded in a strong Aubrey Plaza performance. If you’re as starved for straightforward, no-fuss contemporary crime flicks as I am, and you’ve missed this, it’s well-worth a watch.

Plaza plays Emily Benetto, a young woman barely scraping by in LA. She’s still chipping away at her student loans for art school, and a felony conviction means she doesn’t even have a diploma to show for it all. And actually, all she’s chipping away at is the interest—she’s still a ways away from touching the principal. Her record makes it hard for her to land a decent job, so she’s stuck delivering catering orders: work that has no security and no future.

But in exchange for covering his shift, one of her coworkers connects her with Youcef (Theo Rossi). How would she like to make $200 in an hour?

Youcef runs an ever-changing crew of “dummy shoppers,” sending them out to make large purchases with stolen credit card info. Buy a flatscreen and try not to sweat too much. Tomorrow, maybe we’ll send you out to buy a car. Higher risk, higher reward: now your cut is two grand.

Not only does crime pay, it can also—in one of the film’s most enjoyable and acerbic touches—have more dignity and stability than a “legitimate” job. After one day, Emily’s been promoted! After two, she’s in management training! Yes, Youcef is asking a lot more than most employers, but he’s straightforward about his expectations, and he shows a lot more compassion when things go wrong. He and Emily have an instant crackle of chemistry—Theo Rossi has the smile of a born romantic lead—but he waits for her to invite him out for the night before he makes a move. He’s not Hank Scorpio, but I’d work for him in a heartbeat.

So far, so critique of capitalism. But while Emily the Criminal has a lot to say, in the end, it chooses to be a crime movie first and an issue movie second. Part of that involves taking off its rose-colored glasses. It’s “just” theft, but the potential for violence is always there, and it comes from both the marks who don’t like getting ripped off and the buyers who don’t see why they shouldn’t steal too (and don’t always have many scruples about how they do it). Emily has a coiled intensity and a willingness to get aggressive back, but Plaza still plays her with an unavoidable hint of vulnerability: a small-ish woman sometimes bracketed by much larger men. When she gets slammed around, it’s hard not to feel it. And if it’s still better, or at least more lucrative, than lugging catering trays up multiple flights of stairs, it’s escaping the grind by risking the bullet.

And as the film enters its final act, it gets more despairing and more individualized. The distinctions between the criminal and the corporate blur. Youcef is a sweetheart, and how many sweethearts ever make upper management? The political collapses into the personal, and Emily becomes less a victim of larger forces and more a willing part of them. She always had the raw material to win at this, to be as cutthroat as the people who once exploited her. (When she finally tells Youcef about the nature of her assault conviction, it’s the rare example of backstory packing an actual punch.) She just needed more of an opportunity to rise to the top, and crime provided openings advertising didn’t. She’s an emerging girlboss in a movie that has a genuine problem with bosses, and as she discovers and embraces that corrupt identity, she goes from focal point to true and tragic protagonist. Fuck yeah, that’s her name in the title.

Emily the Criminal is streaming on Netflix.

  1. Which is not to say I wasn’t tempted. “If you want to tell me what to do, put me on the fucking payroll” is a banger of an exit line: good enough, in fact, that it shouldn’t be surrounded by weaker, more padded-out material. ↩︎
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