Emily The Criminal

Mainstream cinema’s depictions of crime often make it seem as if those who commit it are a different species, perpetual outsiders, careerists with no ambition to be anything else – or else addicted in some way, perpetually promising to quit after one last job. Reality is, of course, very different. Emily The Criminal, one of the most heavily nominated independent films this awards season, establishes a much more realistic picture: one in which crime results from accident or impulsive action, or presents itself as the only realistic option to ordinary people who see little hope in a life lived by the rules.

Emily (Aubrey Plaza) first committed a crime during her college days – a DUI, so not particularly uncommon. With a petty assault on her record as well, however, she finds it impossible to get a white collar job, which means that, with interest rates spiralling, she hasn’t a hope of paying off her student debts. Unable to use her degree, she’s stuck with shift work delivering food to people in offices who barely notice she’s there. Her boss won’t give her consistent hours, and when a supposed big break finally arrives, it proves to be completely inaccessible to anyone who isn’t rich to begin with.

It’s through an equally frustrated colleague that Emily comes into contact with Youcef (Theo Rossi), who runs a criminal enterprise based around credit card fraud and is looking for new assistants. He’s upfront about the risks involved, but pays well and, as it turns out, keeps his word. At first Emily figures she’ll just give it a go. She doesn’t really have much to lose. When a plan goes awry, however, she demonstrates a streak of toughness which nobody would have expected, and Youcef realises that he’s found somebody as capable as he is.

The respect which develops between the two, gradually acquiring romantic overtones, is contextualised by Youcef’s efforts to be a decent boss and, ripping off the wealthy aside, to deal with people on equal terms. In essence he sees himself as a small business owner, pursuing the American Dream by saving money from his operations until he can move into real estate. There’s a sweetness about him which might make viewers more willing to overlook his criminality, but which also risks making him vulnerable to more ruthless players. Emily is something else. She’s seen enough of the world to know that she has to stand up for herself. There are hints that simply experiencing life as a woman has taught her to put caution first, but it is doubtless poverty which has shown her that if she doesn’t go all out for it when she sees a chance, she will never enjoy any measure of freedom. Nothing scares her as much as the thought of being stuck making minimum wage for the rest of her life.

There’s no shortage of social commentary in this film, but it’s Plaza’s magnetic performance which really makes it special. She breaks all the rules of how women are supposed to behave onscreen, just as Emily breaks the rules of how women are supposed to behave in real life. The title might be interpreted in several ways, but perhaps it is most significant in describing not her actions but her nature, her differentness. Youcef seems hypnotised by the ferocity with which she takes control of situations. Where initially we worry that she may come to harm by participating in his schemes, soon he seems like the vulnerable one, caught up in her much more ambitious and more dangerous approach to life.

During the Great Depression of the 1930s, many people idolised Bonnie and Clyde – they may have been bank robbers, but they were seen as heroes for fighting against a system which others felt crushed by. Emily is the same sort of hero, and she hardly needs to be likeable, though there are moments when Plaza lets us see some sweetness in her as well. There’s an argument that she is herself a product of the social deterioration around her, that she has been made this way, yet her approach is singular. Still, you might wonder how sustainable it is, and if she will end up the way that Bonnie and Clyde did.

Director John Patton Ford manages the tension well, aided by Emily’s unpredictability. He has an instinctive understanding of the stakes and of what drives these characters, and an awareness of the growing frustration created by the wealth gap in society as a whole. Not everyone will relate to Emily, but Plaza makes it difficult not to root for her, even as the situation escalates. There is an anger at the root of this film, and a warning. Rules which are abused for too long lose their value. Something new emerges, filling the void, shambling toward Bethlehem to be born.