Roofman (2025)
Derek Cianfrance isn’t the obvious choice to direct a film about a man who robbed McDonald’s by cutting holes in their ceilings. Known for his emotionally bruising explorations of relationships falling apart, he’s taken on something lighter this time. Sort of. Roofman tells the genuinely bizarre true story of Jeffrey Manchester, an ex-Army Ranger whose criminal methodology was nothing if not creative.
The facts of the case read like someone’s fever dream: Manchester breaks out of prison, then survives for six months living inside a Toys “R” Us without anyone noticing. During this period, he falls for Leigh (Kirsten Dunst), a divorced mother who works at the store. Naturally. He assumes the identity of “John Zorn” and builds something resembling a normal relationship, all the while knowing his double life can’t possibly hold. The setup practically writes its own analysis. A fugitive hiding among children’s toys, building a fake domestic life in America’s most iconic shrine to consumer excess? The symbolism isn’t exactly subtle.
Channing Tatum, in what might be his strongest work, brings surprising depth to Manchester. There’s real skill in the way he conveys the character’s military-trained observational abilities without making him seem coldly manipulative. You believe in this man’s capacity for both tenderness and terrible judgment. Dunst matches him with a performance that gives Leigh enough complexity to make their romance feel plausible rather than preposterous.
What works best about the film is its refusal to glamorise criminality. Cianfrance doesn’t turn Manchester into some loveable rogue or charming antihero. His crimes have victims. His choices hurt people. The film respects that reality, which is something. But this principled restraint becomes a limitation too. For all its running time (two hours and six minutes, which is at least fifteen minutes too long), the film never seriously interrogates why this happened. What economic pressures convince a veteran that armed robbery is his best option for supporting his family? What does it say about a society that makes ordinary people feel this desperate?
The film knows Manchester served in the military and possesses useful skills. That’s about where its curiosity ends. The psychological burden of service, the challenges of civilian reintegration, the specific anxieties facing veterans in the early 2000s… all of this remains frustratingly unexplored. It feels like a missed opportunity, frankly.
Structurally, the film loses momentum in its middle section. What begins as an oddly compelling examination of survival and reinvention gradually morphs into something more conventional. Romantic thriller beats replace the initial dark comedy. The pacing sags. You start checking your watch. Then the ending rushes through its final movements as though suddenly remembering it needs to wrap things up.
I’m not suggesting Roofman needed to become a sociological treatise on veteran poverty and American capitalism. But given the inherent strangeness of its true story, the film settles for being surprisingly… ordinary. It’s well-made, certainly. The performances elevate material that might otherwise feel slight. Cianfrance’s craft is evident throughout. And yet it feels oddly incurious about its own subject matter, content to show us what happened without investigating why.
The result is professionally executed entertainment that never quite transcends its own limitations. It’s the cinematic equivalent of a decent meal at a reliable restaurant: you won’t regret the experience, but you probably won’t be thinking about it the next day either.