Crime 101 isn’t an original film, because there’s not much new to say about “cops and robbers.” Instead of being focused on the subversion of archetypes that exist for a reason, Crime 101 is a well-done version of a familiar heist premise. Its superiority is because of director Bary Layton, a former documentary filmmaker, added enough detail to the characters to make the film’s world feel lived-in. The first two months of the year grant studios an opportunity to release films with little fanfare, but Crime 101 is an old-fashioned and worthwhile star vehicle.
Crime 101 has the advantage of two leads that’ve reached an understanding about where they are in their respective careers, and it's no coincidence that they’ve both worked with Michael Mann; Mark Ruffalo had one of his earliest roles as an uptight LAPD officer in Collateral, and Chris Hemsworth starred in Mann’s underrated hacking thriller Blackhat, which was a prescient depiction of a globalized economic crash. Ruffalo is Crime 101’s down-on-his-luck cop with a chip on his shoulder, Detective Lou Lubesnick, who’s aware that his unwillingness to cover for his superiors’ blind posts has cost him a few promotions. His flipside is Hemsworth's Mike Davis, a career criminal, who’s set up a brilliant scheme to perform high-value robberies on the 101 freeway.
They don’t share a scene as memorable as the standoff between Al Pacino and Robert De Niro in Heat, but both characters are self-loathing anti-heroes addicted to their chosen professions. Lubesnick is estranged from his wife (Jennifer Jason Leigh), and has grown fascinated with the freeway robberies because of their strategic brilliance; that a thief, who he’s suspected is a lone wolf, could baffle well-equipped law enforcement investigators has both infuriated and impressed him. Ruffalo recently played a different sad sack detective in HBO excellent drama series Task, but his character in Crime 101 is even more pathetic. Lubesnick is tragic because he’s already burned all of his bridges; to catch Davis wouldn’t bring him any professional advantages, but sees it as potential catharsis for his self-inflicted misery.
Delusionally, Davis would suggest there’s a specific money amount he has in mind, even if thievery’s clearly a family business. Although the film smartly refused to give him a tell-all monologue about his tragic backstory, it's implied that criminality was a necessity for Davis’ survival that became a habit. Nonetheless, he’s found a reason beyond the acquisition of wealth to exist due to a chance encounter with Maya (Monica Barbaro), a woman who’s similarly found a reason to hate the upper class. This is the type of romantic subplot that would usually grind the pacing to a halt, but Hemsworth and Barbaro are believable as two drifters who forge a connection by coincidence. Hemsworth’s Australian accent is so pronounced in the Thor films that to hear him speak like a Los Angeles native is slightly off-putting; it works to the advantage of his performance because Davis is a character who isn’t entirely comfortable.
Crime 101 isn’t packed with action sequences because it’s about an under-the-radar case that’s only attracted limited attention from the media. The decision to make Lubesnick a detested figure among the cops, whose crackpot theories drive his co-workers mad, is a smart way to justify the lack of SWAT teams and FBI agents. The film’s also confident enough in Hemsworth’s performance to not give him an extended crew of co-conspirators, who would’ve been killed off one-by-one if it was a beat-for-beat Heat pastiche. A majority of Davis’ crimes involve the acquisition of invasive malware and violence-free intimidation techniques. The exception is a close-quarters motorcycle chase with the psychopathic biker Ormon (Barry Keoghan), who was hired by Davis’ ex-fence Money (Nick Nolte) to undercut his operation. It’s an effective set piece that’s aware of how infeasible a high-speed pursuit would be in L.A. traffic.
Crime 101 primarily consists of macro tasks performed by Davis, whose strict adherence to a well-orchestrated regime has prevented the disclosure of significant evidence; even if each of these missions are only a means to an end, they’re far more interesting than consequence-free shootouts. Layton doesn’t linger on gore because the film’s moving at too quick of a clip to stop and consider the ramifications, a trait that it shares in common with both Davis and Lubesnick. There’s an understanding that it’s not in either character’s best interest to kill anyone; the closest thing Crime 101 has to subtext is a few instances where Davis and Lubesnick question why a stash of money would inspire such antagonism.
The other major character in Crime 101 is Halle Berry’s Sharon Combs, an insurance broker targeted by Davis. It’s the least fleshed-out role because there’s never any realistic suggestion that Combs would become Davis’ ally, even if she has no affinity from those he’s stolen from. Nonetheless, Berry is given an opportunity to voice Combs’ frustrations at being snubbed by her employers after years of hard work. The only incongruent aspect is how sharply realistic her scenes are in comparison to those with Keoghan, whose eccentricities belong in a more rip-roaring B-movie.
The difference between Crime 101 and other mid-budget crime thrillers is that, despite produced by a company with a streaming arm, it doesn’t feel intended to be viewed as a second-screen experience. Comments made by Matt Damon recently pointed out that it’s common for films to make alterations to be more appealing to viewers who’d be half-watching while doing something else; this could include the plot being reinstated multiple times within the dialogue, or the occasionally irrelevant set piece inserted to insure streaming retention. Crime 101 is willing to give its audience a bit more credit.