Roofman: True crime writ lite

Roofman (2025) • View trailer

Four stars (out of five). Rated R, for profanity, nudity and sexual candor

Available via: Movie theaters

By Derrick Bang • Published in The Davis Enterprise, 10.12.25

Truth genuinely is stranger than fiction.

 

When these events went down, back in 2005, one of the Charlotte Mecklenburg Police Department sergeants told a reporter, “This would make a great movie.” (Check out this detailed recent article in The Charlotte Observer ... after you watch the movie.)

 

Having clandestinely invaded a Toys "R" Us store late one night, and ravenously hungry,
Jeff (Channing Tatum) tries to snatch some candy from an aisle display, mindful of
avoiding detection by the overhead roving security cameras.

He didn’t lie ... and now, two decades later, director Derek Cianfrance has made that film.

He and co-scripter Kirt Gunn boldly assert that “This is a true story.” Credit where due, their film follows the saga’s unbelievably outrageous details with a level of authenticity that’s rare in cinema today (allowing for a few speculative enhancements concerning details never revealed).

 

The wild ’n’ wooly result is anchored by an endearing, awkwardly charming and mildly foolish performance by Channing Tatum, note-perfect as a resourcefully clever guy who’s also a complete idiot.

 

Our first glimpse of Jeffrey Manchester (Tatum) shows him running hell-for-leather through a field, trying to evade we-don’t-yet-know-what, as Tatum’s voice-over explains that — in order to understand what’s happening — we need to back up a few years. Tatum continues to offer narrative commentary as events proceed (and the reason for this confessional also is a brilliant touch, when the film concludes).

 

As introduced properly, in 1998, Jeff is a despondent family man, separated from his wife (Melonie Diaz, as Talena), their 8-year-old daughter (Alissa Marie Pearson, adorable as Becky) and infant twin sons. He doesn’t earn enough to give Becky the bicycle she wants for her birthday, and his “instead of” gift is totally clueless.

 

He later laments the uncomfortable result with longtime best friend and former war buddy Steve (LaKeith Stanfield), who scoffs at Jeff’s inane get-rich-quick schemes, insisting that he play to his strength.

 

“You’re an observer,” Steve points out. “You don’t miss details.”

 

So Jeff observes that all McDonald’s franchises are built to identical specifications, down to where everything is located behind and in front of the order counter. He therefore hammers his way through the roof of one outlet, waits patiently in the restroom for the workers to arrive, and then — masked — orders them into the walk-in refrigerator at gunpoint, before emptying the vault. His manner is polite and cordial.

 

(The actual Manchester estimates that he pulled off between 40 and 60 such robberies throughout the United States.)

Not Fade Away: Only if we're unlucky

Not Fade Away (2012) • View trailer
Two stars. Rating: R, for pervasive profanity, considerable drug use, sexual candor and fleeting nudity
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 1.4.13

Viewers born after 1965, or thereabouts, won’t have the faintest idea what writer/director David Chase is trying to express in this film.

Expecting yet another generation gap-inspired lecture, Douglas (John Magaro, right)
is surprised when his father (James Gandolfini) genuinely opens up to him. Enjoy this
scene, as it's the only truly impressive display of acting, writing and directing in an
otherwise inane and deadly dull drama.

Heck, I lived through this transitional period just like he did, and I barely followed this storyline.

Chase apparently assumes that the 1960s’ musical revolution, and all it involved, are somehow grafted into the brain cells of every American, regardless of age. Granted, the obvious high points have become (in)famous: the long hair, the mod clothes, the casual sex and even more casual drug use, the ever-widening generation gap made worse by mounting contempt for the violent quagmire in Vietnam.

But these are mere backdrop elements, against which the main characters in Chase’s Not Fade Away play out their restless angst ... and that’s where this film falls apart.

We’ve absolutely no sense of the young people at the heart of this story: no concept of what they’re thinking from one moment to the next, or why some of them are so rude and self-centered, or why others are self-destructive. We get no back-stories, no insightful clues, no confessional moments of lucidity. These characters speak in non-sequiturs — when they speak at all — and free-associate stray thoughts with snarky contempt, as if daring us to make sense of anything.

Chase apparently expects us to read everybody’s mind, but that’s impossible; his stars haven’t the acting chops to get anywhere near the level of introspective clarity we so desperately need. And, as if aware of this problem, Chase and cinematographer Eigil Bryld rely tediously, tiresomely on sulky, coldly aloof close-ups, as if searching for significance in the pores of each face.

Where is the fire, the acting gusto, that Chase brought to his work on HBO’s The Sopranos?

And slow? Oh, goodness; trends could rise and fall during the time it takes this morose, 112-minute film to drag to a conclusion.

The topper is an elliptical “conclusion” that arrives several scenes after Chase blows an opportunity to stop at a much more logical moment. Like several other recent films, Chase hasn’t the slightest idea when to stop, and instead gives us several false endings before settling on the least of the bunch.

I have learned, through long experience, to be wary of intimate projects that are deeply personal to filmmakers; in most cases, they can’t get out of their own way. The results are disappointing at best, mawkish self-indulgent at worst. Not Fade Away most often leans toward the latter.