Roofman
★★★ 1/2
Roofman feels like a movie that somehow fell through a time portal from the 1990s, and I mean that as a genuine compliment.
There’s an immediate comfort to Roofman, a throwback quality that recalls the era when mid-budget, adult-oriented dramas could quietly sneak into theaters and win you over without explosions, plot gymnastics or IP baggage. It’s honestly a little surprising this one even got a theatrical release, but the presence of Channing Tatum likely helped push it across that finish line.
This is not an action movie, despite what the premise might suggest. Instead, Roofman plays more like an interpersonal comedy-drama—gentle, character-driven and deliberately unflashy. Based on a true story, the film introduces us to what might be the nicest criminal you’ll ever meet: an escaped convict in the ’90s who hides out in a Toys “R” Us and slowly rebuilds a version of family life he desperately wants but doesn’t quite know how to sustain.
Tatum is the glue that holds the whole thing together. He grounds the character beautifully, making him feel intelligent yet perpetually self-sabotaging. He’s clearly capable of better decisions… he just never quite makes them. We all know someone like that, which makes the character oddly relatable, even as his situation grows increasingly precarious.
The supporting cast is quietly terrific. Peter Dinklage is especially fun as the Toys “R” Us store manager, the kind of boss everyone dreads, played with just enough menace and absurdity to keep things human. And while I wouldn’t rank it as her very best performance, Kirsten Dunst continues her streak of doing deeply honest, unvarnished work. She has become one of our most reliable actors when it comes to emotional authenticity, never afraid to let her age and maturity live onscreen. Her chemistry with Tatum is genuinely sweet, and their scenes together give the movie much of its emotional weight.
Directed by Derek Cianfrance, the film handles an almost unbelievable story with surprising restraint. Cianfrance lays the cards on the table in a way that allows you to empathize with choices you know are wrong, even as you see the consequences coming from a mile away. In many ways, Roofman plays like a slow-motion car crash—you’re waiting for it to happen, you know it has to happen, but there’s still hope that something meaningful survives the impact.
Is it a standout? Probably not. It’s the kind of movie that could be easily forgotten amid louder, shinier releases. But there’s a tenderness here that really sneaks up on you. Roofman is sweet, patient, and human. Qualities that feel increasingly rare. I only wish audiences had a little more patience for films like this, because real-life stories told with this much care deserve the space to breathe.
