In Review: 'Emily the Criminal'

Aubrey Plaza gets one of her best roles to date as a debt-ridden Angeleno who finds work in the dangerous gig economy of the underworld.

Emily the Criminal 
Dir. John Patton Ford
96 min. 

Though she’s too young for Gen-X to claim her, Aubrey Plaza has cultivated an image of slacker disaffection, much like the fabled girl from the record store, only much less likely to be impressed by your collection of rare SST singles. Yet she’s proven herself to be rangier than her Parks & Recreation eye-roller, though she never plays characters who could be described as “ebullient.” She was practically made in a lab to play the Hal Hartley femme fatale of Ned Rifle, but her poker face gets deployed to even more surprising effect in Emily the Criminal, which calls for a down-to-earth toughness that’s miles away from deadpan comedy. Her range of expression is still narrow, but only because the stakes are too high for her character to breathe. 

In a confident debut as writer-director, John Patton Ford has made a crime thriller that’s tied to the common predicament of young people faced with massive college debt and an impenetrable job market. The obstacles for Emily (Plaza) are steeper than average, however, because her $70,000 art-school loan never resulted in an actual degree, and any background check will reveal a DUI and a conviction for aggravated assault. As the film opens, Emily has a low-level job in the restaurant business, mostly schlepping large to-go orders to offices and parties, and her boss suggests that she should be happy with what little she’s got. Knowing that she could use some extra cash, a co-worker gives her the number of an operation that can pay her $200 for an hour or two of work. The only catch? It’s not legal. 

With that, Emily gets her introduction to the L.A. criminal underground, where the hours are flexible, the pay is great, and there are ample opportunities for upward mobility. (Here, red flags on one’s personal record are like résumé-padding.) For her first job, Emily is asked to pay for a flatscreen television and walk it out of the store, with the catch being that she’ll be using a stolen credit card number. She handles that nervy exchange well, however, and starts to develop a nice rapport with Youcef (Theo Rossi), her Lebanese recruiter. Future gigs increase the risk and the payday exponentially, drawing Emily and Youcef deeper into a shady, violent world of cutthroats and con artists. 

Ford isn’t subtle about comparing Emily’s illicit work with a legitimate capitalist marketplace that seeks to exploit her at least as mercilessly. She’s labeled an “independent contractor” at the restaurant job, which offers no benefits or protection from the whims of management, and her pursuit of an opportunity as a graphic designer in her friend’s firm comes with several odious strings attached. Emily the Criminal doesn’t cast judgment on her for running outside the law, but rather suggests that for someone in her position such a path might be the most rational. She’s smart, responsible, and hard-working, but spending her prime years barely making her monthly interest payments on a loan is no way to live. 

The morality of thievery isn’t under scrutiny here, with Ford shifting the focus instead to the pros and cons of legal and illicit labor, a contest that ends more or less in a wash. Through the conventions of a tidy and efficient little thriller, Emily the Criminal paints a bleak picture of a generation that’s entering adulthood with few avenues to prosperity. In the gig economy, you take what you can get.

Emily the Criminal opens in limited release tomorrow.