Roofman (2025): A Heartfelt, Ridiculous, and Surprisingly Moving Crime Drama About a Man Who Just Wanted to Be Good at Something

The trailer for Roofman made it look like a goofy, crime-filled romp. The kind of comedy built on absurd true events that you throw on a Friday night with popcorn in hand. And while Derek Cianfrance’s film certainly has moments that deliver on that energy, what it truly becomes is something deeper, sadder, and far more sincere. It is funny, yes, but also quietly devastating. Like Catch Me If You Can meets The Terminal, it balances its absurd premise with genuine emotion, reminding you that behind every headline-worthy criminal there is usually just a lonely, desperate person trying to fill a void.

Based on the unbelievable true story of Jeffrey Manchester, Roofman follows an ex-Army Ranger and struggling father who turns to robbing McDonald’s restaurants by cutting holes in their roofs. He later escapes prison and hides out in a Toys “R” Us for months, surviving undetected while planning his next move. On paper, that sounds almost farcical. In Cianfrance’s hands, though, it becomes something achingly human.

The film might be marketed as a comedy, but it shares more creative DNA with The Place Beyond the Pines than 21 Jump Street. Once again, Cianfrance explores the stories of deeply flawed yet emotionally earnest men who try to do the right thing in the worst possible ways. There is a bruised tenderness at the heart of Roofman, the kind that Cianfrance captures so well. The crime scenes are tense, but what lingers most are the quiet moments of reflection, the awkward tenderness, and the misplaced hope of a man who wants to be good but cannot seem to figure out how.

Channing Tatum plays Jeffrey, and it might be his most endearing and emotionally nuanced performance yet. He brings both humor and humanity to a role that could have easily turned cartoonish. Ever since the 21 Jump Street reboot, Tatum has proven he can do comedy with effortless timing, but here he goes even further. His charm disarms you, just as it does the people around Jeffrey, and then suddenly you see flashes of the insecurity and ache underneath. This is one of those performances that reminds you how underrated he is as an actor.

Jeff is not a mastermind or a sociopath. He is a man who wants to care for others but keeps sabotaging himself. As one of the cops in the movie points out, he is both talented and an idiot. He tells himself he is doing the right thing, that his crimes are victimless, but the truth is messier. Using a gun, even when you do not want to hurt anyone, always puts people in danger. Cianfrance never glorifies his actions, yet he understands the sadness that drives them.

That balance between absurdity and empathy is what makes Roofman work so well. The story is almost too unbelievable to be true, yet it feels entirely grounded because of how sincerely it is told. The romance subplot, which could have easily been a tonal misstep, instead becomes the heart of the film. When Jeffrey meets a single mother (played by Kirsten Dunst) and her children, the movie shifts from being about survival to being about belonging. Their chemistry is sweet, unforced, and quietly devastating. You keep wishing things could work out, even as you know they probably cannot.

Dunst brings warmth and emotional intelligence to a role that could have been one-note. Watching her and Tatum together, you are reminded how good both of them are at playing ordinary people who feel extraordinary things. Their scenes together evoke The Terminal in the best possible way — a blend of melancholy and hope wrapped inside an offbeat romantic setup. Peter Dinklage, as the wry supporting character, provides some much-needed levity. Every time he appears, the movie’s energy spikes with humor, even in its darkest moments.

Cianfrance directs Roofman with his usual sensitivity to character. He lets scenes breathe, giving actors space to find rhythm and emotion naturally. There are moments that feel improvised, where the humor sneaks in unexpectedly. The comedy works precisely because it never feels forced. The funny moments emerge from character and situation, not from punchlines.

Visually, the film captures the nostalgic Americana of early 2000s suburbia. The Toys “R” Us setting adds a weirdly poignant layer of childhood memory to a story about disillusionment. The production design leans into that nostalgia without ever overdoing it. You almost feel like you are watching the last days of a certain kind of innocence. The cinematography has that familiar Cianfrance touch — natural light, handheld intimacy, and a quiet observational style that lets the absurdity unfold without judgment.

Underneath the humor and heart, there is a brutal commentary on the carceral system. The film never shouts its politics, but it is clear-eyed about how incarceration dehumanizes people and how difficult it is to start over once branded a criminal. By the time the end credits roll, with archival footage and interviews of the real people involved, Cianfrance drives home that tension beautifully. A cop offers a tone-deaf justification of the system, while others talk about what a kind man Jeffrey was. It is a chilling juxtaposition — the system versus the soul.

The movie flirts with being fantastical and romanticized, but the performances ground it every time. There are certainly moments that feel too neatly constructed or emotionally convenient, yet I found myself fully invested and quietly devastated by the end. Even the more predictable beats feel earned because they are played with sincerity rather than cynicism.

Roofman might frustrate viewers expecting a laugh-out-loud comedy, but for those open to what it really is — a character-driven crime drama with a tender heart, it delivers something special. It is a movie about a man who has so much love to give and no idea what to do with it. About a person who mistakes desperation for purpose, and performance for meaning. It is also, unexpectedly, a film about found family.

There is a particular warmth to how Cianfrance handles these moments of connection. You see glimpses of redemption, even if they never fully materialize. By the end, what stays with you is not the absurdity of the crimes but the longing that drives them.

Roofman is one of those rare films that manages to be funny, sad, and entertaining all at once. It is a reminder that stories can still be heartfelt without being saccharine, and sincere without being self-serious. It feels like one of those early 2000s true-story movies you stumble upon late at night and unexpectedly fall in love with. It is messy, sentimental, deeply human, and yes, I am so happy to have Derek Cianfrance back in the director’s chair.

It might not redefine the genre, but Roofman earns its place as one of the most moving crime dramas of the year. The ending leaves you smiling, maybe even tearing up a little, and realizing that sometimes the most unbelievable stories are the ones that feel the most real.