Making a movie is a lot like pulling off a heist. That’s what Steven Soderbergh—director of the Ocean’s franchise, among other heist-y classics—said a few years ago. You come up with a creative angle, put together a team of specialists, figure out how to beat the technological challenges, rehearse, move with Swiss-watch precision, and—if you do it right—redistribute some wealth. That could describe either the plot or the making of Ocean’s Eleven.

But conversely, pulling off a heist isn’t much like the movies. Surveillance cameras, computer-controlled alarms, knockout gas, and lasers hardly ever feature in big-ticket crime. In reality, technical countermeasures are rarely a problem, and high-tech gadgets are rarely a solution. The main barrier to entry is usually a literal barrier to entry, like a door. Thieves’ most common move is to collude with, trick, or threaten an insider. Last year a heist cost the Louvre €88 million worth of antique jewelry, and the most sophisticated technology in play was an angle grinder.

The low-tech Louvre maneuvers were in keeping with what heist research long ago concluded. In 2014 US nuclear weapons researchers at Sandia National Laboratories took a detour into this demimonde, producing a 100-page report called “The Perfect Heist: Recipes from Around the World.” The scientists were worried someone might try to steal a nuke from the US arsenal, and so they compiled information on 23 high-value robberies from 1972 to 2012 into a “Heist Methods and Characteristics Database,” a critical mass of knowledge on what worked. Thieves, they found, dedicated huge amounts of money and time to planning and practice runs—sometimes more than 100. They’d use brute force, tunneling through sewers for months (Société Générale bank heist, Nice, France, 1976), or guile, donning police costumes to fool guards (Gardner Museum, Boston, 1990). But nobody was using, say, electromagnetic pulse generators to shut down the Las Vegas electrical grid. The most successful robbers got to the valuable stuff unseen and got out fast.

Advance the time frame, and the situation looks much the same. Last year, Spanish researchers looking at art crimes from 1990 to 2022 found that the least technical methods are still the most successful. “High-tech technology doesn’t work so well,” says Erin L. Thompson, an art historian at John Jay College of Justice who studies art crime. Speed and practice trump complicated systems and alarms; even that Louvre robbery was, at heart, just a minutes-long smash-and-grab.

An emphasis on speed doesn’t mean heists don’t require skill—panache, even. As the old saying goes, amateurs talk strategy; professionals study logistics. Even without gadgets, heists and heist movies still revel in an engineer’s mindset. “Heist movies absolutely celebrate deep-dive nerdery—‘I’m going to know everything I can about the power grid, about this kind of stone and drill, about Chicago at night,’” says Anna Kornbluh, a professor of English at the University of Illinois at Chicago. She published a paper last October on the ways heist movies reflect an Old Hollywood approach to collective art-making, while shows about new grift, like those detailing the rise and fall of WeWork or the con artist Anna Delvey, reflect the more lone-wolf, disrupt-and-grow mindset of the streaming era. 

Her work might help explain why law-abiding citizens might cheer for the kinds of guys who’d steal a crown from the Louvre, or $100,000 worth of escargot from a farm in Champagne (as happened just a few weeks later). Heists, says Kornbluh, are anti-oligarch praxis. “Everybody wants to know how to be in a competent collective. Everybody wants there to be better logistics,” she says. “We need a better state. We need a better society. We need a better world.” Those are shared values—and as another old saying tells us, where there is value, there is crime.