Movies on computers and, later, on the Internet are notoriously inaccurate, and computer scientists, especially on the Internet, are notoriously picky about these inaccuracies. We all hate the internet, but most of us maintain a sibling-like defensiveness towards films that dare to portray it, especially when bathed in negative light. which most of us can clearly see (at least if we’re on social media). Paranoid Internet thrillers of the mid-1990s are now widely considered kitsch; internet paranoia dramas of a more recent vintage are derided as dusty.

So it’s particularly remarkable that one of the most beloved computer shenanigans movies came out even before the internet movie boom of 1995, and features a bunch of bona fide old guys. This month Sneakers turns 30, which means he’s still younger than most of his stars when he came out. Billing above the title goes to Robert Redford, then in his late 50s. He is assisted by the legendary Sidney Poitier, then in his sixties; Dan Aykroyd and David Strathairn, in their forties; and the only young male, a 22-year-old River Phoenix, who is said to have gone too soon just over a year after the film’s release.

Phoenix’s character, Carl, isn’t even the team’s computer expert, a group of misfits with shady pasts who make a business of testing bank security systems by attempting high-tech heists. (Carl’s most crucial contribution: jumping through a drop ceiling to disarm a bad guy.) That this venture is considered a bit sleazy is something that stands out decades later: when Martin Bishop of Redford remarks “it’s a life” about his unusual work. , the woman writing her paycheck joins “Not so good.” In 2022, it looks more likely to be an expensive boutique operation, perhaps even despite its adjacent semi-disgraced and criminal employees. Of course, the reason why the company in Sneakers is described as run down is the same reason the film holds its own without appearing desperate, The Pirates– dated level: much of it is an analog caper, at the dawn of digital transformation.

This hug involves Bishop and his group being hired by the NSA to retrieve a black box, only to find that they have in fact handed it over to Cosmo (Ben Kingsley, doing what can only be described as sort of accent), an old college friend of Bishop’s from his radical days. Cosmo has his sights set on the box’s ability to universally crack any computer system, though his plan to destroy the world seems oddly low-key: he tells Bishop of his intention to bring down the world’s financial systems, then accuses him of murder and has him fired. in the street. (Not really a rush on this revolution, it seems.) The team then makes a deal with the NSA to retrieve the box to clear Bishop’s name. There’s a sort of generic, default faith in the US government to do, if not exactly the right thing, nothing as bad as Cosmo’s dastardly plan to create economic equality.

The film pokes fun at Cosmo’s revolutionary goals by turning him into a petty accomplice, as interested in revenge on Bishop for his youthful betrayal as he is in the lofty ideals he talks about; years later, Sneakers-like universal hacking tools would inspire a lot of globetrotting and vehicle crashes in movies like this fast furious uses this as his MacGuffin. Cosmo’s solipsism joins an uncharitable reading of Sneakers like a text of baby boomer weariness, like the active paranoia of the Redfords of Three days at the Condor turns to indifference. (Redford technically isn’t a Boomer at all, but he seems to be playing one here; the movie’s on-campus prologue is set in 1969, which puts Bishop 10 or 15 years younger than Redford’s age.) Bishop is ready to roll his eyes when presented with Cold War remnants: “We won, they lost, you know? It appeared in a few newspapers. He extends this skepticism to Cosmo’s once-shared anarchic idealism; at the climax, when Cosmo correctly describes a world that is about to be ruled by digital information, Redford beats Tommy Lee Jones by a year with his dismissive “I don’t care”. Although the box could accomplish everything he dreamed of as a young rebel, now he would rather it didn’t exist at all, and when pressed earlier in the film, he characterizes his radicalism as a way to meet girls.

It’s a measure of the film’s deep charm that none of it really bothers – in fact, it makes a perfect companion to some of Redford’s more serious thrillers. Much of the appeal can be summed up in writer/director Phil Alden Robinson’s execution of the enduring boys club-plus-girl heist formula, smoothed out with ample comic relief. Despite the technology at its core, its stars are literally outdated and spend a lot of time figuring out how to break into a highly secure office building. that they need to find the building in the first place, via Bishop’s description of the sound of his journey through the trunk of the car to a secret location, is the kind of detail that makes the film’s geeky side so much fun.

The heist also involves beating voice-recognition software, dodging motion sensors, Strathairn’s Whistler literally driving blind, and the gang donning a variety of disguises. No nonsense about hacking the mainframe. The black box target is the film’s only technology demonstration piece. The cipher key inspires a moment of discovery and visual accompaniment: the stream of data reflected in Whistler’s oversized sunglasses, complete with the obligatory piano sheet music sting, as the boys realize what this device can do. If the film is jaded about the technological vanguard, eager to dismiss Cosmo’s prescience as a helpless rant, Robinson still does a great job of shorthanding the potential threat, and somehow, the spectacle of adults becoming nervous over hacking does not come across as alarmist. . Cosmo’s plot convenience as a ruined idealist may even be negated by the familiarity of his final scene: a clever mastermind with his own minions turns back into a nerd with delusions of grandeur, pleading “don’t go” to his former friend even as he holds him at gunpoint, expressing loneliness through fantasies of rage and power.

There’s also a powerful (if now bittersweet) nostalgia in the way the film captures a shared understanding of who the real-world villains are: At the start of the film, Bishop casually lashes out at George H.W. (then a candidate for re-election) and in the opening flashback he embezzles funds from Richard Nixon’s checking account. The team ends the film by bankrupting the Republican National Committee, leaving a degree of baby boomer idealism intact, postponing that particular reputation torpedoing for a few years or decades. Consider the impromptu demands the team makes of the real NSA at the end of the film: uncalculated, relatively modest (a trip to Europe; a tricked-out Winnebago), not demanding the world.

Is there another techno thriller that works as well as a retirement party? Not literally or completely, of course; Redford would remain a constant presence for many years to come, and Strathairn’s profile rose after his banner in 1992 (he was also in A league apart, Bob-Robert and Fish Passionwith his Sneakers co-star Mary McDonnell). But it was Poitier’s penultimate fiction film, and a better start than his role in The Jackal– in this case, a direct remake of a thriller from the 70s. Although Dan Aykroyd continued to work, Sneakers crowned his most successful character acting phase (alongside supporting roles in Driving Miss Daisy, My daughter and Chaplin). Phoenix, of course, was a tragic loss with only a few films left. Sneakers is too flippant and lighthearted to be called elegiac, but it’s managed to become as vintage as the thrillers it echoes, rather than a relic of the 90s. Imagine, a time when tech-based paranoia could still have a happy ending.


Jesse Hassenger writes about movies and other pop culture stuff for a bunch of outlets, including The AV Club, Polygon, The Week, NME, and SportsAlcohol.com, where he also has a podcast. Next @rockmarooned on Twitter is a great way to find out what he’s watching, listening to, or eating.