(MENAFN) A new film, The Mastermind, starring Josh O’Connor, dramatizes a botched art robbery, drawing inspiration from a wave of daring thefts that swept across the 1970s—a decade defined by upheaval and social unrest.

In May 1972, two men stormed the Worcester Art Museum in Massachusetts, fleeing with four valuable paintings—by Paul Gauguin, Pablo Picasso, and what was then thought to be a Rembrandt—while holding visiting students at gunpoint and injuring a security guard. The stolen collection was valued at around $2 million, making it one of the era’s most significant heists, according to reports. This incident is often seen as foreshadowing the 1990 Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum theft in Boston, where artworks worth $500 million were taken in what remains the largest unsolved art theft in U.S. history.

The Worcester robbery was masterminded by career criminal Florian “Al” Monday, but the plan unraveled when the two hired thieves boasted about their exploit at a local bar. Within weeks, authorities recovered the paintings from a pig farm in Rhode Island. “Ironically, Monday – before he was an art thief – had a band, and I have the 45 of his record,” writer-director Kelly Reichardt recalls. Her film The Mastermind, premiering in the U.S. this weekend, draws from the chain of events surrounding this heist as well as the broader pattern of art thefts in that decade.

Reichardt’s approach has been praised for uncovering “the unglamour in the heist,” as one critic notes. Departing from the flashy portrayals common in blockbuster films, her narrative takes a measured pace, showing how these crimes unfold in painstaking detail. Josh O’Connor portrays JB Mooney, a middle-class art school dropout turned underemployed carpenter, pressured by his affluent parents to repay loans. His attempt to rob the fictional Framingham Art Museum quickly begins to unravel when his accomplices question how the stolen works could be sold given their notoriety.

“If you start to get down into the minutiae of a robbery like this and don't concentrate on the bigger strokes, then by nature it becomes de-glamorised,” Reichardt explains, highlighting her focus on detail over spectacle. The story drew her in while researching the 50th anniversary of the Worcester heist during work on a prior project.

The 1970s saw a string of notable thefts internationally: months after Worcester, three armed robbers raided Montreal’s Museum of Fine Arts, seizing $2 million worth of art and valuables. In 1976, 119 of Picasso’s last works were stolen from a French exhibition at the Palais des Papes. High-profile politically motivated thefts also occurred, such as the 1974 raid on Russborough House in Ireland led by Rose Dugdale and IRA members, who stole 19 paintings to negotiate the release of imprisoned compatriots. “There was something incredibly well organised about it and really badly thought out. They are so driven but completely blind to the wider political reality,” commentators recall.

While thefts of art are not new—dating back centuries, including the 1911 Mona Lisa heist—the Massachusetts robbery marked a shift. The 1970s boom in the art market meant works increasingly came to be seen “as the equivalent of money,” according to experts. Museums’ limited security and financial struggles made them vulnerable, as smaller thefts had already shown, from stolen Goyas in London to missing Rembrandts in Dulwich.

“Part of the appeal of these characters is their outsmarting the establishment. The fact that art heists usually don't involve private individuals makes it more acceptable – Susan Ronald,” notes a specialist in art crime. Security staff often lacked training or arms, making thefts easier, and features like circular museum drives facilitated quick escapes. The FBI’s Art Crime Team, for instance, wasn’t formally established until 2004, although some agents recovered hundreds of millions in stolen works over their careers.

Despite the daring image, many art thieves lacked a deep understanding of their targets. “The history of art crime and major art heists has been one of opportunist idiots who don't really understand the nature of works of art themselves,” notes an historian. “Then they suddenly discover, to their horror, that the objects they've stolen are very difficult things to shift.”

The archetype of the charming art thief emerged in films of the 1960s and 1970s, reflecting broader cultural anti-authoritarian sentiments. Movies such as Topkapi, How to Steal a Million, and Gambit helped romanticize the role, appealing to audiences disillusioned by war and political scandals. “There is something quite daring about it,” historians note, explaining why society often regards heists against institutions as more acceptable than crimes against individuals.

Reichardt’s portrayal in The Mastermind subverts this romanticism, presenting JB and his associates as deeply flawed and selfish, rather than glamorous rogues. The narrative also explores the perspectives of those affected by the heist, including JB’s long-suffering wife and unimpressed colleagues, offering a more grounded view of personal freedom and its costs.

Today, major public museum thefts are rarer, with thieves increasingly aware that high-value artworks are difficult to sell. Yet experts warn that underfunding and deteriorating infrastructure may pose future risks to collections, potentially making museums as vulnerable to environmental damage as to crime. “It's not just security that will suffer – it will be the very fabric of the buildings as well,” a heritage consultant notes.

The Mastermind opens in U.S. cinemas on 17 October and in the U.K. on 24 October.

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