Soon enough, Bloom has equipped himself with a used camcorder and a police scanner. He's got a game plan and the right kind of slick-talking sociopathy to make things work. Bloom talks himself up, periodically, as a sort of genuine businessman. He follows the model of what he thinks a successful person looks like, and suggests to some that he is already that and to others that he hopes one day to reach their level of professionalism. It's a startling ploy, on screen, and one Gyllenhaal pulls off flawlessly with each new permutation. Playing Bloom involves a tightrope act of callousness. The character is above all frightening is his detachment from human emotion, but the film asks us to follow him and, surprisingly often, to find dark humor in his sickness. To that end, we have to be willing to follow Bloom and believe that he is able to draw others in, and Gyllenhaal shows us how. While Bloom always maintains the unsettling eyes and aggressive body language of his character, he manages a disconnect in voice. Consequently, we see what his "victims" might: a flash of faux vulnerability here, a touch of sycophancy, a heartening note of self-confidence. As Bloom lets others know that he's ambitious, a fast-learner, it's not particularly surprising that they encourage him: he's gawky, awkward, easily mistakable as the type of personality with drive, but maybe not teeth.