Back in his mid-to-late 1990’s heyday, Will Smith was the
undisputed box office king. At a certain point, the Fourth of July weekend
seemed to be reserved for the annual big-budget blockbuster, like “Independence
Day” and “Men in Black,” that was built around the actor’s unique brand of wise-cracking
charm.
But in
recent years, Smith has shifted his focus, choosing instead to cultivate his
serious side (aside from a forgettable second sequel to “Men in Black”) in
ponderous films in the mold of “Seven Pounds,” “The Pursuit of Happyness,” and the sci-fi disaster that was “After Earth.”
A pleasingly lightweight crime-romance, “Focus” marks the re-emergence of Will
Smith: Movie Star, and though it’s not quite a return to form, it’s clearly a
step in the right direction.
Despite an
exceedingly forgettable title — the script spends a lot of time spelling out
how focus is a theme of the movie, both in achieving it and deflecting it — “Focus”
is loads of fun; a glossy, escapist fantasy with picturesque locales and pretty
movie stars in expensive clothes. Smith plays Nicky, a professional grifter. He meets Jess (Margot Robbie, “The Wolf of Wall
Street”) in a hotel bar, where they hit it off, sharing casual flirty banter
over cocktails, and eventually she takes him upstairs to her room. In the midst
of their encounter, Jess’ “husband” barges in waving a gun. It’s not entirely
convincing, and Nicky immediately senses it’s a setup. Brushing off her attempt
to fleece him, Jess asks him to teach her what he knows. Nicky agrees to take
her on as his protégé, adding her to his crew of pickpockets, forgers, and
thieves. And it’s not long before they’re entangled romantically as well.
“Focus”
doesn’t spend its time building toward some large, overarching caper, instead it
presents us with several smaller schemes and moves on to the next so quickly
that there’s no time to get bored. Writer-directors Glenn Ficarra
and John Requa (“Crazy, Stupid, Love”) don’t spend
much time explaining the specifics of these cons, because even more than most
movies if its kind, they don’t matter. But by keeping us on the outside,
waiting to find out the trick once it’s been accomplished, isn’t as involving
as if we’d been invited along for the ride.
The film does give us some wonderful sequences,
like the montage of Nicky’s crew stealing wallets and purses in the French
Quarter. Sleight-of-hand artist and self-described “gentlemen thief” Apollo
Robbins is credited as a consultant for these scenes of deception, and they’re
thrilling to watch. They make it look so easy that you want to go out and try
picking a few pockets yourself.
Things then
move to the skybox at the Superdome, where Nicky makes a series of frivolous
bets on the Super Bowl, against a Chinese businessman (B.D. Wong having a
blast) who can’t get enough. The film’s final (though by far least interesting)
heist is set in Buenos Aires in the world of Formula 1 racing. Throughout it
all, the relationship between Nicky and Jess always takes center stage. As they
circle one another, we are asked to consider the question of honor among
thieves and whether two people who steal for a living can ever really trust someone
else.
Smith remains
as charming as ever, while adding a slight sense of melancholy to his portrayal
of Nicky. But Ficarra and Requa
save the best bits for Margot Robbie, who announces her presence as a real
talent. Though she bears a striking resemblance to Jaime Pressly,
the Aussie actress makes the biggest impression of all. She and Smith make for
an attractive, charismatic pairing, and the fact that they’re an interracial
couple goes blessedly unremarked upon within the film — even in 2015 it is
sadly all too rare for a major studio film, making it feel all the more like a
kind of milestone.
There are
also memorable supporting parts for several character actors, such as Adrian
Martinez as Nicky’s wingman, and best of all, Gerald McRaney
doing his best Mike Ehrmantrout as the head of
security for the race team owner that Nicky’s swindling. McRaney
brings a gruff hilariousness to the role; every word out of his mouth is gold.
The third
act overplays its hand trying to create a sense of life-or-death stakes as
things go wrong, but it’s never truly convincing, since by then it’s already
firmly established that it’s not that kind of movie. In the end, “Focus”
performs its own sort of sleight-of-hand: It makes for a pleasant enough
experience while it’s happening, but then it evaporates from memory the second
it’s over.
This article appears in Feb 25 – Mar 3, 2015.
