3.5 stars. Rated R, for profanity, sensuality and brief violence
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 2.27.15
Heist flicks rely on two
essential ingredients: a tight, logical script that holds together even as the narrative
veers in unexpectedly twisty directions; and — just as important — a sharply
constructed cast of characters, played by actors who approach this material
with sincerity and conviction.
In other words, actors who don’t preen
from one scene to the next, undercutting the tension and suspense we desire
from the genre.
Ideal scripts, in turn, need to
be clever on three levels: the core storyline — in other words, the actual
caper(s) — which should be intriguing, unusual and introduced with zest; the
inevitable “unexpected” glitch that complicates matters, and which the
filmmakers usually expect us viewers to anticipate; and, finally, the genuinely
surprising second twist, which nobody sees coming, and which leaves us nodding
with admiration.
Hats off to the writing/directing
team of Glenn Ficarra and John Requa, then, because Focus delivers on all
counts. Heist thrillers are one of my favorite genres; I’ve seen scores of good
ones, and therefore usually anticipate all manner of revelations, hiccups and
gotchas.
And yet Ficarra and Requa startled
me, with their devious, eleventh-hour eyebrow-raiser. Well done.
On top of which, they’ve
assembled ideal talent, starting with smooth-as-silk Will Smith, whose every
word, deed, gesture and wary expression denote career larceny. He’s perfectly
cast as the sophisticated Nicky Spurgeon, a seasoned master of misdirection,
who deploys and unerringly supervises a veritable squadron of sharps,
pick-pockets and thieves at crowded, high-profile events such as conventions
and parades.
Smith is well matched by Margot
Robbie’s Jess Barrett, a frisky blonde with a sensual wiggle, who worms her way
into Nicky’s crew with the sort of breathy admiration and flirty innocence that
Marilyn Monroe perfected, back in the day. Robbie will be remembered as Leonaro
DiCaprio’s seductively controlling wife in 2013’s The Wolf of Wall Street, and let’s just say that she’s equally alluring here.
And just as unpredictable.
Indeed, Jess wears “devious” like the slinky, skin-tight dresses into which Robbie
gets poured; we can’t help wondering about her end game, from the moment she
catches Nicky’s attention.
But, then, we also don’t expect
him to be candid with her, so the question revolves around who’s likely to get
played, and how quickly.
Meanwhile, Smith and Robbie —
both dripping with sensual savoir-faire — circle each other with a playfully
erotic grace that wholly eluded the characters in Fifty Shades of Grey.
Nicky and Jess “meet cute” when
she rather clumsily attempts to rob him at a New York hotel. Far from angry, he
acknowledges her pluck and shares a few tricks of his trade.
“It’s about distraction,” he
explains. “It’s about focus. The brain is slow, and it can’t multi-task. Tap
him here, take from there.”
He wishes her well, then bids adieu.
A bit later, while setting up an
ambitious scheme during the crowded final days leading up to a fan-frenzied
football game in New Orleans, Nicky isn’t surprised to see that Jess has
tracked him down. She’s initially smug, then dismayed to discover that he
expected her: something of an initiation test.
Serious schooling subsequently
takes place in a blur, as Nicky and his colleagues coach her the arts of diversion,
stealthy fingers and hand-offs. Needless to say, Jess is plenty diverting in
her own amply displayed skin — a series of wonderfully sexy dresses from
costume designer Dayna Pink — and takes to her “lessons” with alacrity and
aplomb.
Ficarra, Requa and editor Jan
Kovac assemble this sequence superbly: a marvelous montage of unsuspecting tourists
fleeced right under their own noses, in a wide variety of settings and via
engaging variations on the same larcenous theme. (It’ll make you think twice
about maintaining a death-grip on your valuables, next time you maneuver
through a popular, well-attended public event.)
But there’s a problem: Nicky
knows that he’s falling for Jess, a potential hazard in an occupation where, in
his own words, “love will get you killed.”
And so they go their separate
ways.
Three years pass, and we catch up
to Nicky in Buenos Aires, as he prepares to execute a complicated con against
millionaire Spanish racing tycoon Rafael Garríga (Rodrigo Santoro). Garríga
believes they’re working together to fleece rival race car mogul McEwen (Robert
Taylor); in reality, Nicky intends to hustle both men.
But there’s a problem: Garríga’s
head of security, Owens (Gerald McRaney), doesn’t trust Nicky. Owens is an
old-school handler with a nose for duplicity, and his tart dialogue exchanges
with Nicky are to die for. Indeed, McRaney pretty much steals his every scene:
no easy task, when surrounded by Smith and Robbie.
And there’s also a surprise:
Garríga’s girlfriend turns out to be — goodness gracious — Jess.
What, Nicky wonders, is she doing
there? (Unknown.) And has he really gotten over her? (Unlikely.) And will her
distracting presence screw things up? (Unquestionably.)
What follows is ... delectable.
Adrian Martinez is a hoot as
Farhad, Nicky’s hulking computer expert and best friend. Farhad is beyond
vulgar, but Martinez delivers his crude dialogue with such a jovial twinkle,
that we can’t helping chuckling at the results. BD Wong is enjoyably outrageous
as a well-heeled businessman with a penchant for extreme bets, and a
condescending manner that gets under Nicky’s skin.
Brennan Brown establishes a nice
presence as Horst, one of Nicky’s trusted lieutenants, who serves as Jess’
mentor during her apprenticeship phase. Sadly, Horst isn’t needed during the
story’s second and third acts, and Brown is missed.
Taylor, recognized by mystery
fans as Sheriff Walt Longmire in the eponymous TV series, gets to display his
actual Australian accent as the larcenous McEwen, eager to one-up a detested
rival. Santoro, in turn, is appropriately smooth as the refined and
über-wealthy Garríga, whose desire to win under any circumstances includes a
willingness to bend both rules and the law. This makes him the perfect mark for
Nicky, forever adept at exploiting a target’s weakness.
Composer Nick Urata delivers an
engaging orchestral score that is intoxicating and mildly sinister by turns:
ideal for this material, particularly during the New Orleans-based “hustlers’
montage.”
Focus marks an intriguing
departure for Ficarra and Requa, until now best known for impudent burlesques
such as Bad Santa and I Love You Phillip Morris: broad comedies that
certainly don’t possess the sleek sophistication so engagingly displayed here.
That said, they also directed 2011’s Crazy, Stupid, Love — albeit with Dan
Fogelman scripting — which gently spoofed a similar degree of romantic
sophistication, while building to its own unexpected, third-act bolt from the
blue ... so maybe this gentle caper thriller isn’t such a stretch.
Smith certainly owns this film,
granting it the surface polish that makes these nefarious proceedings go down
with such élan. But he also owes Ficarra and Requa for their clever narrative
foundation, along with the deliciously piquant dialogue.
The result is a lot of fun:
always the best compliment for a well-constructed heist flick.
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