If it's so easy to guess what women want, why is this movie so utterly devoid of any of it?
That sound you hear is the high-fives in the writers' room, and that, unfortunately, is where the filmmakers' focus remains.
[For Smith,] Focus isn't a full return to brilliance but a welcome stop, hopefully, on the way there.
It's a shiny, diverting ride. (And right about now, that's OK.)
Perhaps the film's greatest trick is the one that happens offscreen: Hours after the end credits roll, it will completely disappear from your mind.
This is the kind of movie where we're not supposed to know at any time who is playing whom, but since the characterizations are glossy and paper-thin, it's difficult to get worked up about who gets fleeced.
The mix of longtime star and minx on the rise is one tasty element in the success of a movie that approaches the modest goals and effortless allure of a 60-year-old Hitchcock.
Drunk on its perfume-ad cinematography and doesn't know when to quit with its double-double cross plotting.
Smith's natural charisma has been dulled by special effects bonanzas and/or a desire to play against type. In "Focus," he feels like himself again, and he reminds you why he became one of Hollywood's biggest stars in the first place.