Fragmented 'Focus' begs for dose of Ritalin

In a Gucci get-up, would FDR have been a more effective president? Neil Slavin's new film, Focus, asks this question, as it tries to deliver a parable about American wartime anti-Semitism in something that resembles a designer bag. Thinking of other recent films that "emphasize"—to understate—the visual, two examples come to mind: last year's odyssey-on-serious-drugs, The Cell, and Baz Luhrmann's two-hour music video, Moulin Rouge.

Those two movies somehow warrant their glorified MTV look. Both provide access to a lush, digitally enhanced garden of postmodern decadence, and just being allowed in is exhilarating. Focus tones down this aesthetic and veers toward film-noir expressionism. But for this adaptation of Arthur Miller's controversial 1945 novel about racial discrimination, it's still lots of style over the wrong substance.

Like so many of his ilk, Slavin reveals his background in television commercials from the get-go. Lawrence Newman (William H. Macy) wakes up in the middle of the night—ostensibly startled by a noise, but it's doubtful anyone could sleep for long in his bedroom, which is lit like the cask of Amontillado. Newman maneuevers through the shadows and timidly peeks out his window, where he watches a Puerto Rican woman being beaten and raped in the street. She sees him behind his venetian blinds and screams for help, but he does nothing. Newman returns to bed troubled as the camera zooms in on his eyes, then passes right through his head in a flourish of virtuosity that recalls ads for electronics and trendy footwear.

COURTESY YORK SQUARE 'I'm doing my best not to focus on your thighs.'

Like much of Focus, the first scene is contrived. But as it gets moving, the effective visual style becomes the film's major success, turning the peaceful existence of a Brooklyn bachelor into a living nightmare. The war situation abroad has threatened the "American way of life" and Newman's neighbors are seeking domestic scapegoats. Initially, he's not bothered by the intolerance that grows around him. But then, through a series of unfortunate events, Newman himself is mistaken for a Jew.

The first catalyst is a strange one: his glasses. Newman's mother warns him that the thick-framed pair he starts wearing makes him look Jewish, and her cautions are confirmed when his anti-Semitic boss suddenly demotes him. Newman invites more plausible suspicion by marrying Gertrude Hart (Laura Dern), who looks Jewish despite the fact that she's spent most of her life trying to convince people otherwise. The couple attracts sidelong glances, then warning stares.

Things get worse when radical clergyman Father Crighton—based on a historical character, "Radio Priest" Father Charles Coughlin—comes to town. He is the inspirational leader of the "Union Crusaders," a nationwide organization that terrorizes suspected Jews and other "outsiders" living in white neighborhoods. Crighton harnesses the local hatred, directing it towards Newman and Finkelstein (David Paymer), the Jew who owns the store down the street. Gertrude pleads with him to talk with their friend and neighbor Fred (Meat Loaf), a member of the group, but Newman naïvely believes he can settle this case of mistaken identity on his own. The climax comes in the form of a confrontation, and Newman must fight back.

Macy is excellent in a role similar to the one he played in Fargo. He is perfectly nebbish, his awkward smile revealing the deeper insecurity that both upholds and destroys his eager-to-please façade. Macy's various characters fear their own courage like no one else on screen. As Gretchen, Laura Dern comes off well as a savvy wife, although her exaggerated hip-swinging walk is overwrought.

Given the quality of the individual performances, it's unfortunate the two don't work as a couple. It's hard to imagine anyone as commanding and gorgeous as Gertrude falling for Newman—especially after their disastrous first encounter. The sequence that shows them falling in love is as bad as they come; the filmmakers seem to think that enough glamour lighting will coax the romance out of Dern's hair and into the scene. Meat Loaf turns in a fine supporting performance, but it is Paymer with whom Macy shares the best scenes.

Because Slavin is more of a stylist than a dramatist, accustomed to 30-second slots rather than feature-length films, the individual scenes are better than the film as a whole. Making this film a thrilling nightmare is a dubious project to begin with, and Focus doesn't approach this goal. While the visuals are always powerful and unsettling on their own, the narrative doesn't keep up.

The overall result is that Miller's serious subject matter seems like a borrowed coat. A complex issue is reduced and trivialized in the service of an effect—which, to an extent, it achieves. At one point, a character observes, "It's a tragedy today, people murdering each other," but no one says any more about it. Unfortunately, the film takes its title to heart; it manages to focus on this "tragedy" but never attempts to dissect it. America's current situation may reinforce the urgency of the message, but then Focus is as questionable as the propaganda posters that populate its frames.

Back to A&E...