Bring Out the Kalashas, Marseille-Style
Adam Franco is a brute-force, taciturn undercover operative, whose effectiveness is matched only by his resilience to the dirty jobs he’s asked to do. From the very first seconds of AKA, Morgan S. Dalibert and Alban Lenoir want to prove that, just like this character, they’re not here to joke around. Dropping this anti-hero into the heart of a terrorist base to retrieve a hostage, the filmmaker and his actor embark on a long-take exercise to show the precision of this action man, capable of dismantling a sizable pack of enemies all by himself.
If this cinematic equivalent of chest-pounding (or a testosterone contest) has become a weary obligatory moment in recent action cinema, AKA carries the merit of strategic humility, which lingers less on its bravado and more on its off-screen elements. Along the way, the camera shifts perspective to capture the fear of attackers who are eliminated one by one. Adam is determined, and is above all filmed as an unstoppable force by the lens, which keeps returning to him like a magnet.
De la cuisine avec des produits frais
In short, AKA benefits from its craftsmanship and its pared-down approach to sketching its protagonist. Alban Lenoir’s commitment has been evident since Lost Bullet, and his hard-edged gaze greatly influences the film’s success. As he infiltrates a mob group that is said to be tied to a terrorist cell, Adam is forced to confront a situation far from the binary, black-and-white dynamic one might wish for. The actor’s restraint and his simmering, almost clocking-watch temperament (always on the verge of a punch) prove ideal as the story unfolds a more human dimension, pushing the main character toward a familiar but effective evolution—the hard man who discovers a heart.
That said, Dalibert’s setup suffers from an attempt to artificially deepen a narrative that would have benefited from staying punchier and more immediate. One can understand the filmmaker indulging in a portrayal of Eric Cantona as a godfather straight out of an Olivier Marchal film (a touch of a lilting accent and a whisky glass dusted with menacing looks), but the empire orbiting around him isn’t especially gripping. In truth, this entire gambit mainly serves to foreground the mob boss’s children, whom Adam ends up growing fond of.
On dirait le suuuud
Butter Eye, Lenoir
From there, AKA settles—somewhat—into a not-quite-slick reimagining of Man on Fire, paired with the aesthetic experiments of Lost Bullet. Fortunately, that second point takes the lead, confirming that Guillaume Pierret has kicked off an exciting momentum. This new Netflix production is mindful of its budget constraints, but it knows how to make the most of them, as in that mid-intersection shootout scene that rests entirely on the precision of its cutting—tense and clear.
Beyond the cachet he earns from his frame and its sets (notably when he films the Paris suburbs and their rows of social housing towers), Dalibert uses his archetypal gangster framework as a lab for inventive action sequences. This is why, despite occasional lulls, his feature keeps you hooked. We eagerly anticipate the arrival of a new set-piece and its treatment, launched in a relentless crescendo that easily tilts toward a John Wick-style finale.
Des kidnappeurs qui n’ont pas dû voir Taken
But just like its opening long take, what we’ll remember most about AKA are its most elegant choices, not so much in the blow-by-blow of action as in its suggestion. A telling example is a particularly clever shot where the camera follows Adam as he’s about to blast a few throats outside a nightclub, then stops at the video return of a surveillance camera.
The fight is perceived through this filter, into which the camera zooms to underscore the protagonist’s danger, boxed in by that fixed screen. Alban Lenoir’s body writhes in this drifting, senseless world, and for once we’re glad Netflix is on hand to make it the new banner for a humble, meticulously crafted action cinema.
AKA is available on Netflix since April 28, 2023
