Movie Nation

Black and white, foggy and soundstagy, this looks a bit like the Orson Welles “Macbeth” of the ’40s.

This holiday treat (Dec. 25 in theaters, Jan. on Apple TV+) comes from A24 and Apple.

“Baggage” some call it. “Complications” is what it is. The longer you live, the more experiences you’ve had, bad and good, and the more your pile of memories, traumas, triumphs and tragedies dictates how you respond to the world and to the people you encounter in it.

Here’s a delicate British melodrama that resides on the melancholy side of the tracks. Two seniors, “OAPs” (old age pensioners) meet, warily circle each other and eventually reveal their baggage during “23 Walks” with their dogs.

Dave (Dave Johns of “I, Daniel Blake” and “Fisherman’s Friends”) is the outgoing one, chatting with a friend he sees on his daily walks, doting on his aged Alsatian Tilly.

Calling Fern — played by Alison Steadman of Mike Leigh’s “Life is Sweet,” Mrs. Bennett of the classic TV “Pride & Prejudice” — “wary” is an understatement. Her first greeting, in a narrow path hemmed in by fences, is “Put your DOG on a LEAD!”

Making peace is going to be a chore with the lady walking the yappie Yorkie Henry.

“Can I give him a treat?”

“I don’t THINK so.”

Each chance encounter in the park is a tad on the fraught side.

“Ok if we walk with you?”

“It’s a free country!”

This Paul Morrison (“Little Ashes”) film takes its time letting us know character’s names, takes its time setting up the budding relationship “23 Walks” is about and takes its time piling on complications, the “secrets” and “baggage” these two bring, along with their dogs on these “chance” encounters.

For starters, the bump-intos aren’t chance at all. Dave is interested, patient and persistent. Fern is so testy and tetchy, he has to be.

Over the course of those 23 walks, they will grow closer and tear apart, reach a rapprochement and abruptly shut-down once again. Hard won experience and hard-moments of hurt come back to the surface for each of them.

Both Steadman, who not only worked with but was married to the great chronicler of British working class realism Mike Leigh, and Johns, a comic actor on TV who had a later-life breakthrough in film working with Ken Loach on “I, Daniel Blake,” are throwbacks to the “kitchen sink realism” of British theater, which endures in British film thanks to filmmakers they’ve worked with.

The “issues” with this possible relationship range from a messy divorce and eviction to adult children and an aged dog. And those are just for starters. At times it seems Morrison is tossing everything but the kitchen sink at these two.

These get to be a bit much for us, and for Fern, the divorced one who does most of the breaking up.

“It’s all got too complicated.”

But the grace notes carry these “23 Walks,” which range from parks to the countryside surrounding London and include impromptu Spanish lessons — he learned it from a cleaning lady, she needs to understand it for a daughter’s wedding in the Canary Islands — and a sing-along to fondly-remembered comic ditty about wallowing in the mud from their youth.

And there’s a grand rapport between our stars, something warmer than mere “chemistry” — a shared history, despite the fact that the characters have only just met. The retired nurse and former showgirl’s banter has an easy familiarity.

“Sing me a song.”

“Oh Dave, you don’t know what you’re asking!”

“Pretend you’re in the bath!”

“I was never a STRIPPER!”

The sadness that courses through this uneasy and deliberate courtship won’t be to every taste. But for the brave, for those experienced enough to know about “baggage” and that no one gets out of here alive, this tale of finding a surprise connection in the twilight years, overcoming shrinking horizons and the burden of grief, disappointment and melancholy will resonate.

Rating: unrated, sex, profanity

Cast: Alison Steadman, Dave Johns

Credits: Scripted and directed by Paul Morrison. A Gravitas Ventures release.

Running time: 1:42

Yeah, just what we need. More “proof” for the wackjobs.

But but but, I saw it on a MOVIE.

“Implanted” enters release Oct.1.

Today’s Around the World with Netflix presentation lets us know that rich, womanizing douche-bros in Brazil are every bit as contemptible as anywhere else.

But with the title “Rich in Love (Ricos de Amor),” you have to know that the heel, the scion of a tomato empire, is redeemable.

That’s the story here, a born-rich party boy from Paty de Alferes dabbles in switching identities with the son of a servant and takes his stab at winning a job he’d be handed on a silver platter under his own name. And maybe he’ll win a love who won’t be after him for his money if she thinks he’s charming and poor.

Deep. And here and there, almost cute.

Danilo Mesquita plays Teto, heir to the Trancoso Tomato products empire run by his widowed dad (veteran character actor Ernani Moraes). The kid’s lazy, selfish and spoiled, and he’s pretty much bedded every young woman in town.

If it wasn’t for Igor (Jaffar Bambirra) he wouldn’t have any real friends. But Igor’s the housekeeper’s son, one hoping to get to college so that he can make something of himself. Fat chance with Teto taking up all his time, making Igor drive home any woman who wakes up in his bed and winning all these “bets” that somehow one suspects Igor has to let the rich kid win.

“You need to grow up, Teto,” (in Portuguese, with English subtitles, or dubbed) is the general consensus.

A bet is how Igor is forced to tag along as rich boy picks out the Land Rover convertible he wants for his birthday. Igor isn’t even on “the list” for Teto’s lavish Tomato Festival birthday party, which shames rich dude enough to switch IDs with “my brother” Igor for the night.

That “tomato prince” ID does a little for Igor. But passing himself off as Igor gets complicated for the real “prince” Teto when he meets the lovely med school student Paula (Giovanna Lancellotti) from Rio, in town for a bachelorette weekend.

Gosh, our two “small town party guys” have to go to Rio, under their switched identities, so that Teto can continue his pursuit. Igor? He can enroll, with Teto, in the company’s new young executive recruiting program, where nobody knows what the boss’s son looks like, save for the smart and sharp young exec Monique (Lellê) who was laid off to create the upcoming opening Teto has been groomed for.

The comedy’s candy-colored/tomato-pasted facade covers a half-hearted effort to jam some social commentary in here. Monique lives in the favela, the “dangerous” poor neighborhoods high on the hillside. Teto will need her help “winning” the job since he’s posing as Igor, “a regular guy” with no special name and privilege.

It makes little sense that Monique would help, but she is “moved by your rich boy problems” and does.

Another slice of searing social commentary is Paula’s struggle to land the only residency at the hospital where she’s been studying. She is the sharpest intern in the class, but damned if her supervising physician (Caio Paduan) isn’t all over her. Her good looks are her ticket to harassment.

Igor also finds himself targeted by his fetching internship supervisor, Alana (Fernanda Paes Leme), who kisses up to the boss’s son, and who doesn’t want to stop at kissing.

“Rich in Love” is just a series of limp mistaken identity mixups and even lamer protect-that-mistaken-identity gags. There’s barely a laugh in this, and even the “sweet” moments play as patronizing, boons granted by the rich to the lesser folk.

The script shortchanges Igor’s agenda so much that I couldn’t figure out, at times, why he was going along with any of them.

Frankly, I think they could a lot more with the whole tomatoes thing.

The cast is uniformly sexy, but the romances presented don’t spark, mostly owing to how unnatural and artificial they feel. At the end of any rom-com, you like to think “she belongs with him/he belongs with her,” and here that just isn’t true.

Plot complications are painted over to such a degree

Rating: TV-14, drinking and drugging and hooking up

Cast: Danilo Mesquita, Giovanna Lancellotti, Jaffar Bambirra, Ernani Moraes, Fernanda Paes Leme, Caio Paduan and Lellê

Credits: Directed by Bruno Garotti, scripted by Júlio Uchoa. A Netflix release.

Running time: 1:46

Yes, it looks like they give the whole danged thing away in the preview of this Oct. 15 release (in theaters, and on Peacock Network).

But we’ll have to watch the completed thriller to see, won’t we?

The French documentary “Savior for Sale” came out in France before the very fine theatrical documentary “The Lost Leonardo” hit theaters.

As the films are about exactly the same subject — the “discovery,” epic resales and scandalous politicking involved in trying to bums-rush the authentication of a painting labeled “The Male ‘Mona Lisa'” — the filmmakers interview many of the same subjects, cover much the same ground and lean on many of the same visuals in telling this story of the insular world of high-end art, “full of people trying to make huge amounts of money out of (very very) rich people.”

We see the same Christie’s Auction House video montage (a different sample) of wide-eyed/teary-eyed visitors, members of the general public, awed in the presence of this “lost masterpiece” about to be auctioned off in New York. The filmmakers — Andreas Koefoed for “Leonardo,” Antoine Vitkine made “Savior for Sale” — even use the same graphics in tracking the travels of this tale of how this damaged, “paint-over” painting of Jesus, perhaps painted by Leonardo Da Vinci himself, perhaps assisted by or wholly painted by his workshop, perhaps neither, came to sell for $450 million, including commission.

If you saw “The Lost Leonardo,” as I did, you probably don’t need to stream or catch “Savior for Sale.” They’re damned near identical. But the French film is more thorough, more blunt, has more edge and takes a firmer stand on the “Lost Leonardo” than “The Lost Leonardo.”

To recap, this very old and damaged painting was “discovered” in New Orleans, exhibited in London, sold to a Russian oligarch, re-sold to the murderous Crown Prince of Saudi Arabia Mohammed bin Salman (MBS) for a staggering sum and negotiated into an exhibition at the Louvre, which declined to authenticate it or give it standing alongside their most prized painting, the “Mona Lisa.”

The arc of “Savior” throws the British endorsement of the painting by the “ambitious curator” of the National Gallery in London (Luke Syson) into sharp opposition with the French officials who “courageously” who rebuffed it and questioned its authenticity.

“Savior” comes off as more jingoistic, as if the French, Guardians of World Culture, are refighting the Hundred Years War and Napoleonic Wars all over again with those gauche Brits and their American offspring. Monty Python would certainly see it that way.

But Vitkine interviewed the heir of the Louisiana owner, and shows where the painting was hung in the family’s New Orleans home. He got an actual interview with the Russian oligarch, Dmitri Rybolovev, who was talked into buying it by his slippery Swiss go-between, Yves Bouvier.

Vitkine labels the various principals, aka “usual suspects” (my term), “The Expert,” “The Curator (Syson),” “The Journalist (New York Times reporter Scott Reyburn).” One art historian, a Belgian advisor (Chris Dercon) to the Saudis, who envision the world beating a path to their blood-stained museum doors, is even labeled “The Mercenary.”

He laughs a lot in the film. Let’s hope he laughed at that description.

“Lost Leonardo” spends a lot more time on the restorer (Dianne Dwyer Modestini), who may have “restored” the work to look more Da Vinci-like, perhaps inadvertently. “Savior” spends more time on the 17th century Wenceslaus Hollar etching that is supposedly based on it, and gives voice to a leading academic skeptic (Matthew Landrus) who is asked about any trepidations he might have about speaking out about how this probably wasn’t painted by Leonardo Da Vinci.

“Savior” has two interviewees speak behind masks or in shadow, Louvre experts talking about French doubts as to the painting’s authenticity and true value and Saudi efforts to bribe “Salvator Mundi” into international acceptance.

Because MBS has already shown a willingness to have his critics murdered.

Having reviewed “The Lost Leonardo,” I was going to pass “Savior for Sale” by. But I found the French film (Was it made for French TV?) engrossing and more informative, “Leonardo” more touching and poetic. You can see and feel why people got swept up in the presence of a painting of Jesus by the great Renaissance polymath in “Leonardo.” That business that art expert Martin Kemp, an expert extensively interviewed for both films, speaks of as “the presence” of a “real Leonardo,” comes through much more clearly in that film.

Kemp, whose early endorsement played a key role in pushing a painting purchased for $1175 one year into selling for $127.5 million, then $450 million a couple of years later, gets more of a roughing up in “Savior for Sale.”

If you’re limiting yourself to one film on the subject, I’d suggest the more thorough “Savior.” But you come away from either documentary with the same smirking dismay of how gullible and stupid the stupidly rich let themselves be in the presence of the denizens of The World of Fine Collectible Art, who may live by the ethos “There’s a sucker born every minute,” but say the phrase with the poshest (British, French or Italian) accent imaginable.

Rating: unrated

Cast: Robert Simon, Scott Reyburn, Martin Kemp, Luke Syson, Dianne Dwyer Modestini, Matthew Landrus, Chris Dercon, Yves Bouvier, Dmitri Rybolovev, Loïc Gouzer

Credits: Directed by Antoine Vitkine. A Greenwich Entertainment release.

Running time: 1:38

So here we are again, Moriarty. Or shall I call you writer-director Justin Lee?

You’re the prolific filmmaker with no less than nine writing and directing credits produced, filmed and unleashed since 2018. I’m the sucker who keeps reviewing cut-rate Westerns like “Badland” and “A Reckoning,” or even more generic thrillers like “Big Legend.”

I had vowed to leave you to your Uwe Boll II business lest it seem I’m on some personal vendetta against a guy who, let’s face it, should be traveling the country, doing seminars at film schools.

Because Justin Lee gets movies made. Legions of talented filmmakers struggle and scrape by and dream and network and get nowhere in Hollywood or New York. Lee lines up “Dr. Drew” Pinsky and wrestler Randy Couture, Lance Henriksen or Oscar winners Mira Sorvino and Wes Studi, James Russo and Bruce Dern and, in his latest, Thomas Jane and Lee’s mascot, Trace Adkins, and cranks out another movie.

Film students far and wide would pay to have him teach a master class on how he manages it.

The movies are, to a one, crap. Lee has no flare for storytelling for the screen — writing, or directing. And Trace Adkins is to acting what Norm MacDonald was to country music. And just as animated, in Norm’s current state.

“Apache Junction” is another static, artless and pokey Western with an aimless, scattershot script, a few horses, a little gunplay and nothing that does any credit to the acting profession. At all.

Scout Taylor-Thompson plays a pretty reporter from the San Francisco Examiner come to the middle of nowhere, Arizona, to write about the lawless “sanctuary” Apache Junction, basically a free fire zone that is the Russian-financed NRA’s wet dream for America.

She is protected, after a fashion, by the gunslinger Jericho (Stuart Townsend), the Native American Wasco (Ricky Lee) and the pipe-puffing saloon owner, Al Longfellow (Jane). But Miss Annabelle Angel (Jesus H, where does he find these names?) is no dainty thing, “lady” or not. She doesn’t ride side-saddle and it being 1881, she totes a gun.

That’s handy because the Junction has bad hombres — the murderous card cheat Oslo Pike (Ed Morrone), assorted cutthroats, and the rapey Blue Bellies, U.S. Army troops meant to keep order and deliver justice, but led by cynical, drawling do-nothing Capt. Hensley (Adkins).

Why would you name a character Oslo and not suggest, “Hey, he’s a Norwegian immigrant, like everybody John Qualen (“The Searchers,” “The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance”) played in John Ford’s Westerns?” I mean, get him to do an accent. SOMEthing.

The Sante Fe locations are properly sage-brushed and weathered. But the wardrobe department ensures that every character in this looks freshly dry-cleaned, as was the fashion of the day, I guess.

Scene after scene opens slowly, staggers to a pause, and dies in its tracks.

The dialogue is recycled saddle slang — “He’s jus’spent too much time in the sand and snakes to know how t’treat a respectable woman.”

The acting is colorless, with even the grizzled veteran Jane failing to wring anything out of a moment or scene. Well, when Miss Angel asks “You’re who this establishment belongs?” he chuckles and repeats the agrammatical line, as if daring his writer-director to do another take.

Was the entire feature cut from first takes? It looks it, and Clint would be proud, if not entertained. No one else will be either.

One thing you do when you’re stuck reviewing films by people who can get movies made but only make bad ones is look for signs of learning, polish and improvement from film to film. From Cheech & Chong to Adam Sandler and Tyler Perry, I’ve looked for “progress” in the work, even if I found most of it garbage.

But I’m not seeing that here. Seriously, Mr. Lee, get a mentor, study classic films SHOT BY SHOT, scene by scene. Sign up for online “Master Classes” on shot composition, screenplay basics and directing actors.

Better yet, become a producer and help filmmakers with talent get their better scripts cast, financed and filmed.

And there’s always that seminar idea. Because the world doesn’t need any more proof of Trace Adkins’ limitless limitations in front of the camera or yours behind it.

Rating: R, violence

Cast: Stuart Townsend, Scout Taylor-Thompson, Victoria Pratt, Lorena Sarria, Trace Adkins and Thomas Jane.

Credits: Scripted and directed by Justin Lee. A Saban Films release.

Running time:

Some movies don’t need to tell you they’re “based on a true story.” You don’t have to recall the dates and details. You don’t question what unfolds on the screen. Based on everything we’ve seen and heard over the past decade, you just know.

“The Killing of Kenneth Chamberlain” is a gripping, heart-breaking real-time account of a White Plains, New York police call that took just over an hour to go totally, irrevocably and inexcusably wrong. A Black man, a Marine Corps veteran with medical issues, was dead.

And since it was 2011, no charges were brought against the police, no jury would give legal satisfaction to his heirs. Because such stories didn’t fit into an unfolding national tragedy and nationwide policing scandal.

Veteran character actor Frankie Faison, an established screen presence long before the original “Coming to America,” before Spike Lee’s “Do the Right Thing” or Alan Parker’s “Mississippi Burning,” gets a rare leading role and acts the hell out of this spare, compact tragedy with just a handful of characters and a single setting.

He has the title role, a Marine Corps veteran with limited hearing, a bad heart and mental health issues. He takes his medic alert monitor off to get through a restless night. And that sets off a chain of events, a slow-motion disaster that plays out with a depressing inevitability that no amount of shouting at the screen can halt.

The medical monitoring company calls, and can’t wake him to answer the phone. It’s five AM. They call the police for a “welfare check” visit.

Three White Plains PD officers show up — a rookie (Enrico Natale) who used to be a middle school teacher, a hardcase Sgt. (Steve O’Connell) and a short-tempered veteran of the force (Ben Marten). They pound at the door, waking the groggy, hearing-impaired old man.

We fret for him as he slowly shuffles to the door, worry about his confusion at presence, and expect the worst from the guys in uniform. Because “I do not have an emergency…It was an accident. Thank you for your trouble” is not moving them from his apartment door.

As the pounding goes on, we see the impatience of the two older cops. And we’ve already heard the telltale signs that give away how this evening will end.

The neighborhood is “the third world.” The phrase “learn who’s boss” comes up. Racial slurs slip out. The nicest is “cocoa puff.”

And no “What’s going on here?” neighbors, no pleas from the alert company operator, who calls the police to call them off, no begging by the sick old man’s niece (Angela Peel) will get these officers to move on.

We hear the “Check his ID, run’em.” We see the escalations, sense the tension that rises with every “You are not coming into my house” and “You have no warrant, no probable cause.”

The die is cast long with the “We’re handling this” brush-offs of neighbors and family, before reinforcements arrive, before a fresh sergeant shows up with “irons” (battering rams) and a brusque order to “Have your guys tac up!”

Faison’s layered performance staggers from confused to paranoid, rational and outraged to rational and terrified. He doesn’t have to tell his son or sister by phone “You know how the police are around here.” They do.

Natale gets to play the reasonable, “Let’s just leave” rookie, the rational, educated man among hardened authority junkies. Their racism is almost immaterial. Their big beef is being told “no” and “you have no right.”

The rookie? He’s a “cry baby,” and “emotionally sensitive” and therefor must be ignored.

Writer-director David Midell cast this well, turned in a script with a bitter, metallic aftertase and never wastes a second of screen time, giving us two points of view — outside and inside that door — letting us stay one step ahead of this slow tumble off a cliff.

We experience the assault the way Kenneth did — his hearing aids roaring the noise, the rational fear that any time the police enter your home “they want to hurt me” irrationally amplified.

And in the closing credits, we hear the original medical alert calls and phone conversations and see snippets of the “raid” on old video.

Because sometimes “based on a true story” isn’t damning enough.

Rating: unrated, violence, profanity, racial slurs

Cast: Frankie Faison, Steve O’Connell, Enrico Natale, Ben Marten, Angela Peel and Tom McElroy.

Credits: Scripted and directed by David Midell. A Voltage film, a Gravitas Ventures release.

Running time: 1:21

Ethiopian-American filmmaker Haile Gerima’s 1993 gem “Sankofa” is both a landmark of indie cinema and a benchmark on the storytelling road between TV’s “Roots” and the Oscar winning drama, “12 Years a Slave.”

It’s a poetic, mystical and meandering immersion in the life-as-a-slave experience, both for the viewer and for our on-screen surrogate, the callow fashion model Mona (Oyafunmike Ogunlano), who has come with a white photographer for a photo shoot on the grim, hallowed ground of an old slaver’s fortress on the coast of Ghana.

She is smiling, showcasing swimsuits and flashing skin in a place where untold thousands of Africans were held before being loaded into ships for the horrors of the Middle Passage to the Americas, a place now treated as a tourist attraction for the well-heeled and the curious.

An old shaman (Kofi Ghanaba) who calls himself “Sankofa” paints his body and pounds his drums each day at the entrance of the place, remembering the tragedy there, perhaps chanting to exorcise its evil. He gets right in Mona’s face about her cavalier attitude towards this landmark.

She may not understand his torrent of angry words, but she and we get the picture. Respect this place, and respect yourself and where you came from, while you’re at it.

Taking a tour into the dungeons, Mona watches the lights dim, and woodfires alight. She sees the faces of the shackled and enslaved, waiting to board a ship. She tries to flee, but finds the entrance guarded by slavers. She is stripped, screaming, and branded.

“Sankofa” has her awaken in a new life with no apparent memory of her modern one. She is a house slave in the Lafayette sugar cane plantation in Louisiana, struggling to love a West Indian field hand (Mutubaruka) and like others, pondering her fate and her future in this system where human beings are abused, raped, bought and sold with no control over their lives.

Some who run have the courage to rage at the beatings they face upon capture — “You can’t do nothing to my soul, only to my FLESH!”

The head field hand Joe (Nick Medley) is nicknamed “Bible Boy” by his fellow slaves. He is slow to recognize the truth of his fair-skinned bi-racial heritage. His mother was raped on the Middle Passage. He wants answers from the white Catholic priest (Reggie Carter).

“Whose son am I?”

At some point, you just know the “keep them in line” Christian padre will use the same word the overseer does to describe Joe.

Gerima (“Teza,””Bush Mama”) folds in varied pieces of the enslaved experience, including the runaway-backed underground, which helps the Lafayette slaves plot an insurrection.

Its easy-to-follow if somewhat disjointed narrative has a stream of consciousness feel and Gospel solos and plaintive jazz horns underscore the shifting points of view, with Mona — now called Shala — tying it all together and commenting on slave life in voice-over narration. Her journey is from complacent acceptance to radicalization, both as a slave and in her modern life as a model who has her consciousness awakened.

What’s striking all these years later is how Gerima was able to get good performances and create realistic settings with almost no money. He doesn’t have the cash to rent a wooden ship, so he skips that part of the story. He only shows the plantation house from afar and stages most of the action and interactions in cane fields, in the woods or the vast Cape Coast Castle in Ghana.

Gerima, whom I interviewed back in the ’90s when he was showing the film at North Carolina’s state film school, never got proper distribution for “Sankofa,” so he took it around the US, booking theaters and showing it to paying audiences.

Although it’s been available on other streamers, the new Array 4K restoration, added to Netflix on Friday, is its best chance to reach a wide audience, an indie classic ready to be “discovered” by a new generation.

Rating: unrated, violence, rape, nudity

Cast: Oyafunmike Ogunlano, Nick Medley, Mutubaruka, Alexandra Duah,
Kofi Ghanaba and Reggie Carter

Credits: Scripted and directed by Haile Gerima. An Array 4K restoration on Netflix Sept. 24

Running time: 2:04

Whatever sway the police may have on the streets of Marseilles, in the high rise projects on its northern edges, the gangs run the show. The cops, even the elite “BAC” special squads, avoid them. Merely driving up earns a warning whistle, the international cry of “POPO,” and mobs descend on them — challenging, baiting and threatening the officers with badges.

That’s the setting of “The Stronghold,” titled “BAC Nord” when it played in France. This “inspired by a true story” is a “French Connection” that isn’t about the connection, a “District B-19” or “The Raid” without over-the-top mayhem, martial arts brawls or trigger-happy shootouts.

The anarchy and immigrant-led gang rule? That’s such a common refrain in French cinema, these days. A recent reimagining of “Les Miserables” and other films underscore that, or at least the perception of it.

“Stronghold” is a somewhat misshapen film, climaxing early, dragging out the anti-climax, playing out more predictably than you’d like or expect. As it begins with Gregory Cerva (Gilles Lellouche) getting out of prison, we know where this is headed.

Sgt. Cerva is a 20 year veteran of the force, leading his BAC 26 team — athletic Antoine (François Civil) and tough and hotheaded Yass (Karim Leklou) — into action, mixing it up with petty criminals, banging up the department’s Citroen station wagon as he does, which always gets him into hot water with the boss.

“We’re useless now,” Cerva grumbles (in French with subtitles, or dubbed into English). “The more we do, the less we achieve.”

A frantic car and motor scooter chase, filmed largely with hand-held cameras, opens the action and ends with the prospect of every movie cop’s worst nightmare — “paperwork.”

So they just go out and bust a street corner dealer they’ve been tipped about instead. We see them round up back alley sellers of endangered turtles, cadge free “Gypsy cigarettes” from informants and chase down their favorite pickpocket.

These guys have a casual corruption about them, and a need to “fill our quota” of arrests. So they prey on small fry.

But Antoine, a casual cannabis user, has this informant (Kenza Fortas) whom he’s a little sweet on. He bribes her with a cut from the hashish busts and can basically hit any number of low level dealers at will, just on her latest tip.

When a viral video of gangsters meting out rough justice to hapless residents of the various projects gets too much attention, word comes down from on high (Cyril Lecomte). “Take down the network!”

Might this informant give them the tip that helps them placate the boss, his boss the Prefect and the Mayor who wants “progress against crime” headlines? Maybe. But the price is sure to be high, and off the books.

“True story” or not, “The Stronghold” traffics in police procedural cliches. Yass is married to a dispatcher (Adèle Exarchopoulos) and they’re expecting a baby. Cerva is the grizzled, embittered loner and Antoine the youthful legs, the man-bunned hunk who leads the foot chases through the alleys, markets and projects of the city.

Husband and wife director/writer team Cédric Jimenez and Audrey Diwan (“The Man with the Iron Heart,” “La French” (aka “The Connection”) deliver decent chases, a “zoo” of a police station and a chaotic day-of-the-big-sting assault, mostly-filmed hand-held. The “preparations for the big raid” is mostly edited into a montage, a series of shakedowns of street dealers and hash users — cops just robbing people of drugs they just bought.

The film’s sole light moment comes when they nab a street dealing kid who spews abuse and spits and rages until that moment that Yass changes the station on the car radio and the punk gets lost in his jam as Cerva turns on the blue flashing lights for a joyride, dangerously weaving in and out of traffic just for kicks.

This Around the World with Netflix offering will be most striking to North American audiences for the contrast it paints between French police — reluctant to pull the trigger despite dire situations and roaring, provocative mobs yelling “Yo, come GET some, or get lost, pig!” — and their American counterparts. The French sure get pushed around a lot.

But the similarities are plentiful enough that you might be shouting at the screen at the lapses in the Internal Affairs investigation, with interrogations that turn table-tossing furious at the drop of a hat.

What did “Deep Throat” teach us? “Follow the MONEY.”

Sticking close to “the facts” ensures that “The Stronghold” turns into a bit of a grind. The over-the-top moments are restrained by that reality, and some pursuits, arrests and brawls seem so low-stakes as to undercut the whole enterprise.

We never see the faces of the top dogs in the drug trade, the “network” that the film’s climax wants to show broken up. The real villains aren’t there, but still. For a cops-and-drug-dealers thriller, it can be frustrating.

As William Friedkin (“The French Connection”) could tell our French filmmaking duo, it’s OK to end your movie with a somewhat deflating twist. But stretching it into a long anti-climax is a no-no.

Rating: TV-MA, violence, drug abuse, smoking, profanity

Cast: Gilles Lellouche, François Civil, Karim Leklou, Adèle Exarchopoulos, Kenza Fortas and
Cyril Lecomte.

Credits: Directed by Cédric Jimenez, scripted by Audrey Diwan. A Canal+ film on Netflix.

Running time: 1:45