Lift
NetflixAt the end of Lift, Kevin Hart’s art thief says, “You collect art, right? NFTs. You know, some people say that they’re a passing fad. I say that all art just depends on the artist.” The question is: who is the artist of Lift? And most importantly: is Lift art?
The simple fact that much of Lift’s plot revolves around NFTs – which were, indeed, “a passing fad” – instantly dates the script penned by Daniel Kunka. Treating what is essentially the ultimate capitalist scam of the digital age as a genuine form of art is ridiculous, just as Kevin Hart’s performance is utterly unbelievable. As the producer and co-creator of Lift, Hart could be considered one of the key artists of this creation. He clearly wants to prove that he can be as good a leading man as previous co-stars Dwyane Johnson and Ice Cube. No one actor wants to be forever labeled as “the funny guy”, but if this was Hart’s attempt to play a Wahlberg-esque character, he failed on a spectacular level: he has none of the physicality or charisma to command the screen. He barely gets any jokes in here, with self-serious lines that even Tom Cruise would struggle to deliver.
It does not help that the rest of the cast in Lift is squandered, wasted, a collection of familiar faces that get absolutely nothing to do. In the 94 minutes before the end credits start rolling, most of the runtime is spent with the actors spouting nonsensical jargon inside boringly shot locales. A heist film works only if the crew is up to the task, and no one leaves a lasting impression here. For instance, Vincent D’Onofrio plays a master of disguise, a role full of potential for clever gags and astute sleights of hand. However, all he gets to do is put on a funny accent and ugly wig for one scene, and that’s it, before being relegated to the background with actors talented actors like Úrsula Corberó, Billy Magnussen (the only cast member allowed to have some fun here), Kim Yun-jee, and Viveik Kalra.
Instead, Gugu Mbatha-Raw gets most of the screentime as Hart’s love interest, an Interpol agent forced to ally with him to bring down a dangerous criminal. There is no spark, no romance between the two: if it came out that the entire film featured deep-fakes of these actors, it would make more sense than the stilted, lifeless performances that everyone gives. The only one who comes out a winner is Jean Reno, whose brief appearance sees him sitting down in and outside a lush Italian villa.
The real artist behind Lift is not its director, F. Gary Gray, whose final features have all been similarly trite blockbusters, but Netflix itself. Following the algorithm-based production pipeline, Lift looks and sounds just like any other major original production from the streaming juggernaut, with not a single moment of inventive direction, smart writing, or fresh camera move. The opening set-piece, which intercuts a heist in Venice and one in London, is meant to introduce every member of Hart’s crew, but the awkward transitions, epileptic cutting, and jarring name cards create confusion rather than excitement. It is baffling that something with so much money looks as flat as this does, a barrage of shot/reverse shot compositions that not even a first-year film student would find alluring.
The original question remains: is Lift art? No. Lift is anti-art: every creative choice here is meant to be played safe. There is no explicit violence or sex so as not to bother certain audiences. Famous locations are used just for establishing shots, to the point that they may as well have shot everything using the Volume instead of flying everyone to Europe. And the twists, if they may be called as such, are so predictable that they barely register as a surprise. Lift is a horrendous waste of time and resources, one more piece of disposable content from Netflix that is going to be forgotten just like Red Notice, The Gray Man, and Heart of Stone before it.