Kevin Hart seems to have taken on an ambiguous role within Netflix’s catalog: both an inescapable presence and a figure verging on self-parody. His deal with the platform grants him the freedom to multiply his appearances, but that privilege carries a creative cost. In titles like “The Man from Toronto”, directed by Patrick Hughes, or “Me Time”, by John Hamburg, his performances have a certain energy that initially appears to justify his ubiquity. However, the constant recycling of similar narrative and visual elements creates a sense of premature fatigue — as if he’s replaying slight tonal variations of the same character, unchanged at its core.
This formula was already showing signs of exhaustion when “Lift” proposed a more refined alternative. Under the seasoned direction of F. Gary Gray, Hart’s performance becomes less over-the-top and more calculated, even surprising with moments of strategic restraint. The story follows Cyrus, an architect of international crime, whose operations stretch beyond plausible boundaries. Yet what could easily spiral into absurdity is anchored by the sophistication with which Gray balances tension and irony throughout. From the opening scene set in Venice, Daniel Kunka’s script situates itself in a hybrid space between veiled critique and high-speed entertainment, taking jabs at the contemporary art world through a fictional piece that satirizes the empty prestige of overpriced works.
As Cyrus choreographs his schemes with precision, investigator Abby operates on two fronts: the official pursuit and an emotional connection that, as it unfolds, challenges the logic of moral hunts. Their relationship avoids the cliché of inevitable attraction and instead builds on mutual recognition of intellect and fallibility. The film’s centerpiece — an attempted heist aboard a Sky Suisse aircraft carrying half a billion in gold — serves as a skill test for everyone involved, including the audience, who must distinguish between calculated moves and improvisation. The scene’s brilliance lies not just in its structural complexity, but in the unforeseen detours woven around it.
Among them, a standout moment features Harry, played by David Proud, who cleverly derails airport operations by invoking an accusation of ableism as a tactical shield. This scene reconfigures the action’s rhythm while subtly injecting unexpected social commentary. By resisting the urge to center everything around Hart, Gray distributes narrative weight across the cast, turning each character into a vital gear in the machine. Abby, far from being a simple antagonist or romantic subplot, executes a surprising reversal by surrendering herself instead of arresting Cyrus — a move that reshapes the film’s moral center without relying on redemptive platitudes.
This final decision doesn’t serve as symbolic closure but rather a deliberate fracture in expectation. What once seemed like another standard operation to restore order ends up dismantling the viewer’s assumptions. Instead of concluding with exemplary punishment or triumphant cunning, “Lift” suggests that within corrupted systems, ethical detours may not signal weakness — they might, in fact, be the only viable escape. And perhaps it is this rare turn — in the context of Hart’s recent filmography — that hints at a possible inflection point in his oversaturated screen persona. It’s not about abandoning the style that made him famous, but about rediscovering it through less obvious pathways.
Film: Lift
Director: F. Gary Gray
Year: 2024
Genres: Action/Comedy
Rating: 7/10