Some series manage to combine laughter, fights and feminine energy with an irresistible force; others, despite an appealing concept, struggle to make it work. The Lionesses, new French production available on Netflix, belongs to this second category: ambitious in its tone, generous in its intentions, but sometimes destabilized by uneven narrative choices.
A contemporary retelling of the story of the Amazons gang—those young women bank robbers who made headlines in the late 1980s in the Vaucluse region of France—the series offers a modern take on this true crime story, already adapted for film. Following Jean-Paul Salomé's 1994 film, *Les Braqueuses* , and more recently *Le Gang des Amazones *, the case finds a new medium of expression in serial form.
Created by Olivier Rosemberg and Carine Prévot, former writers of Family Business , Les Lionnes transposes the action to our time, in Salon-de-Provence. The trio of heroines, neighbors in a housing project, struggle with financial difficulties, social tensions, and a simmering, everyday violence. One of them, Rosa—played by Rebecca Marder, electrifying on screen alongside Zoé Marchal—works in a bank. It is there that the idea for the robbery is born: an act motivated as much by anger as by despair.
The initial idea is promising. Action, comedy, choreographed fights, and snappy dialogue: the series boasts a genre-bending mix that aims to surprise, even captivate. Its core identity is clear: to showcase strong female protagonists in a world that never takes itself too seriously.
The main strength of Les Lionnes lies in its energy. The comedic scenes, often successful, alternate with more conventional tension. The action is playful, sometimes stylized, driven by choreography that flirts with the absurd while remaining effective. The result is an impression of vibrancy, almost of creative freedom, which gives the series a brisk pace and a real personality.
However, this energy isn't always enough to compensate for the narrative's structural weaknesses. The writing, sometimes too scattered, struggles to find a true center of gravity. Between humorous sequences, action scenes, and personal arcs, the tone fluctuates, sometimes giving the impression of an assemblage rather than a fully controlled construction. Some sequences seem to function in isolation, without any real dramatic progression.
The characters, while engaging, sometimes struggle to transcend the expected contours of a rebellious girl gang. In trying too hard to combine badass attitude, humor, and emotion, the series scatters its energies. The social themes—precariousness, frustration, downward mobility—remain in the background, where they could have fueled a more incisive message.
Where Les Lionnes truly shines is in its unapologetic tone. It offers a fresh perspective on female action, far removed from classic male archetypes. Its heroines are flawed, edgy, sometimes even excessive, but profoundly human. Their humor acts as a counterpoint to the violence of the situations, providing a welcome touch of lightness.
Despite an overall impression of only partially fulfilling its promise, the series is not without merit. It offers genuinely entertaining moments, some impactful scenes, and effective group dynamics. One senses a desire to create a French action comedy capable of competing with international formats, while maintaining its own unique identity.
Ultimately, The Lionesses remains an energetic but uneven offering. Disorganized at times, too focused on immediate impact at others, it doesn't always achieve the depth it suggests. But it demonstrates a genuine ambition: to explore the female heist narrative from a contemporary perspective, somewhere between social satire and fast-paced entertainment.
In a television landscape saturated with formulaic productions, Les Lionnes deserves to be watched for what it attempts: to inject some life and character into French action comedy. Even if its roar doesn't leave a lasting impression, it resonates enough to spark curiosity and discussion.
