Dog 51

Dog 51, the new film by Cédric Jimenez, presents itself as a visually striking but morally disturbing reflection on our increasingly automated world. In this dystopian vision of a near-future Paris, Cédric Jimenez trades his usual procedural realism for a neon-lit nightmare ruled by an omnipresent AI named ALMA. This artificial sovereign uses facial recognition, surveillance drones, and predictive analytics to suppress crime before it happens—a frightening metaphor for our era's obsession with algorithmic control. Paris is no longer the City of Light, but a labyrinth of divisions: Zone 1 for the rich, Zone 2 for the complacent, and Zone 3 for those left in permanent shadow. Through this rigid structure, Cédric Jimenez creates a world that is both futuristic and strangely familiar, where class hierarchy and technological authoritarianism intertwine to erase individuality.

At the heart of this fractured society are two officers: Adèle Exarchopoulos as Salia, an ambitious young policewoman from Zone 2 whose faith in the system is beginning to crumble, and Gilles Lellouche as Zem, a jaded veteran who patrols the desperate streets of Zone 3. Their difficult partnership begins when they are tasked with investigating the mysterious death of ALMA's creator, a case that quickly draws them into the orbit of the underground resistance known as Breakwalls, led by the enigmatic Louis Garrel. What unfolds is both a courtroom drama and a moral play, where the real culprit is not a single killer, but a system that criminalizes dissent. The chemistry between Adèle Exarchopoulos and Gilles Lellouche lends the film a fragile humanity; she is all instinct and restraint, while he embodies the weary pragmatism of a man who has seen too much. Their relationship oscillates between mentorship and forbidden desire, blurring the boundaries between the personal and the political as they move through a city that seems increasingly unreal.

Visually, Dog 51 draws heavily on several cult American films. There are echoes of Ridley Scott's Blade Runner, Alfonso Cuarón's Children of Men, and even Steven Spielberg's Minority Report. But where these films offered hope amid decadence, Cédric Jimenez prefers ambiguity. His Paris is perpetually drenched in rain, its neon lights reflecting in puddles that seem to lead nowhere. The production design is impeccable, but there is something mechanical about its perfection, as if the film itself had been generated by the AI it warns us against. The irony is not lost: for a film that condemns the cold precision of machines, Dog 51 often feels as if it were assembled by one. Yet there is a certain poetry in this contradiction. When Adèle Exarchopoulos strides through the dark alleys of Zone 3 with her angular bob, she becomes a symbol of resistance, a human figure piercing the sterile geometry of the algorithm.

What saves Dog 51 from being a mere pastiche is its subtext. Cédric Jimenez has long been fascinated by institutions of control—from the moral ambiguity of La Forteresse to the procedural intensity of Novembre—and here he turns his lens inward. Police officers are no longer heroes or villains, but mere tools of the algorithm, stripped of their free will and conscience. Salia's gradual awakening mirrors the audience's unease: to what extent have we already surrendered our moral reasoning to systems we barely understand? Olivier Demangel's screenplay, adapted from Laurent Gaudé's novel, plays on these anxieties, layering reflections on surveillance, guilt, and complicity onto the procedural plot. The world may be fictional, but its logic is frighteningly plausible. We can almost imagine ALMA's cold voice echoing in our smartphones, promising security in exchange for our submission.

The parallel between the real culture of resistance in France and the fictional uprising in Dog 51 gives the film an extra dimension. When the inevitable riot breaks out in the final act, it feels less like the climax of a work of fiction and more like an echo of history. Despite its artificial nature, Cédric Jimenez's film captures something raw and deeply French: the refusal to accept order without justice.

Not everything works, however. The film's pace is hesitant in its first act, with the bureaucratic exposition dragging on before the emotional and political stakes crystallize. The dialogue often tends to over-explain, stating ideas that the images already convey. Yet when Jimenez lets his camera speak—in moments like Zem's underwater infiltration of the Seine or the surreal karaoke sequence where two police officers sing “What's Up” with endearing sincerity—the film achieves a rare freedom. It is in these absurd flashes that humanity breaks the algorithm, reminding us that it is chaos, not control, that defines what it means to be alive.

There is also something admirable about the way Chien 51 rejects easy heroism. Salia is not a savior; Zem is not a martyr. Both are compromised, caught between obedience and rebellion. Adèle Exarchopoulos beautifully carries the weight of this contradiction, her performance oscillating between vulnerability and quiet defiance. Gilles Lellouche, often confined to tough guy roles, delivers one of his most introspective performances here, embodying a man who knows he is obsolete in a world governed by codes. Their dynamic culminates in a finale that trades spectacle for intimacy: a human face confronting a digital god. It is a haunting reminder that technology can replicate our thoughts, but never our souls.

Chien 51 is both a warning and a mirror. Cédric Jimenez doesn't reinvent the dystopian genre, but he revitalizes it with an urgency rooted in the present. Behind the familiar tropes lies a filmmaker grappling with his own complicity, a craftsman questioning the ethics of representation in an age where art and algorithm are increasingly blurring. Whether we see it as a self-aware satire or a dark prophecy, the film remains suspended like a bug in the system, impossible to ignore. Its imperfections become its truth: after all, humanity was never meant to be efficient.

As the credits roll and ALMA's mechanical voice fades into static, the film leaves us with a disturbing thought: perhaps AI didn't need to invent this world. We already built it ourselves. Dog 51 simply holds up a mirror and challenges us to look.

Dog 51
Directed by Cédric Jimenez
Written by Cédric Jimenez, Olivier Demangel
Produced by Hugo Sélignac
Starring Gilles Lellouche, Adèle Exarchopoulos, Louis Garrel, Romain Duris
Cinematography: Laurent Tangy
Edited by Laure Gardette, Stan Collet
Music by Guillaume Roussel
Production companies: Studiocanal, Chi-Fou-Mi (Mediawan)
Distributed by Studiocanal (France)
Release dates: September 6, 2025 (Venice), October 15, 2025 (France)
Running time: 106 minutes

Seen on October 15, 2025 at Gaumont Disney Village, Theater 1, seat L19

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