Most of the women who attend the meetings of the biker gangs in this French film are mere appendages of their biker boyfriends: made-up to the nines, they stand on the sidelines while their men do high-speed wheelies. Not Julia, though: she wants to be one of the boys (at one stage she is even seen grabbing her crotch in the manner of those young men who fondly imagine themselves to be dangerously 'urban'). She rides with one of the gangs (whose members sport various arrangements of naff facial hair) and her assistance with their bike-stealing operation is welcome. But in this macho world, misogynism is never far away.

Do writers Lola Quivoron (who also directs) and Antonia Buresi want the audience to cheer for Julia? Some might do so, but I have never liked films or television programmes that glamorize criminals (no 'Peaky Blinders' for me!) and, had I realised Julia was going to be quite as criminal as she is, I might well not have chosen to see this at the 2022 London Film Festival. When her own bike is stolen, Julia simply steals another one - acknowledging no connection between the frustration and anger she feels upon the loss of her old bike, and anything felt by the proper owner of her new one. At one stage she admits that what she needs, she steals. It is hard to feel sympathy for such a person.

On the plus side, the fact the cast is largely non-professional (including Julie Ledru, who plays Julia) does not result in sub-standard performances. And the story is interesting, even if largely predictable. The film seems to last every one of its 105 minutes, but was worth watching once.