The reality is, if this was an American film it would be a run-of-the-mill pot-boiler that you'd forget a couple of days later. It drags on a bit and it all rests on a very convoluted and implausible premise. If, like me, you are increasingly turning to non-English language films for something original and plot-driven in comparison to the surfeit of CGI/3-D garbage coming out of Hollywood then you'll be disappointed. This is a film that simply proves the French are as capable as anyone of making plodding, instantly forgettable stuff that would struggle to make par as an episode of "Murder She Wrote". One of the glaring implausibilities is the thug from one of the banlieues who owes such a debt of gratitude to the doctor who diagnosed his son with haemophilia that he's prepared to chase round Paris rescuing him from kidnappers, committing murder in the process. Curiously, in the last 5 minutes there is a sudden "art-house" flourish, as if the cinematographer was champing at the bit to give full rein to his artistic abilities.
You could do worse of an evening, I guess...