The selling point of the series Alphonse, apart from raunch and romance, is that it gets its talented lead Jean Dujardin to transform into a different character each time he meets with a different client. Sometimes, he’s a World War II soldier, other times, he’s part of the academic elite. Always, he’s the object of fantasy of Parisian women. His real self, however, the titular Alphonse, is a sad sack going through a midlife crisis. On paper, this sounds like a recipe for pure fun: a lost guy tries out different masks and costumes until he discovers his true self in the process. The execution, however, feels wonky and uneven, as if the series is unable to balance all the things it tries to be. To be clear, Dujardin is excellent as the chameleonic Alphonse and Charlotte Gainsbourg is arresting as his mercurial wife Margot. But there’s a murkiness and vagueness to the overall style, tone, and direction of the series that leaves you wanting more. It’s okay, but there’s a sense that it could’ve been great if it tighten its screws a bit more.

Charlotte Gainsbourg. By a mile. For all the romp and the sexual entanglements the series plays with, the best parts of it are when it gives Alphonse and Margot time to inspect their marriage honestly. Gainsbourg provides all the tenderness and warmth between them, which she impressively hides beneath Margot’s exterior of cool and calm. Her expressions are delicate, but Gainsbourg is a volcano of emotions. She can say so much without saying anything at all, and to be honest, the show might’ve been better off if it removed all the frills and just focused on Alphonse and Margot as a couple instead. The tension between them alone is enough to fuel six episodes.