So the cops knew Internal Affairs was setting them up, but they played along so they could catch the real killer.
—Homer Simpson, THE SIMPSONS, 6F23
The title is deliberately vague, which turns out to be fitting—it could be about Rip Torn, Rip Van Winkle, Rip Hamilton, or a documentary about a guy engraving tombstones. URBAN DICTIONARY will tell you a rip is a monster hit from a bong. But in this movie, it’s simpler: a rip is robbing a stash house — money no one can claim. That looseness isn’t just in the title. It bleeds into everything else.
The movie opens with Jackie’s murder. From there, it settles into a mode where no one trusts anyone. Everyone is a potential liability, everyone’s a suspect, and no one’s motives are entirely clean. Even Mike Ro, who the movie quietly positions as someone to watch, is hard to read. Is he doing a dirty job, or just stuck inside a system where everyone’s already compromised?
THE RIP is built to entertain, and on that level — while the bullets are flying — it does work, even if that forward motion ignores basic logic. It’s the kind of movie where you stop caring exactly why someone is being shot, as long as the choreography looks good.
Part of the issue is that the plot is over-engineered, stacking OCEAN’S ELEVEN–style reveals — tactics and timelines held back just to be “cleverly” unveiled. In a straight heist flick, that’s part of the fun. Here, with real stakes like bodies dropping and careers imploding, it feels evasive by design. THE RIP wants that gotcha satisfaction without dealing with the mess it’s making.
The story feels cobbled from real cop stories and heist-movie tricks, but that real-life edge gives THE RIP a seriousness it wouldn’t have otherwise — even when the script takes a few shortcuts to keep the plot moving.
Still, there are moments that pull you out of it. There’s a scene where Ben Affleck’s JD, alone in a bathroom, takes off his shirt to dry his face — a move so exaggerated it borders on parody. Paper towels exist. Hand dryers exist. The shirt comes off, the face is dried, and back on it goes. It’s not symbolic enough to mean something, and not natural enough to feel real. It plays less like psychological distress than a brief pause where you can almost hear Ben Affleck saying, “hey, check me out, I hit the gym at 53.”
JD doesn’t help matters. Is there anyone named JD in fiction who isn’t a total douche? Jermaine Dupri remains the lone exception. The movie wants him to carry real moral weight—but it feels more like a performance than real pressure.
Oddly, the most likable character is Wilbur, the cash-sniffing beagle. He’s cute, efficient, and refreshingly uncomplicated, unlike the humans around him. The movie could have used more of him. He’s also got one of those names that feels like it wandered in from another era — you mostly hear “Wilbur” now in MR. ED reruns — which gives him an unintended charm. He’s certainly easier to root for than most of the people in THE RIP.
Kyle Chandler pops up as Matty, and if you’re looking for FRIDAY NIGHT LIGHTS–era nobility, adjust your expectations. The only lights he seems headed for are red and blue — no football fields in sight, Coach Taylor. Chandler brings a steady, professional presence, but even he can’t ground a story that keeps flipping between that Ice-T procedural grit and convenient plot shortcuts.
It’s not dumb or lazy—it’s entertaining, competently made, and engaging in the moment. It’s the kind of movie that’s fun while it’s running, but doesn’t hold up when you hit pause—like a stash-house rip that falls apart if anyone looks too close.
Final Verdict: 60 out of 100
