In Joe Carnahan’s compelling new criminal thriller The Rip, Matt Damon’s character, a cynical Miami officer, discovers a bag full of cash in an abandoned motel restroom. The money doesn’t frighten him. It’s the awareness that everyone in his immediate vicinity appears to be aware of it. The neon-lit image does a remarkable job of establishing the mood for what comes next: a gradual breakdown of loyalty, trust, and the law.
For Damon, who frequently performs best in gritty ensemble dramas, the movie is a return to form. However, the setting of The Rip is what sets it apart. Produced by Artists Equity, the joint studio he founded with Ben Affleck, this is a straight-to-Netflix film designed for the at-home audience. Neither its strategy nor its ambition are sophisticated.
Carnahan, whose fingerprints can still be seen in Smokin’ Aces and Narc, directed the film with powerful precision. The Rip solidly establishes itself in a cop movie mold from the 1990s before subtly rewiring it. The plot centers on two Miami detectives (Damon and Affleck), who have been working together for a long time, and who, while on a routine call, find a windfall of cartel money. A series of suspicions, surveillance, and covert betrayals are triggered by that finding. As an Internal Affairs officer who might or might not be in charge, Steven Yeun gives a controlled performance.
| Title | The Rip |
|---|---|
| Release | January 16, 2026 |
| Platform | Netflixhttps://www.netflix.com/se-en/ |
| Director | Joe Carnahan |
| Cast | Matt Damon, Ben Affleck, Steven Yeun, Kyle Chandler, Teyana Taylor, Sasha Calle |
| Genre | Action Thriller |
| Plot | Two Miami cops stumble upon cartel cash, unleashing a corruption spiral |
| Reference | IMDb: The Rip (2026) |
What’s notable is how Netflix’s influence alters the pacing, especially from a production perspective. In a recent podcast interview, Damon said that because distracted audiences want immediate attractions, streaming services like Netflix are “training filmmakers to front-load action.” The steady simmer is gone, as The Rip begins with a violent nightclub firefight that seems to have been dumped five minutes in.
However, it manages to operate somehow.
Maybe it’s the long-standing synergy between Damon and Affleck, who are partners both on and off screen and have an innate understanding of each other’s rhythms. Or perhaps it’s the way Carnahan uses quick yet purposeful cuts to weave narrative suspense into every scene. As the plot intensifies toward violent confrontations and betrayals, the movie manages to remain remarkably grounded.
A quiet conversation between Damon’s character and a tired bar owner (Kyle Chandler) occurs halfway through the movie. Despite being only two minutes long, it lands with remarkable clarity. Chandler murmurs, “You find something that doesn’t belong to you; you’re holding more than just money—you’re holding stories people haven’t yet told.” The subtle tension in the passage made me stop and think about how infrequently action thrillers give their characters that kind of moral breath.
Again and again, The Rip earns that breath.
Playing the more erratic side of the pair, Affleck vacillates between desperation and loyalty. Perhaps as a result of acting beside Damon, whose cool-headed approach accentuates the film’s emotional core, his performance is noticeably better than some of his recent commercial efforts. Late in the movie, there’s a fight scene that captures their chemistry better than any flashback or exposition: it’s cramped, awkward, and terribly human.
The story deftly avoids genre weariness by focusing on a “who-can-you-trust” premise instead of a conventional pursuit scenario. With sleek photography and a somber, synth-heavy soundtrack, it updates its visual language while focusing on the psychological effects of institutional deterioration and harking back to classic crime dramas like Training Day or Serpico.
Naturally, the streamer’s influence on the finished result cannot be ignored. Damon acknowledged that Netflix encouraged plot repetition because it anticipated that viewers would be using their phones to multitask. As a result, statements such as “We can’t let the cartel money disappear—it’s evidence now” are repeated twice in sex. It’s a reasonable but sometimes awkward decision.
However, this is when The Rip’s wider ramifications become apparent. The movie is a referendum on how contemporary attention spans affect storytelling, not merely on dishonest police officers or moral ambiguity. It attempts to strike a balance between living-room viewing and theatrical storytelling, and although it falters, it never completely fails.
The cast is a big help. As a young detective with more information than she discloses, Sasha Calle provides a subtle edge. Teyana Taylor gives an otherwise underdeveloped role a sense of urgency. Moreover, Yeun’s act in Burning is quite comparable to this one: silent, unintelligible, and potentially hazardous.
The movie is quite effective technically. The conversation is lively, the action scenes are well-paced, and the editing is crisp without being startling. Its digital style is tidy but never really finished. The camera lingers just long enough to allow the suspense to build. By not over-choreographing its violence, it lets confrontations feel natural and untidy, as they probably would.
The Rip unquestionably changes the genre, even if it doesn’t completely revolutionize it, by incorporating a production methodology designed for streaming. It is worthwhile to view that adaptation. It serves as a model for the future of top talent: creating durable, non-disposable direct-to-streaming movies. movies made for audiences that, even while only peeking at a second screen, demand quality.
Although it’s not perfect, this is an intriguing film. The Rip offers more than just action with its suspenseful plot, realistic performances, and especially creative use of timing. It also encourages introspection. on criminal activity. based on faith. and on the way we currently consume tales.
