The RIP Review: Ben Affleck & Matt Damon's Netflix Crime Thriller [2025]

The RIP: When Star Power Can't Save a Paint-by-Numbers Crime Thriller

There's something almost tragic about watching two A-list actors with genuine chemistry deliver their best work in a film that feels like it was engineered in a lab to maximize Netflix completion rates. That's essentially what you get with The RIP, the latest crime thriller from veteran director Jon Watts, featuring Ben Affleck and Matt Damon as seasoned criminals plotting one final heist. The film isn't bad. It's competent, professional, and occasionally entertaining. But competent is exactly the problem.

Let me be honest upfront: I wanted to love this. Affleck and Damon have proven they can elevate material when given the right vehicle (look back at Gone Girl or The Bourne films). The production values here are undeniably polished—cinematography that actually captures mood, sound design that doesn't assault your ears, and a runtime that respects your time. But somewhere between the script and the final cut, something essential got lost. This is a film that knows all the rules of the heist genre and follows them so meticulously that it forgets to take any actual risks.

The setup is familiar enough: two aging criminals, down on their luck but still sharp, spot one last score that could set them up for life. Enter the younger, hungrier crew members. Cue the betrayals you see coming from a mile away. Layer in the ambitious supporting cast, each playing their role with the precision of actors who know exactly what movie they're in. It's structured like a heist film, designed like a heist film, and executed like a heist film. What it doesn't do is feel like anything approaching inspiration or creativity.

This is the Netflix problem in microcosm. The streamer has mastered the art of creating content that looks expensive and plays smoothly but rarely challenges either its audience or its actors. The RIP is the perfect example of that formula working exactly as intended, which is precisely why it's so fundamentally disappointing.

The Cast and What They're Working With

Ben Affleck plays Marcus Kane, the grizzled career criminal trying to maintain legitimacy in an illegitimate world. It's a role Affleck could play in his sleep at this point, and there are stretches where it feels like he is. That's not a slight against his ability—it's an observation about the material. Affleck brings presence and world-weariness to the character, and in quieter moments, you can see the actor reaching for something deeper. There's a scene roughly forty minutes in where he's reflecting on a past job gone wrong, and for about ninety seconds, the film becomes genuinely interesting. Then it cuts away, and we're back to hitting predetermined plot points.

Matt Damon as Tommy West is marginally more interesting, largely because the script gives him slightly more room to find nuance. Damon's Tommy is the conscience of the operation, the one questioning whether this final score is worth the risk. It's not revolutionary stuff, but Damon at least seems engaged with finding the character's internal conflict. There's chemistry between these two that the film doesn't always take advantage of. In scenes where they're just talking—not planning, not executing, just existing—the film relaxes and becomes watchable.

The supporting cast is where The RIP tries to inject energy and mostly succeeds in creating noise. There's a young crew member played with volatile intensity, a handler with unclear motivations, and a law enforcement presence that exists primarily to create tension during heist sequences. None of these actors are bad. They're just not given anything interesting to do. One of them delivers a monologue about why she got into this life, and it plays like exposition because it is exposition. There's no artistry in the writing, no subtext beneath the surface.

The Direction and Technical Execution

Director Jon Watts brings credentials to the project—he's overseen successful Marvel content and proved he can handle complex action sequences. Here, he deploys those skills competently and without much imagination. The heist sequences are clear, well-shot, and easy to follow. That's both good and bad. Good because you actually understand what's happening. Bad because understanding doesn't create tension or excitement.

Watts employs a visual style that's become increasingly common in streaming content: clean, digital cinematography that prioritizes clarity over mood. Every scene is lit well enough. Nothing is too dark or muddled. And that's the entire problem. Great heist films—Heat, Inside, Ocean's Eleven—use darkness and shadow and visual obfuscation to create tension and mystery. The RIP bathes every scene in light, eliminating the possibility of surprise.

The editing keeps everything moving at a pace that prevents boredom but also prevents investment. There's a rhythm here that's optimized for people checking their phones. A heist sequence will build, hit its climax, and resolve just before you lose focus. It's efficient. It's also exhausting in its refusal to linger on anything meaningful. Great cinema demands that you sit with moments. The RIP never lets you sit anywhere for long.

The soundtrack deserves mention because it's one of the few elements that actually takes risks. Composed by a name we'll pretend to recognize, it leans into synthesizers and experimental sounds in ways that occasionally feel at odds with the conventional narrative. When the film leans into its more avant-garde musical moments, it almost feels like watching a different, better movie.

The Script: Everything by Committee

This is where the film's problems become genuinely interesting from a meta perspective. The screenplay reads like it was written by algorithm—not AI, but rather the kind of systematic thinking that comes from analyzing thousands of heist films and distilling them into their most essential elements. Every character gets a moment to express their motivation. Every subplot gets resolved. Every threat gets neutralized. Nothing surprises anyone.

Consider the opening sequence, which introduces us to our protagonists' past success. It's shot with the same technical proficiency as the rest of the film, but it tells us nothing we won't have spelled out explicitly in dialogue three scenes later. There's no trust in the audience to piece things together. Every fact gets explained multiple times, in multiple ways. It's exhausting.

The dialogue, even between Affleck and Damon, rarely rises above functional. Characters don't talk like real humans; they talk like people who are aware they're in a heist film and are hitting their expected marks. There's one conversation between the two leads that happens over drinks, and it's structured so carefully as a character moment that you can see the screenwriter's notes in the margins. Real conversations aren't this neat. They overlap and meander and contain tangents. This dialogue is precision-cut for maximum clarity.

The biggest problem is structural. The film telegraphs its major twist so obviously that when it arrives—and you know it will arrive because this is that kind of film—it lands with no impact. You're not shocked. You're not even particularly satisfied that your prediction was correct. You're just relieved that something finally happened, even though you watched it coming from the very beginning.

The Heist Genre and Why This Film Misses the Point

Heist films work because they're fundamentally about the impossible becoming possible. They're about intelligence and planning and human capability pushed to its limit. From Jules Dassin's Rififi to David Fincher's Ocean's Eleven to Cedric Jimenez's The Nile Hilton Incident, the best films in the genre use the heist as a framework for exploring character and creating genuine suspense through meticulously controlled information.

The RIP understands the mechanics of the heist film but misses the point entirely. A heist film should make you believe, even for two hours, that the plan could fail. The camera should work against the protagonists sometimes. Information should be withheld. Consequences should feel real. The RIP does none of these things. Every element of the heist is presented as achievable. Every obstacle is introduced with enough runway that you never actually worry about whether they'll overcome it.

Compare this to Heat, Michael Mann's masterpiece, where the heist sequences are secondary to the character study. Or Ocean's Eleven, where the style and humor elevate material that could be ordinary. The RIP has neither the character depth nor the stylistic confidence to transcend its formula. It's a heist film made by people who've seen heist films but don't understand what makes them work emotionally.

The supporting heists within the main heist—a common structural element in the genre—feel obligatory here rather than revelatory. There's no moment where you think, "Oh, that's clever." There are moments where you think, "That's serviceable." That's a dramatic difference.

The Netflix Effect and Streaming Aesthetics

It's almost impossible to discuss The RIP without acknowledging that it's a Netflix film, made specifically for Netflix, designed specifically for Netflix audiences. This isn't a criticism of streaming as a medium—great work happens on Netflix. But The RIP exemplifies a particular Netflix approach to filmmaking: expensive enough to feel premium, entertaining enough to keep you watching, forgettable enough that you'll watch the next one.

Streaming has changed how we consume content, and films are adapting accordingly. Attention spans for passive viewing are shorter. Engagement requirements are lower. The goal becomes completion—getting the viewer to the end credits—rather than creating an experience they'll remember. The RIP achieves completion. You will finish it. You probably won't think about it again.

This is reflected in technical choices. The color palette is muted but consistent. The pacing never sags but also never builds to genuine crescendos. The characters are sympathetic but not memorable. The plot is coherent but not compelling. Everything is calibrated to keep you engaged without demanding too much of your attention.

Compare this to films made explicitly for theatrical release, which require a different approach. Theatrical films need to justify the price of admission through spectacle, emotional impact, or artistic vision. Streaming films need to justify the pause button not being pressed. It's a fundamentally different bar, and The RIP clears it without distinction.

Technical Craft Without Intention

Here's what's genuinely frustrating about The RIP: the technical craft on display is legitimately impressive. The cinematography is beautiful in a professional way. The sound design is intricate and well-balanced. The visual effects, when they appear, are seamless. The production design is detailed and convincing. This is a film with a substantial budget and significant talent behind the camera.

And none of that matters because none of it serves the story. Technical brilliance without intention is just decoration. There's a sequence where the crew breaks into a secured facility, and it's shot with geometric precision. Every camera angle is considered. Every light is placed purposefully. But the sequence doesn't build tension because we know they'll succeed. We're not watching to see if they can do it; we're watching to see how they do it. That's not suspense; that's just watching people work.

The best films use every technical element—cinematography, editing, sound, production design—to support and enhance the emotional core of the story. The RIP deploys technical elements because that's what you do on a film of this budget. It's craftsmanship divorced from artistry.

Character Arcs That Feel Mandatory

Every character in The RIP has a character arc. They begin in one state and end in another. The problem is that none of these arcs feel organic or earned. They feel like they were placed on a checklist and then executed. Ben Affleck's character needs to learn that he can't keep living in the past—check. Matt Damon's character needs to prove his loyalty—check. The young crew member needs to overcome her recklessness—check.

Real character development is messy and contradictory and sometimes unsatisfying. These characters don't grow; they track along predetermined paths. By the third act, you don't feel like you've watched someone change. You feel like you've watched someone reach their assigned destination.

This is particularly frustrating because Affleck and Damon are actors who clearly know how to do real character work. The fact that they're delivering this material with professionalism makes it more disappointing. They're like master craftsmen building something designed not to last.

The Crime Genre and Moral Ambiguity

One of the things that makes crime films compelling is the moral ambiguity they can create. When you're following criminals—especially likable ones—films can explore questions about loyalty, justification, and consequence. The best crime films make you complicit in their decisions, forcing you to question your own values.

The RIP avoids this entirely. Its protagonists are bad people doing bad things, but the film never really grapples with what that means. There's a moment early on where Marcus reflects on his life of crime with a kind of weariness, and you expect the film to build on that. What's the cost of living this way? What did he give up? These are rich areas for exploration.

Instead, the film treats crime as a job. It's neutral. Morally speaking, The RIP has nothing to say. It doesn't condemn its criminals, but it doesn't really ask us to understand them either. It just presents them as people doing work. That might sound pragmatic, but it's actually a missed opportunity. The best crime films use the crime as a vehicle for exploring human nature. The RIP just uses it as a plot device.

Pacing as a Tool of Emotional Manipulation

Movies control emotion through many tools, but one of the most overlooked is pacing. Fast pacing creates excitement and urgency. Slow pacing creates tension and introspection. Great films modulate between the two, creating a rhythm that serves the emotional journey.

The RIP maintains a relentlessly even pace. It doesn't slow down for genuine tension or speed up for authentic excitement. It just moves forward at a clip designed to maintain baseline engagement. This is technically skillful—you never feel bored—but it's also emotionally manipulative in the worst way. The film isn't asking you to feel anything; it's just occupying your time.

There's a scene midway through where a character faces a moral decision that could derail the entire operation. The scene is underplayed to the point of invisibility. We move past it so quickly that we barely register its importance. A great filmmaker would hold on this moment, let it breathe, let the weight of it settle. The RIP treats it like every other scene: efficient, clear, and emotionally inert.

The Plot Mechanics and Predictability

The central plot of The RIP follows a structure so familiar that you can anticipate every major beat before it happens. Setup, team assembly, obstacle one, obstacle two, obstacle three, twist, resolution. It's a formula, and the film executes it with textbook precision. The problem is that executing a formula isn't the same as transcending it.

The twist, which arrives roughly two-thirds of the way through, is handled with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer. You'll see it coming. Not because you're cynical or because you've seen a lot of heist films, but because the film is built to telegraph exactly this turn. There's no artistry in the construction of surprise here. It's just assembling pieces in an order you've already predicted.

The best heist films create surprise through misdirection or through pushing the genre in unexpected directions. The RIP just follows the path set before it. By the time you reach the ending, you're not satisfied with how things resolved; you're just glad the film finally got there.

What The RIP Gets Right

It would be unfair to say The RIP is without merit. Ben Affleck and Matt Damon elevate material that probably doesn't deserve them. The film is never truly offensive to watch. It's competently made and professionally executed. The supporting cast brings commitment to their roles. The cinematography is pleasant to look at. The runtime, mercifully, respects the audience's time—this isn't a film that overstays its welcome.

There are scattered moments of genuine enjoyment. A quiet scene between Affleck and Damon in a bar works because the actors have real history and chemistry. A heist sequence involving a blackout operates with enough technical clarity that you can follow every element. A piece of dialogue that subverts expectations, rare as it is, lands because it's unexpected in a film this predictable.

But scattered moments of adequacy don't make a great film. They just make a forgettable one.

Comparisons to the Streaming Landscape

To understand where The RIP fits in the current landscape, you need to consider what else is available. Netflix has invested heavily in crime thrillers and heist content. Some of it is legitimately good. Some of it is better than this. Most of it, honestly, occupies a similar space—expensive, professional, ultimately disposable.

The RIP isn't the worst thing on the platform. It's also nowhere near the best. It exists in that middle ground where it's watchable without being compelling. In the context of Netflix's entire catalog, that makes it relatively successful. The streamer wants you to finish what you're watching, and people will finish this. They'll just forget about it immediately after.

The danger of this approach is that it trains audiences to expect mediocrity packaged as quality. When films with budgets this large and talent this significant can be this forgettable, it shapes what we come to accept as entertainment. The RIP isn't a failure in conventional terms, but it's a failure in terms of what cinema should aspire to be.

The Wasted Potential of the Premise

The central premise—two aging criminals attempting one final score—has genuine potential. It's a premise that speaks to mortality, legacy, and the question of whether people can actually change. It's the same premise that drives films like No Country for Old Men or Logan. In the right hands, this material could be profound.

But The RIP treats the premise as window dressing. The fact that these men are aging is mentioned occasionally but never really explored. The question of whether they can pull this off is never genuinely in doubt. The film has the framework for something meaningful and uses it as a plot device. That's the core tragedy of The RIP: it's not that the film is bad, it's that it could have been so much more.

Imagine if the film fully committed to the anxiety of aging criminals attempting one final operation. Imagine if every action sequence carried real weight because we understood that failure meant death for people who don't have many years left. Imagine if the moral ambiguity wasn't avoided but rather embraced. That film would be something worth seeing.

Instead, we got a professional execution of a familiar formula, delivered with enough competence to keep you watching but not enough artistry to make you remember it.

Production Design and World-Building

One area where The RIP does deserve some credit is production design. The locations feel lived-in and detailed. The criminal underworld that the film depicts has texture and specificity. Whether it's safe houses, crime scenes, or the locations where heist planning occurs, there's a level of detail that suggests someone cared about making this world feel real.

This detail is unfortunate because it highlights the film's other failures. You can build a meticulously detailed world and still populate it with boring characters. You can construct convincing settings and still tell a predictable story. Production design is impressive when it serves the narrative. When it's just decoration for a film with nothing to say, it's just expensive set dressing.

Marketing vs. Reality

Netflix's marketing campaign for The RIP emphasized the reunion of Affleck and Damon and promised "their most ambitious crime thriller yet." The trailers cut together action sequences and tense moments to suggest a film with genuine stakes and excitement. What you get is less ambitious and more familiar.

This is a common problem with streaming releases. The marketing promises something significant, and the film delivers something serviceable. It's not quite bait-and-switch because the film does contain all the elements shown in the trailer. It's more that the trailer presents them in a way that suggests meaning they don't actually carry in context.

The marketing suggested a character study of aging criminals. The film delivers a heist procedural. The marketing suggested complex moral questions. The film delivers plot points. It's not dishonest marketing so much as it's marketing that highlights the film's best moments and omits its fundamental emptiness.

Streaming and the Death of Theatrical Releases

The RIP is ultimately a symptom of a larger shift in filmmaking. Hollywood's major studios are increasingly moving their mid-budget content to streaming services. This is supposed to democratize cinema, making it available to more people. And it does. But it also means that entire categories of films are now being made with different aesthetic and narrative priorities.

Where studios once took risks with mid-budget films, they now have algorithms guiding creative decisions. The RIP feels like a film generated from a spreadsheet: what elements do successful Netflix films contain? What budget is required? Which actors will drive viewership? How should it be paced to minimize abandonment? The answers to those questions were then assembled into a film.

This isn't necessarily sinister. It's just business. But it does mean that cinema—at least the kind available to mainstream audiences through major platforms—is increasingly designed for consumption rather than creation. The RIP is efficient entertainment. It's also creatively empty.

The Question of Entertainment Value

At its core, The RIP is meant to entertain. That's its primary function. So the question becomes: is it entertaining? The answer is mostly yes, with important caveats.

The RIP is entertaining in the way that scrolling through social media is entertaining. It occupies your time and provides occasional moments of interest without demanding anything from you. You'll watch it. You might even enjoy it in the moment. But you won't think about it afterward. It won't change how you see the world or challenge you or move you emotionally. It will just be something you consumed.

There's nothing inherently wrong with entertainment that's purely functional. Sometimes you just want something to watch. But when that same entertainment costs tens of millions of dollars to produce and involves talented actors and experienced filmmakers, it starts to feel like a waste of resources. Those resources could have been deployed toward something actually interesting.

The Future of Crime Thrillers on Streaming

The RIP will likely be successful by Netflix's metrics. It will get completed at high rates. It will generate some social media buzz. People will watch it. That success will embolden the streamer to green-light more films like it: expensive, professional, and ultimately forgettable. This is the danger of the streaming era—that the most successful metric is completion, not quality, and that this creates an incentive structure that rewards mediocrity.

Real talk: if you have a Netflix subscription, you'll probably watch this eventually. It's there, it has stars you recognize, and it requires no real commitment. That's the entire appeal. But don't expect to remember it a month from now. Don't expect to rewatch it. Don't expect to recommend it to friends with any genuine enthusiasm.

The RIP is the kind of film that fills the void in Netflix's catalog. It's not offensive. It's not great. It's just there, professional and polished and ultimately empty. It's a film made by algorithm, for algorithms, about as human as a spreadsheet.

A Final Verdict

Is The RIP worth watching? Sure, if you like heist films and you have a couple of hours to kill. You'll get through it. Ben Affleck and Matt Damon are pleasant to watch. The production values are solid. You won't hate it. But you also won't love it, and you probably won't think about it much after it ends.

The real tragedy is what it represents: a massive investment of talent, time, and resources deployed toward creating something fundamentally mediocre. The RIP had the potential to be interesting. It had the actors, the budget, and the premise. What it didn't have was a reason to exist beyond algorithm-optimized completion rates.

Cinema, at its best, is about vision and artistry and the unique perspective of a filmmaker pushing toward something they believe in. The RIP feels engineered, not created. That's not a personal failing of anyone involved. It's a structural problem with how streaming platforms develop content. They've optimized for engagement, but in doing so, they've eliminated the conditions under which genuine art can emerge.

Watch The RIP if you want to pass the time. Just don't expect it to stay with you. That's the entire point.

FAQ

What is The RIP, and who stars in it?

The RIP is a crime thriller exclusive to Netflix featuring Ben Affleck and Matt Damon as two aging career criminals planning one final heist. The film is directed by Jon Watts and features supporting actors in roles throughout the criminal underworld narrative.

How does the plot of The RIP unfold?

The film follows a traditional heist structure where two experienced criminals identify a lucrative score and assemble a crew to execute the plan. The narrative includes obstacles, team dynamics, and a mid-story twist that you'll likely anticipate well before it arrives on screen.

What are the main criticisms of The RIP?

The film suffers from predictability, lack of originality, and an overly formulaic approach to the heist genre. While technically proficient, it prioritizes completion metrics over artistic vision, resulting in a forgettable viewing experience despite strong production values and talented actors.

Is The RIP worth watching?

The RIP is serviceable entertainment that you'll complete without offense, but it's unlikely to remain memorable afterward. If you're a fan of heist films and want something to passively watch, it meets that basic requirement, though it won't challenge or particularly engage you.

How does The RIP compare to other Netflix crime thrillers?

The RIP occupies a middle ground in Netflix's catalog of crime content. It's more professional than the platform's lower-budget offerings but less innovative than some of its better original films, making it a competent but unremarkable addition to the streaming service's library.

What makes a great heist film versus The RIP's approach?

Great heist films like Heat or Ocean's Eleven use the heist as a framework for character exploration and genuine suspense through controlled information and artistic vision. The RIP treats heists as plot mechanics, prioritizing clarity over mystery and completing plot obligations rather than creating emotional resonance.

Why does The RIP feel designed for Netflix specifically?

The film's pacing, technical choices, and narrative structure are optimized for streaming consumption rather than theatrical presentation. It's designed to maintain baseline engagement through even pacing and predictable beats that minimize viewer abandonment—prioritizing completion over artistic impact.

What opportunities did The RIP miss?

The premise of aging criminals attempting one final score offers genuine potential for exploring mortality, legacy, and transformation. Instead of embracing these themes, the film treats them as window dressing, missing the opportunity to create something meaningful from compelling source material.

How do the lead actors perform in The RIP?

Ben Affleck and Matt Damon deliver competent performances with evident chemistry, but the material doesn't provide them opportunities to showcase the depth they're capable of demonstrating. Their professionalism elevates functional material without transcending the script's limitations.

What does The RIP reveal about streaming platforms' approach to filmmaking?

The film exemplifies how streaming platforms prioritize algorithm-optimized completion rates over artistic vision. This structural incentive creates conditions where mediocre, professional content succeeds while genuine innovation struggles, shaping audience expectations toward acceptance of competence without quality.

Key Elements of 'The RIP' Crime Thriller

While 'The RIP' excels in acting and production quality, its script and originality fall short, leading to a competent yet uninspired film. Estimated data based on typical genre analysis.

Final Thoughts: Understanding the Streaming Era

The RIP tells us something important about entertainment in 2025. We've entered an era where massive budgets and A-list talent can produce content that's simultaneously impressive and empty. The film represents a choice: optimize for completion or create for meaning. Netflix chose completion. That choice has consequences for what cinema becomes.

You can watch The RIP with zero friction. It'll keep you occupied. You might even enjoy individual moments. But it won't change you. It won't make you think. It won't stay with you. That's not an accident; that's the entire business model.

The question isn't whether you should watch The RIP. The question is what this says about what we're willing to accept as quality entertainment. And more importantly, what kind of cinema we're willing to let disappear as streaming consolidates control over what gets made and how it gets made.

Final Thoughts: Understanding the Streaming Era - visual representation

Comparison of 'The RIP' to Other Netflix Crime Thrillers

Estimated data suggests 'The RIP' excels in production value but falls short in originality and character depth compared to average Netflix crime thrillers.

Key Takeaways

The RIP reunites A-list talent in a technically proficient heist thriller that feels engineered rather than created
Netflix's algorithm-optimized approach prioritizes completion rates over artistic vision and character depth
The film follows heist genre mechanics precisely while missing the artistry that elevates great heist cinema
Ben Affleck and Matt Damon deliver competent performances that exceed the material they're given
Streaming platforms increasingly incentivize mediocre, forgettable content designed for passive consumption rather than cinema that challenges or moves audiences