The Unlikely Buddy Comedy That Hits Closer to Home Than You’d Think
There’s something deeply satisfying about watching Hannah Waddingham finally get her moment in the action spotlight. After her all-too-brief stint in Mission: Impossible, where her talents felt criminally underutilized, Amazon’s Ride or Die feels like a corrective—a love letter to her untapped potential as an action hero. Personally, I think what makes this particularly fascinating is how the show doesn’t just throw her into the fray; it owns her ferocity. That opening sequence? A masterclass in how to introduce a character. Stabbing, skiing, and seduction in the first five minutes—it’s almost as if the creators knew we were all craving this version of Waddingham.
But here’s the thing: Ride or Die isn’t just about the action, and that’s where it gets interesting. In my opinion, the show’s true genius lies in how it balances those high-octane moments with something far more intimate—the bond between two women who are, at once, utterly incompatible and inseparable. Judith, the assassin with a heart of gold, and Debbie, the former lawyer turned political spouse, are a study in contrasts. What many people don’t realize is that their dynamic isn’t just about friendship; it’s about the ways we define ourselves through the people we choose to keep close.
One thing that immediately stands out is how the show handles their age. The term “WOACAs”—a cringe-worthy attempt to rebrand “women of a certain age”—feels both mocking and affectionate. If you take a step back and think about it, this isn’t just a throwaway joke; it’s a commentary on how society tries to diminish women as they age. Judith and Debbie aren’t having it, though. Their midlife crisis isn’t about Botox or sports cars; it’s about loyalty, secrets, and the kind of love that survives decades of shared history.
What this really suggests is that Ride or Die is as much about identity as it is about adventure. Judith’s double life as a forensic accountant-turned-assassin is more than a plot device—it’s a metaphor for the masks we all wear. Debbie, meanwhile, is the emotional anchor, but she’s no damsel in distress. Her reactions to Judith’s revelations are where the show shines brightest. When she expresses horror at Judith’s profession, it’s not just about the violence; it’s about the betrayal of trust. That’s a detail I find especially interesting—how the show uses their friendship to explore the messy, often painful, realities of honesty.
From my perspective, the action sequences, while thrilling, are almost secondary to the emotional stakes. Sure, the high-speed chases and frying-pan fights are fun, but they’re most effective when they’re tied to the characters’ relationships. The Albanian mob, the Interpol agent with a crush, the unhinged killer—they’re all just obstacles in the way of Judith and Debbie’s bond. What makes this particularly fascinating is how the show refuses to treat their friendship as a side plot. It’s the core, the heartbeat of the entire series.
This raises a deeper question: Why do we so rarely see stories like this? Two middle-aged women, one an assassin, the other a political strategist, on the run across Europe? It’s a premise that feels both fresh and oddly familiar, like a Thelma & Louise for the streaming age. But unlike that classic, Ride or Die isn’t interested in tragedy. It’s a comedy, yes, but one with a surprisingly sweet heart. The ensemble cast—from Ed Skrein’s charmingly oblivious mark to Bill Nighy’s icy Director—adds layers of humor and tension, but it’s Waddingham and Octavia Spencer who carry the show.
Spencer’s performance, in particular, is a masterclass in subtlety. Debbie isn’t the one doing backflips or shooting guns, but her emotional resilience is just as crucial to the story. What many people don’t realize is that her role is the harder one to play. She’s the straight man, the grounding force, but she’s also a fully realized character in her own right. Her love for Judith, her frustration, her fear—it’s all there, simmering just beneath the surface.
Now, let’s talk about the flaws, because no show is perfect. The plot can get convoluted, and there are moments where you’ll find yourself wondering, “Wait, who’s chasing who again?” Personally, I think this is where the series stumbles. A two-hour movie might have been a tighter fit for this story, but then we’d have missed out on the slower, quieter moments that make it so endearing. The Lord of the Rings trivia debates, the antiquing, the shared love of books—these are the details that make Judith and Debbie feel real.
If you take a step back and think about it, Ride or Die is a show about imperfection. The action isn’t always top-tier, the plot has its holes, and yet, it works. Why? Because it’s honest. It doesn’t try to be the next Mission: Impossible or John Wick. Instead, it’s content to be something smaller, something more personal. And in a world where every show seems to be vying for “epic” status, that’s a refreshing change.
In the end, Ride or Die isn’t just a buddy comedy; it’s a reminder of the power of friendship to transcend flaws—both in the characters and in the storytelling itself. It’s not perfect, but then again, neither are we. And maybe that’s the point.
