‘Ride or Die’ Review: Hannah Waddingham and Octavia Spencer Power a Smart Action-Comedy

Best known internationally for her role in Ted Lasso, Hannah Waddingham has the presence and conviction to convincingly pivot into full-fledged action-hero mode. That’s precisely what she does here, playing a professional assassin working for an ultra-secret agency supposedly tasked with hunting down and eliminating criminals across the globe. This platinum-blonde, gender-swapped riff on John Wick (call her “Joan Wick,” if you like) has every attribute of a super-spy—while also dealing with a problem many male counterparts never face: she’s reached an age where her employer wants her out. “Women over 50 become emotionally unstable,” she’s told. Fortunately, she doesn’t take them all out on the spot.

Ride or Die isn’t strictly an action series about a hitwoman, but rather a comedy with action set-pieces, in which that assassin is forced to go on the run with her best friend—a civilian, played by Octavia Spencer—who has no idea what she really does for a living and gets pulled into her world through a series of unexpected connections. That premise is enough to sustain a show that echoes the classic buddy movies of the ’80s and ’90s, built around escapes, chases, and a mix of comic and dramatic situations as the two women try to survive—and salvage a complicated friendship.

More entertaining, and more effective, than its odd premise might suggest, the series finds its stride when it leans into the relationship between the two leads—and when Waddingham (or her stunt double) displays surprising physical command in the action scenes, some of which are impressively staged. Produced by Andy Muschietti and Barbara Muschietti, the show opens in medias res, with Judith—aka Whiptail—taking out a target at an Austrian ski resort. It’s a messy job, though, and her superiors at the shadowy agency—led by the Director, played by Bill Nighy—decide it’s time to retire her. She refuses, and is given one final assignment: succeed, and she stays; fail, and she’s done.

Running parallel is Judith’s close friendship with Debbie (Spencer), the wife of a British MP (Jamie Parker), whom she’s helping position for a future run at Prime Minister. Debbie has no clue about Judith’s real profession, but their worlds collide at a lavish hotel gala where Judith must complete her mission—kill a mysterious figure named Billy Donovan (Ed Skrein)—while Debbie attends with her husband. Things unravel quickly: gunfire, bloodshed, bodies, and—inevitably—connections that prove far closer than expected. In the chaos, Judith and Debbie are forced to flee together, pursued by multiple factions.

What really strains their bond, even more than being chased across Europe by an assortment of professional killers, is Debbie’s anger upon discovering that her closest friend has lied to her for years. As a result, the series must juggle its action mechanics—pursuits, traps, double-crosses—with the push and pull of a fractured relationship constantly tested by new revelations. Because, unsurprisingly, very little is what it seems, and the plot keeps layering secrets involving mafias, spies, assassins, and political players.

At its core, Ride or Die works because of the dynamic between these two very different women who, despite everything, genuinely love each other—they read the same books, enjoy the same music, share a similar sense of humor. That relationship is the show’s emotional engine, elevating it beyond a premise that could easily go nowhere. The chemistry between the actors, and the rhythm of comedic beats followed by more dramatic ones, give weight and humanity to what might otherwise feel like a reheated blend of action and espionage tropes.

There’s also a quiet pleasure in watching two performers who, within the conventions of the action genre, might be considered “past their prime,” navigating extreme situations with a mix of skill, intelligence, and—in Waddingham’s case—sheer ferocity. The setup may border on the absurd, but she grounds it within the logic of the genre. She’s the kind of woman you’d very much prefer never to have as an enemy.