CHiPs

I watched CHiPs on a humid Tuesday evening while nursing a lukewarm ginger ale and trying to ignore the fact that my neighbor was loudly practicing the bagpipes. In that specific, slightly agitated headspace, a movie about two guys bickering on motorcycles while things explode behind them felt less like a "cinematic experience" and more like a necessary psychological distraction. It’s the kind of film that exists in the weird, frantic energy of the late 2010s—an era where every studio executive looked at a dusty 1970s TV property and thought, "What if we made this R-rated and filled it with jokes about eating butt?"

The Gearhead’s Passion Project

Let’s get one thing straight: Dax Shepard (who wrote, directed, and starred) loves motorsports. Like, really loves them. This isn't a studio hack job where the director showed up for a paycheck; this is a man’s obsessed tribute to the physics of two-wheeled mayhem. While the script often feels like a plot that was scribbled on a cocktail napkin during a track day, the actual action choreography is surprisingly legitimate.

Unlike the CGI-heavy bloat of the later Fast & Furious entries, CHiPs leans heavily into practical stunt work. You can feel the weight of the bikes—specifically the contrast between the standard-issue California Highway Patrol BMWs and the sleek, customized Ducati Hypermotards the "bad guys" (and eventually our heroes) zip around on. Mitchell Amundsen (who shot Transformers) captures the freeway chases with a clarity that puts most modern action-comedies to shame. There’s a specific sequence involving a motorcycle chasing a modified car through the winding L.A. sprawl that actually earns its runtime. It’s clear that Shepard wanted the bikes to be the real stars, and on that front, he succeeded.

The Oddest of Couples

The film lives or dies on the chemistry between Dax Shepard’s Jon Baker—a broken-down X-Games star trying to save his marriage by becoming a cop—and Michael Peña’s Frank ‘Ponch’ Poncherello, an undercover FBI agent with a sex addiction and a short fuse. Michael Peña is a national treasure, and he’s doing a lot of heavy lifting here. His comedic timing is surgical, often finding laughs in the smallest facial tics even when the dialogue leans into the "gross-out" tropes of the 21 Jump Street (2012) imitator era.

The dynamic is intentionally abrasive. While the original TV show was built on a foundation of sun-drenched, wholesome brotherhood, this 2017 incarnation thrives on cringe. There’s a lot of humor derived from physical proximity and "bro-culture" anxieties that felt a little dated even when it hit theaters. However, the supporting cast keeps things lively. Adam Brody shows up as a pampered agent, and Vincent D’Onofrio (though underused) provides a menacing enough presence as the corrupt leader of a bike-theft ring. Jessica McNamee and Rosa Salazar do what they can with roles that are unfortunately thin, serving more as plot devices than fully realized characters—a common pitfall of this specific sub-genre during the mid-2010s.

The "Raunchy Reboot" Fatigue

Looking back from our current vantage point, CHiPs arrived right at the saturation point of the "Legacy Reboot with Dirty Jokes" trend. By 2017, audiences were starting to feel the fatigue that would eventually claim Baywatch later that same year. The film struggles to find a consistent tone; it wants to be a gritty heist thriller one minute and a slapstick comedy the next.

One of the more interesting "behind-the-scenes" wrinkles is that the original Ponch, Erik Estrada, initially expressed some skepticism about the project’s hard-R direction. It’s understandable—the film treats the CHP brand with the same reverence a teenager treats a substitute teacher’s lesson plan. Yet, there’s a strange sincerity in Shepard’s performance. He plays Baker as a man whose entire body is held together by titanium screws and Ibuprofen, which feels like a meta-commentary on the physical toll of being an action star in a post-stuntman world.

The budget was a relatively lean $25 million, which is pocket change by today’s Marvel standards, and you can see every cent of it on the screen during the freeway pile-ups. It’s a loud, messy, and occasionally hilarious relic of a time when Hollywood thought the best way to honor the past was to douse it in gasoline and light a match. It’s not a masterpiece, but Michael Peña’s charisma is essentially the only thing holding the frame together during the slower bits, and sometimes, that’s enough.

CHiPs is the cinematic equivalent of a gas station chimichanga: you know it’s probably not "good" for you, and you might regret the choice twenty minutes later, but in the heat of the moment, it hits a very specific spot. If you turn your brain off and just watch the Ducatis weave through traffic, it’s a perfectly functional way to kill 100 minutes. Just don't expect it to stick with you any longer than the smell of burnt rubber on the 405.