Ride On

Imagine a man whose skeletal structure is essentially held together by surgical screws, calcified scar tissue, and an indomitable refusal to use a stunt double. That is Jackie Chan in the year 2023. At nearly 70 years old, he isn’t just an actor; he’s a living museum of action cinema. I watched Ride On on a Tuesday afternoon while my neighbor was power-washing his driveway—the rhythmic, high-pressure hiss of the water actually timed out perfectly with some of the early broom-fighting sequences, making the whole experience feel oddly immersive in a way 4DX could only dream of.

Ride On is a curious beast. It’s a contemporary drama that wears the skin of an action-comedy, but at its heart, it is a meta-commentary on the sunset of an era. Jackie Chan plays Luo Zhilong, a "washed-up" stuntman who lives in a cramped apartment with his stunt horse, Red Hare. When debt collectors (led by a delightfully greasy Yu Ailei) come knocking, Luo and Red Hare defend their home in a skirmish that gets filmed and uploaded to the internet. Suddenly, the "old school" dinosaur is a viral sensation, forcing him to navigate a world of TikTok fame while trying to reconcile with his estranged daughter, Xiaobao (played with earnest tearfulness by Liu Haocun).

The Ghost in the Machine

What makes Ride On resonate in our current moment is how it tackles the "algorithm era." We live in a time where a thirty-second clip of a man falling off a ladder can get more views than a meticulously choreographed three-minute fight scene. Luo represents the "physical" past—a man who believes that if you don't actually bleed for the shot, it doesn't count. The film pits this philosophy against the modern CGI-heavy industry, personified by younger stars and sleek production offices.

It’s a bit jarring to see a legend like Jackie Chan interacting with "viral culture," but director Larry Yang uses it to highlight the absurdity of modern fame. There’s a poignancy to seeing Luo try to understand why people like him; he doesn't realize that in a world of digital perfection, his real-life bruises are a rare commodity. The horse gives a more nuanced emotional performance than most of the MCU’s Phase 4 cast, and I say that with only a hint of hyperbole. Red Hare is expressive, stubborn, and genuinely feels like Luo’s only friend. When the horse is threatened by a legal dispute over its ownership, the stakes feel surprisingly high.

A Heartfelt Apology to Broken Bones

For anyone who grew up on a diet of Police Story or Drunken Master, Ride On is a massive emotional trap. The film features actual montage footage of Jackie Chan’s real-life stunts from the 80s and 90s. We see the younger, rubber-jointed Jackie falling from clock towers and sliding down poles wrapped in Christmas lights. In the context of the movie, these are Luo’s "glory days," but for us, they are a reminder of the physical price Chan paid for our entertainment.

The action choreography, handled by Chan’s own stunt team, is "Jackie-lite." You won't see him jumping off buildings here, but the prop-based ingenuity is still present. There’s a fantastic sequence in a film studio where Luo utilizes everything from rolling carts to light stands to fend off goons. It’s clean, readable, and joyful—a stark contrast to the "shaky-cam" chaos that defines much of modern Western action. Even the cameo by Wu Jing (of Wolf Warrior fame) serves as a respectful passing of the torch, acknowledging that the industry has changed, even if the spirit remains.

Navigating the Melodrama

If there’s a hurdle to clear, it’s the heavy-handed sentimentality that often permeates modern Chinese blockbusters. The relationship between Luo and his daughter involves a lot of crying in the rain and slow-motion realizations. Guo Qilin, playing the daughter’s bumbling fiancé, provides some much-needed comedic relief, but the film occasionally leans too hard into the "daddy issues" trope.

However, in an era of franchise fatigue and "content" being churned out for streaming platforms, there is something deeply refreshing about a movie that feels this personal. This isn't just another entry in a cinematic universe; it’s a veteran filmmaker and a legendary star having a conversation with the audience about aging and legacy. It’s a film that asks: What do we do with our heroes when they can no longer do the things that made them heroes?

The production values are top-notch, showing off the massive scale of the modern Chinese film industry, but the best moments are the quietest ones—Luo grooming his horse or looking at an old photo. It’s a film that slipped under the radar for many, likely due to its hybrid nature and limited Western theatrical push, but it’s a "hidden gem" for anyone who values the craft of the physical stunt.

Ride On isn't a masterpiece of pacing, and its third act dives headfirst into a pool of pure sugar, but it is an essential watch for fans of the genre. It’s a moving, often funny, and deeply self-aware look at the end of a legendary career. It reminds me that while technology can fake a punch, it can’t fake the soul of a performer who has spent fifty years hitting the pavement for our sake. If you have two hours and a soft spot for old-school grit, give Luo and Red Hare a chance.