Despite Keanu Reeves writing to the judge in hopes of securing leniency, “47 Ronin” director Carl Rinsch was today sentenced to 2.5 years in prison for defrauding Netflix out of millions connected to his unfinished series “White Horse/Conquest.” Prosecutors had pushed for a sentence of at least five years.
Judge Jed Rakoff acknowledged Rinsch’s mental health struggles but said he was still “determined to lie” and used money laundering and deception to secure and conceal funds, rejecting the idea that sympathy could outweigh the seriousness of the fraud.
In case you didn’t know this wild story, Rinsch defrauded Netflix out of $11M. The money was part of a $61M deal the streamer struck with him in 2019 after winning a bidding war for his sci-fi project “Conquest/White Horse,” which was never completed.
During pre-production, red flags emerged when Rinsch began sending strange emails claiming he had discovered Covid-19’s “secret transmission mechanism” and could “predict lightning strikes.” Instead of making the show, he allegedly spent Netflix’s money on crypto, five Rolls-Royces, luxury goods, and divorce lawyers. Once the shoot finally began, his behavior reportedly grew even more erratic, including drug misuse, punching walls, and accusing his wife of plotting to assassinate him.
And yet, midway through production, Rinsch asked Netflix for more money so he could continue the shoot—$11M, to be exact—and they somehow agreed to his request. Rinsch then took the money deposited into his account and invested it all into “Dogecoin.”
For some reason, Rinsch then tried to sue Netflix for “breach of contract,” claiming they owed him $14M — using the money the streamer had already given him to pay his lawyers. No surprise, Netflix canceled “White Horse/Conquest” soon after.
I’m not entirely sure why Netflix gave Rinsch this much money to begin with; he was coming off “47 Ronin,” released in 2013, which was a $175M disaster — it went over budget, required extensive reshoots, and Rinsch’s erratic behavior led to him being locked out of the editing room during post-production.
I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: can we please have a six-episode Netflix True Crime doc about this man?