WAKE UP DEAD MAN: A KNIVES OUT MYSTERY. Writer-director Rian Johnson’s Knives Out (2019) is marvelous on a number of levels, harkening back to the ensemble Agatha Christie adaptations of the 1970s and, like the work of the queen of whodunnits, its cheerful skewering of the rich and powerful. In it, we meet gentleman detective Benoit Blanc (Daniel Craig) and follow him through a country manor house as he retraces the varyingly reliable recollections of the wealthy Thrombey family after the death of their patriarch (Christopher Plummer), a famous mystery writer. Glass Onion (2022), the second installment, takes place during a pandemic getaway on a private island populated by an insufferably self-satisfied cast of high-profile movers, shakers and influencers. Both the original and its sequel weave engrossing mysteries while unraveling conventions of the genre, layering serious cultural and political issues between the froth of style and humor.
In each, Blanc, played by Craig at his most tweedily whimsical (if you can find something that tops Zooming from the tub in a fez, let me know), attaches himself to someone with the inside scoop, even a suspect, to guide him through his investigation. And while he’s invested both in solving the crime and in his reputation as a genius, he is not a cold, Holmes-ian hero, but a humanist concerned with the goodness of people, as well as their crimes and self-delusions. That core keeps the movies from falling into easy cynicism, biting though its humor might be, and keeps us invested with characters we care about more than the usual suspects.
By the time we’re onto a third movie, the pattern is established enough that it’s a balancing act of fulfilling some expectations for those chasing the initial high, while subverting others to avoid repetition and self-imitation. Wake Up Dead Man strips away the glamour and wealth of the previous backdrops and shrinks the sphere of power and influence to a church in a small town. This means the loss of some escapist fun, spectacle and class-driven schadenfreude. But the pews here are as packed with hypocrisy, avarice, entitlement and self-aggrandizing mythology as the preceding New England mansion and tech-bro island. The twisty mystery, too, still entertains, offering revelations even to those who’ve figured it out.
Young priest and former boxer Father Jud Duplenticy (Josh O’Connor), whose neck tattoo just peeks above his collar, loses his temper and socks a deacon. He is banished to the wilds of New York state and a small town’s shrinking church. There, he’s meant to assist and possibly temper Monsignor Wicks (Josh Brolin), who rules his cultish flock with an iron fist, frightening away newcomers from his bully pulpit with shaming sermons and ravings about the feminists, Marxists and whores out to get the righteous. The core congregation members in his thrall include right-hand woman and organist Martha (Glen Close), her devoted Samson the groundskeeper (Thomas Haden Church), drunk and depressed doctor Nat (Jeremy Renner), lawyer and daddy’s girl Vera Draven (Kerry Washington), her adopted son and failed right-wing politician Cy (Daryl McCormack), pain-riddled cellist Simone (Cailee Spaeny) and sci-fi novelist in decline Lee (Andrew Scott). When someone sticks a blade in Wicks, the local police chief (Mila Kunis) summons Blanc to take a crack at the locked-room mystery and a crowd of suspects with secrets. Brimming with confidence and with the pugilistic priest as his wingman, Blanc digs in, not only delving into his suspects’ pasts, but the family history behind the church’s founding, complete with a lost fortune and fallen woman.
Brolin rumbles with butched-up brimstone and creates tension with O’Connor, particularly during their uncomfortable confessions. Close brings shades of Cloris Leachman’s Frau Blücher (Young Frankenstein, 1974) to the rigid zealotry of Martha, also playing well off the younger priest. O’Connor’s Jud is as believable in his faith as in his awkwardness and frustration while attempting to bond with the congregation, squaring up in a moment of violence with a raw edge of fear rather than machismo. He’s the polar opposite of Wick, noting early on that he’s more interested in genuinely connecting with people than viewing those who don’t follow church teachings as “wolves” at the door, a stance he has the opportunity to uphold or betray more than once.
Scott is delightful as a boot-licking weasel and self-absorbed novelist. It’s a humorous race to the bottom with McCormack’s Cy, who chillingly/hilariously rattles off right-wing fear tactics and is constantly livestreams. However, not all the characters are written with as much interest, as Washington, Spaeny and Kunis don’t get to spread their wings much, and Renner is a bit flat, even for the boringly aggrieved Nat.
In Knives Out and Glass Onion, Blanc looks into the motivations of suspects, considering what people will do to hold onto what they have. Wake Up Dead Man shifts to what people will do to hold onto who they tell themselves they are. What if our foundational stories or the ways we tell them are wrong? Who are we if we cannot fulfill our purpose? Stumped amid the architecture of faith, even Blanc has to wrestle with that question. PG13. 144M. BROADWAY.
Jennifer Fumiko Cahill (she/her) is the managing editor at the Journal. Reach her at (707) 442-1400 ext. 106 or jennifer@northcoastjournal.com. Follow her on Bluesky @JFumikoCahill.
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This article appears in Flash Fiction 2025.
