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Rian Johnson’s Knives Out series and Kenneth Branagh’s Hercule Poirot trilogy have something in common: their darkest entries are my favorite. Wake Up Dead Man is a stimulating whodunit that proves Johnson has plenty of wit left in the tank, this time with a theological curiosity. As if another Benoit Blanc investigation bursting with Daniel Craig’s intellectual charms wasn’t enough, Johnson’s screenplay hosts conversations about faith and futility, devotion and manipulation. Themes of religious radicalism pair elegantly with mystery trappings, served indulgently by another quirky ensemble of suspects. It’s everything we want from another Knives Out spectacle, as good as it gets.
Blanc’s latest case brings him to a teensy town in upstate New York, to the Catholic parish “Our Lady of Perpetual Fortitude.” Msgr. Jefferson Wicks (Josh Brolin) is a local celebrity and fearless leader of Our Lady’s meager but mighty congregation. Rev. Jud Duplenticy (Josh O’Connor) is new to Our Lady’s cloth, assigned by higher officials to monitor Wicks’ less textbook methods. It’s a recipe for disaster tainted by stubborn egos and unquestioning beliefs, but things go even worse than expected when a dead body interrupts service one day. Enter Blanc and local police chief Geraldine Scott (Mila Kunis), the two poor souls tasked with solving a “perfectly impossible” crime.
Johnson is whip-smart with Wake Up Dead Man’s storytelling, thanks to a hyperfixation on religion as both gospel and grift. Blanc’s deductions tie into his atheism, while Duplenticy calls upon holy spirits to find purpose in an otherwise outstandingly bleak predicament. Eureka moments hit like divine intervention, while Blanc has to rationalize the behavior of churchgoers who act in the Lord’s name. Knives Out is about a warring family and Glass Onion transparent “disruptors,” while Wake Up Dead Man chews on meatier subject matter. Wicks’ cronies are easier to deceive, and therefore more unreliable targets. It’s a clever mashup between cults of personality and cockamamie schemes; sliver-tongued serpents hiding in plain sight, bending God’s words to their deceptive wills.
A Knives Out movie comes down to its cast, and Wake Up Dead Man is another standout. Everyone’s just off-color enough, from Andrew Scott’s reclusive science fiction author (moat around his home and all) to Kerry Washington’s buttoned-tight lawyer. They’re all entranced by Wicks in some way: Cailee Spaeny’s disabled former cellist, for example, forks over tens of thousands of dollars in donations because Wicks promises a healing miracle. Daryl McCormack’s young-gun politician hopes to fake his way into prominence by vlogging Wicks’ fiery sermons and supportive words. These are characters who’d do anything for Wicks, especially Glenn Close’s sisterly church lady, playing Wicks’ militant right hand like she’s Our Lady’s only line of defense. Blanc and Duplenticy are outsiders to their causes and threats to Wick—unwanted obstacles that keep the main crew in a heightened sense of self-serving panic.
However, the conspiratorial spotlight is on Wicks. Brolin’s impassioned take on outside-the-box Catholicism is rooted in an iron-fisted fearmongering. The way he tends to his followers is not with compassion, but with aggression and spittle spewed from his pulpit. Johnson weaponizes how easy it is to amass minions through common enemies, preying on the most vulnerable, like Jeremy Renner’s town doctor. Instead of soothing the man’s wounds after his wife splits, Wicks keeps the physician drunk and vengeful. Brolin’s bullheaded performance is that of a tyrant who hides behind righteous teachings, which Johnson drearily exposes as Our Lady’s secrets rise from the grave. Scandal runs rampant throughout Wake Up Dead Man, as the film blurs the lines between victims and believers until their definitions are synonymous.
Most notably, Wake Up Dead Man doesn’t feel like another Benoit Blanc tale—more a Rev. Jud Duplenticy vehicle. Blanc doesn’t show up until well into the first act, and even after, we follow Duplenticy’s priestly crises over Blanc’s diligent sleuthing. Johnson zooms out on a longer-haired, a bit more ragged Blanc who’s talking in circles about an unsolvable assassination. Craig’s still in superstar form as the Southern private eye who features comedic line readings (“Scooby-dooby-doo), but his vacancies let Johnson’s talents breathe. O’Connor’s doing fantastic stuff as an ex-fighter turned Catholic mouthpiece forced to choose between the Bible’s forgiveness and law-abiding justice. Cinematographer Steve Yedlin uses sunlight and shadowiness so beautifully to depict Blanc’s and Duplenticy’s attitudes in any scene—brightness equates to enlightenment. But O’Connor doesn’t lag without Craig, nor does Wake Up Dead Man struggle without Blanc. If anything, it proves the franchise’s flexibility and stresses precision screenwriting over all.
Wake Up Dead Man is an exemplary Knives Out chapter that isn’t afraid to wallow in self-doubt or embrace a blasphemous gloom. It’s built on everything we hope to see in a Knives Out title, down to Craig’s lyrical wisdom as Blanc and the airtight suspense of a whodunit that would make Agatha Christie proud. Johnson’s firing on all cylinders, and proves his passion for continuing Knives Out still burns with a promising brightness. The cast is aces, the laughs are there, but best of all, Wake Up Dead Man charts its own course through murk and malcontent. It’s a wonderfully gloomy Benoit Blanc caper, meeting excitement for another Knives Out while pushing the series’ boundaries to avoid cheap replication.
Movie Score: 4/5
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