Rian Johnson’s Knives Out project has always functioned as a sociological barometer disguised as a parlor game. If the inaugural film dissected the curdled nostalgia of old money and the American aristocracy, and Glass Onion satirized the vacuous transparency of the tech-disruptor class, the third installment, Wake Up Dead Man: A Knives Out Mystery, turns its gaze toward a more ancient and opaque institution: the church. Arriving on screens without the sun-drenched maximalism of its predecessor, this latest entry offers a colder, more austere meditation on the intersection of divinity, deceit, and the transactional nature of modern faith. It is a film that trades the expansive vistas of Greece for the claustrophobic, incense-laden air of an upstate New York parish, replacing the puzzle box’s usual whimsy with a gothic heaviness that borders on the funereal.
The narrative architecture of Wake Up Dead Man adheres to the classical unities of the genre while subverting its tonal expectations. We are introduced to the remote, insular parish of Our Lady of Perpetual Fortitude, a community held in thrall not by spiritual grace, but by the formidable personality of Monsignor Jefferson Wicks. The film posits the church not as a sanctuary, but as a fortress of ideology, a “closed system” of belief that mirrors the “locked room” mystery at its core. When Wicks is discovered dead—stabbed in the back within a secured storage closet during a Good Friday service—the film initiates a procedural that is less about the mechanics of the crime and more about the autopsy of a community poisoning itself with its own myths. The murder weapon itself—a knife fashioned from a devil’s head lamp adornment—underscores the film’s satirical edge, juxtaposing the sacred setting with a profane instrument of violence.
This is the darkest entry in the trilogy, both visually and thematically. Johnson, working with his longtime cinematographer Steve Yedlin, has stripped away the pop-art vibrancy that defined the franchise’s earlier aesthetic. In its place is a palette of frozen blues, greys, and deep shadows, a visual language that owes more to the gothic tradition than the cozy murder mystery. The film is described as a “lighting movie,” utilizing a theatrical approach to illumination that mirrors the emotional volatility of the characters. Inspired by the atmospheric conditions of Colorado, where fast-moving clouds can instantly alter the light in a room, Yedlin and Johnson devised a sophisticated lighting control system for the church set. This allowed them to “play the light changes like music,” shifting the visual tone in real-time during takes to reflect the unstable nature of the characters’ reality.
The Detective in Minor Key
The return of Benoit Blanc is marked by a distinct shift in demeanor. The “Gentleman Sleuth” played by Daniel Craig has shed the more flamboyant, droll eccentricities that characterized his previous appearances. Gone are the relentless “suth’n” colloquialisms and the quirky, faux-naif mannerisms that often disarmed his adversaries. In Wake Up Dead Man, Blanc presents a figure of greater gravity and melancholy. Clad in a handsomely tailored three-piece suit and sporting a longer, more unkempt hairstyle, he moves through the narrative with a weariness that suggests the weight of previous investigations has begun to accumulate.
Blanc’s presence in this religious milieu creates an immediate friction. As an atheist, his arrival at the parish represents the intrusion of secular rationalism into a space governed by mystical assertion. The film frames his investigation as a “worldview culture-clash,” pitting the detective’s reliance on logic and evidence against a community that prioritizes faith and dogmatic loyalty. However, the script complicates this binary; Blanc is not merely the rational skeptic dismantling the superstitions of the faithful. Instead, he is forced to confront an “extraordinary encounter with the Resurrection itself,” a plot point that challenges his materialist understanding of the world. The detective finds himself navigating a labyrinth of “faith, fear, and deception,” where the truth is obscured not just by lies, but by the sincere, if misguided, beliefs of the suspects.
Structurally, Blanc cedes significant ground to the film’s secondary protagonist, Father Jud Duplenticy. This narrative choice decentralizes the detective, moving him from the omniscient solver of puzzles to a facilitator of moral reckoning. By the film’s conclusion, Blanc subverts the genre’s expectation of the “parlor room reveal.” Rather than delivering the traditional, triumphant monologue that exposes the killer and restores order through punitive justice, Blanc chooses to step aside. He allows for a resolution that favors confession and mercy, a thematic pivot that aligns the detective’s arc with the film’s exploration of forgiveness over vengeance.
The Victim as Tyrant
The corpse at the center of the mystery is Monsignor Jefferson Wicks, portrayed by Josh Brolin with a thundering, alpha-male aggression. Wicks is the antithesis of the benevolent shepherd; he is a “ferocious clerical alpha male” who utilizes the pulpit to broadcast reactionary views and maintain a stranglehold on his congregation. Brolin’s performance is characterized by a terrifying certainty, embodying a “drunken tyrant” who rules through fear and the exploitation of his parishioners’ rage.
The character of Wicks serves as a critique of the “weaponization of faith.” He is depicted as a man who builds walls around his community, fostering a “fortress mentality” that views the outside world as a hostile combatant. This is not a man of God, but a man of power, whose authority is derived from a legacy of greed. The film reveals that Wicks is the grandson of the Reverend Prentice Wicks, a figure who secured the family’s position through coercion and the promise of an inheritance—a diamond—that subsequently vanished. Jefferson Wicks’ leadership is defined by this history of material obsession; he is a man who “exploits his congregants’ rage” to maintain his own status.
His death, therefore, is framed not as a tragedy but as a necessary liberation. He is a “splendidly murderable pastor,” a figure whose removal shatters the sanctity of the Sunday service but also breaks the spell he held over the community. The investigation eventually reveals a secondary victim in a grim tableau: the “disgruntled” town doctor, Nat Sharp (Jeremy Renner), is discovered alongside Wicks, his body dissolving in a tub of acid. This macabre detail pushes the film into a darker, more visceral territory, emphasizing the physical corruption that accompanies the spiritual rot of the parish.
The Penitent Suspect
The emotional core of Wake Up Dead Man resides with Father Jud Duplenticy, played by Josh O’Connor. A “sweet-natured, thoughtful junior priest” and former boxer, Jud stands as the foil to Wicks’ toxic masculinity. O’Connor’s performance is a study in quiet desperation and “sincere religious devotion,” grounding the film’s absurdist elements in genuine emotional fragility.
Jud is introduced as the prime suspect. He has a history of violence, having “reformed after killing a man in a match,” and was recorded threatening to “cut out of the church like a cancer” due to the Monsignor’s heartless attitudes. Despite the mounting evidence, including the fact that the murder weapon was fashioned from an adornment Jud had stolen, Blanc recruits the priest to assist in the investigation. This partnership forms the film’s central dynamic: the atheist detective and the devout suspect, united by a desire for truth but divided by their understanding of its source.
The character’s arc is defined by a “Road to Damascus” moment—a pivotal phone call scene involving the character Louise, played by Bridget Everett. This sequence, described by Johnson as the “heart of the movie,” serves as a spiritual turning point. In it, Jud is reminded of his true vocation, shifting his focus from the “game” of the mystery to the pastoral duty of care. O’Connor portrays a man “unraveling under the pressure of secrets and suspicion,” and his eventual vindication and offer of mercy to the guilty party provide the film with its ethical thesis: that justice without grace is merely another form of violence.
The Congregation of Suspects
Surrounding the central figures is a “flock of diehards,” an ensemble cast that embodies various facets of institutional decay and personal desperation. The suspects are bound to Wicks by a complex web of fear, faith, and financial dependence, creating a “hilariously cartoony lineup” that nonetheless represents a cross-section of American anxieties.
Martha Delacroix, played by Glenn Close, is the “devout church lady” and Wicks’ “right-hand woman.” Her character represents the danger of uncritical loyalty. She is a woman “fiercely loyal” to the Monsignor, enforcing his will with a fanaticism that borders on the pathological. Her relationship with Samson Holt, the “circumspect groundskeeper” played by Thomas Haden Church, adds a layer of illicit intimacy to the parish. Holt, a hulking figure adored by Martha, operates in the margins, his silence masking a deep complicity in the parish’s secrets.
The political dimension of the narrative is fleshed out by Andrew Scott and Kerry Washington. Scott plays Lee Ross, a “best-selling author” and “failing sci-fi novelist” who has turned to God but retains a simmering anger toward the “liberal media.” His character satirizes the intellectual who adopts faith as a shield against cultural irrelevance. Washington plays Vera Draven, Esq., a “tightly wound lawyer” and adoptive mother to Cy Draven, played by Daryl McCormack. Cy is an “aspiring politician” and “Trumpian influencer,” explicitly grounding the film in the contemporary political landscape of “Trump II”. His character represents the cynicism of the new right, using the aesthetics of faith to advance a secular ambition.
Mila Kunis appears as Police Chief Geraldine Scott, the representative of local law and order. Her interactions with Blanc are defined by friction; she objects to his recruitment of Jud and attempts to arrest the priest before the truth is revealed. She serves as the obstacle of bureaucracy, a force that seeks to close the case quickly rather than correctly. Cailee Spaeny rounds out the cast as Simone Vivane, a “disabled former concert cellist” dealing with chronic pain, whose physical immobility contrasts with the frantic maneuvering of the other suspects.
The Sonic Liturgy
The score, composed by Nathan Johnson, acts as a sonic parallel to the film’s visual darkness. Described as a “tug of war between ugliness and beauty,” the music begins with the “nails-on-a-chalkboard sound” of violinists scraping their bows against strings, a dissonant texture that evokes the friction of the crime. As the narrative progresses, the score resolves into a “pure tone,” mirroring the movement from chaos to order.
Johnson utilizes “broken instruments” and unconventional techniques to create a “spooky atmosphere.” Bass clarinets are manipulated to sound like “skittering spiders,” and a broken harmonium provides “wheezing gasps” that resemble an “old creaky ship.” These sonic details ground the film in a texture of decay. Tracks such as “The Confession (Violin Concerto in G Minor)” and “Requiem” suggest a classical, liturgical structure, reinforcing the religious setting while subverting its solemnity with the grotesque sounds of the “broken” orchestra.
The Verdict
Wake Up Dead Man: A Knives Out Mystery is a work of high ambition and tonal risk. It successfully expands the scope of Rian Johnson’s universe while deepening its moral complexity. It is a “chocolate box” of a film—layered and inviting, yet possessing a dark, bitter center. By moving Benoit Blanc into the “Gothic backdrop” of a spiritually bankrupt parish, Johnson has stripped away the glamour of the previous installments to reveal the “messy people with real wounds” underneath.
While the “bizarrely convoluted” nature of the mystery may alienate those seeking the Swiss-watch precision of the first film, the movie succeeds as a “meditation on belief, guilt, and the myths we tell ourselves”. It proves that even in a genre defined by death, there is room for a story about the possibility of new life. It is a film that asks whether the “confession” is merely a performance or a genuine act of contrition, and whether the detective’s role is to punish the sinner or to understand the sin.
Release Information
The film premiered in theaters on November 26, 2025, and begins streaming on Netflix on December 12, 2025.
