Imagine a mystery that jolts you awake to the fractures in our world—'Wake Up Dead Man,' the latest in the Knives Out saga, isn't just a puzzle; it's a profound exploration of unity in a time of division, leaving you pondering if we can ever truly bridge our gaps.
If you felt that 'Glass Onion' leaned a tad too whimsically into fun after the sharp success of the original 'Knives Out,' Rian Johnson's fourth entry in this burgeoning franchise, titled 'Wake Up Dead Man,' serves as a sobering pivot. Gone is the breezy 'vacation mystery' vibe; instead, we're plunged into a stark, windswept atmosphere that feels both chilly and invigorating, like a brisk walk through a foggy cityscape. Yet, amidst the gloom, there's always a glimmer of hope shining through, much like sunlight piercing the clouds.
Drawing inspiration from classic 'locked door' mysteries such as 'The Hollow Man' and 'The Murders in the Rue Morgue,' the film features Daniel Craig's astute detective Benoit Blanc tackling what seems like an insurmountable enigma. This setup allows Johnson to delve deeply into weighty themes: the eternal tug-of-war between faith and reason, the corrosive pull of greed versus the redemptive power of selflessness, and even our inherent human craving for narratives—from religious parables to cinematic tales—that shape our understanding of life. It's part of a growing trend where skilled storytellers address the uncertainties of 2020s existence not by confronting them head-on, but by weaving them subtly into gripping plots that resonate with both modern anxieties and enduring human truths. This makes 'Wake Up Dead Man' an ambitious masterpiece, one that doesn't pit believers against skeptics but instead highlights our shared vulnerabilities and desires.
But here's where it gets controversial... In a bold narrative choice, Blanc takes a backseat, not as the central figure driving the story. That honor goes to Reverend Jud Dupenticy, portrayed by the talented Josh O'Connor, a young clergyman dispatched to a struggling parish in New York after an impulsive punch to a deacon. Jud's journey involves collaborating with the formidable Monsignor Jefferson Wicks, played with ferocious intensity by Josh Brolin—a towering figure who governs through intimidation rather than inspiration. Wicks sermonizes from a fiery pulpit, wielding shame and guilt as weapons to maintain control, insisting that their religion faces existential threats and must retaliate to endure. Jud, on the other hand, with his history of a decisive right hook, champions compassion over confrontation, advocating for embraces instead of blows. The film is rife with such dichotomies, but at its heart lies a powerful message: divisions aren't just tearing apart this fictional church but mirror the fractures in our real-world society. Johnson argues that clinging to our 'tribes' won't heal us—only by embracing outsiders can we move forward. It's a sentiment that might stir debate: Is this optimism naive in an era of deepening polarization, or is it a necessary call to action?
We also encounter the monsignor's devoted inner circle, who naturally emerge as suspects in this labyrinthine whodunit. There's Martha Delacroix, embodied by the luminous Glenn Close, Wicks' unwavering ally who's been part of the congregation since childhood, her loyalty forged in the fires of tradition. Groundskeeper Samson Holt, brought to life by Thomas Haden Church, is a reserved soul, devoted to Martha and indebted to Wicks for rescuing him from the clutches of alcoholism. Dr. Nat Sharp, played by Jeremy Renner, drowned his grief over his wife's death in the abyss of online forums, turning to liquor for solace. Lee Ross, portrayed by Andrew Scott, was once a bestselling author now consumed by digital conspiracy theories. Simone, acted by Cailee Spaeny, seeks Wicks' supposed healing touch for her unrelenting pain. Vera Draven, given depth by Kerry Washington, reluctantly cares for her detestable half-brother Cy, a budding politician played by Daryl McCormack, who exploits social media fury like a modern-day evangelist. Rounding out this stellar cast are Jeffrey Wright, Mila Kunis, and the wonderfully compelling Bridget Everett, ensuring a lineup that's as impressive as it is integral to the story.
While Craig's Blanc propelled the narratives of the earlier films, here O'Connor steps into the spotlight, capturing the tormented essence of Johnson's most intricate protagonist. Jud wrestles with the aftermath of a fatal boxing ring incident, striving not only to make amends but to unravel the rage that fueled it. Anger threads through the film's tapestry—from Jud's personal demons to Wicks' authoritarian reign, Martha's judgmental streak, Cy's cynical opportunism, and Nat's simmering bitterness. And this is the part most people miss: Johnson isn't merely transplanting contemporary divisions into a vintage mystery genre; he's crafting something unexpectedly hopeful, advocating for empathy amid discord without descending into preachiness or schmaltz. The screenplay is a masterpiece of precision, showcasing one of the finest writers of our time at the peak of his abilities.
It's no surprise that Johnson's scripts are razor-sharp, but his growing command of filmmaking deserves more acclaim. Though 'Wake Up Dead Man' is likely destined for small-screen viewing, it's undeniably cinematic in scope. Cinematographer Steven Yedlin, Johnson's longtime collaborator, delivers breathtaking visuals, contrasting the dim interiors of an aged New York church with radiant beams of sunlight filtering through stained glass—elevating the mystery beyond the dim, forgettable fare often churned out for streaming. Similarly, Bob Ducsay's editing is pivotal, expertly unraveling the plot's twists with seamless timing.
Speaking of the mystery itself, it's admittedly a whirlwind of complexity, perhaps a notch or two beyond easy deciphering, making it nearly impossible for most to crack. Yet, as with the entire Knives Out series, the 'who' isn't the draw—it's the 'why' that captivates. Beneath the surface of murder and resolution lies a sermon of substance, exploring what truly drives us. At one stage, it morphs into a charming buddy dynamic, with faith-driven Jud and logic-minded Blanc teaming up from their opposing viewpoints. But its true strength? A beacon of hope that we all share more common ground than divides us, and only by recognizing that can we awaken to better possibilities.
Is this portrayal of reconciliation too idealistic for our polarized times, or does it offer a genuine path to healing? Do you agree that stories like this can bridge divides, or do they merely gloss over real-world conflicts? Share your thoughts in the comments—let's discuss!
In theaters now. Streaming on Netflix on December 12th.
