Rian Johnson’s murder mysteries have a particular talent that’s easy to miss if you’re only watching for the “gotcha” reveal. He keeps handing you feelings you’re not sure you’re allowed to have. You feel sorry for someone, then you feel weird about feeling sorry. You root for a person, then you realize you were rooting for the story they told about themselves. And in Wake Up Dead Man: A Knives Out Mystery, that tug-of-war gets sharper, darker, and more personal.
This third Benoit Blanc case takes the franchise into small-town church territory, where moral language comes preloaded and everybody knows exactly which sins count. It also gives Johnson the perfect stage to pull his favorite trick: nudging you toward compassion, then asking whether that compassion was earned or merely performed.
He Weaponizes Your Instincts for Kindness
Most viewers like to think we’re good at spotting the “real” victim in a mystery. Johnson bets against that. He writes characters who look like they need defending, and he lets you step into that role because it feels good. It feels human. It feels like you’re refusing to be cynical.
In Wake Up Dead Man, the initial setup is built for that reflex. The crime is framed as an “impossible” one, and local police chief Geraldine Scott (Mila Kunis) brings in Benoit Blanc (Daniel Craig) to help crack it at the church called Our Lady of Perpetual Fortitude.
He Puts the Most Charming Suspect in the Hot Seat
Johnson understands the power of “sweetness” in a whodunit. Sweetness makes you lower your guard. Sweetness makes you explain away inconsistencies as stress, grief, trauma, anything but guilt. And sweetness makes you defensive when the plot starts poking holes in the person you’ve decided to protect.
That’s why Father Jud Duplenticy (Josh O’Connor) lands so effectively. The film positions him as central to the emotional engine of the story, and Johnson has been blunt that Jud is the character with the real stakes, even more than Blanc.
He Builds Villains Who Make Sense Before They Make You Sick
The other half of Johnson’s sympathy game is that he never wants the “bad” character to feel like an alien. The danger, in his films, comes from familiarity. The villain is somebody you can recognize, maybe even somebody you’ve excused in real life because they sounded convincing.
Monsignor Jefferson Wicks (Josh Brolin) is described as a firebrand leader who rules through anger and fear, but the scarier detail is how he bonds people through an “us against them” mindset, and how much he believes his own story.
He Uses the Setting to Trap You in Moral Language
A church is a brilliant location for a mystery because it comes with built-in scripts. People confess and posture. People talk about forgiveness as if it’s a personality trait. And the building itself feels like a judgment even when it’s empty.
Johnson has talked openly about choosing a more gothic tone for this entry, leaning into faith and religion as the thematic spine.
He Makes “The Game” Feel Fun, Then Shows You the Cost
One of the sneakiest things Johnson does in all three Benoit Blanc films is reminding you that the mystery format itself is a game. It’s puzzles and patterns, timeline tricks and dopamine. It’s the audience turning into little courtroom goblins whispering, “Objection,” at the screen.
Johnson even describes the “impossible crime” subgenre as a kind of purity test for craft, the simplest thing that leaves nowhere to hide.
But in Wake Up Dead Man, the story keeps interrupting the fun with actual need. Johnson has described Jud getting swept up in Blanc’s “us against them” framing before a reality check pulls him back into service and compassion.
He Sneaks Character Truth Into Tiny, Telling Objects
Johnson loves the kind of detail that feels like set dressing until you realize it’s the thesis. In this film, one of the most pointed examples is Father Jud’s very practical, inexpensive Casio G-Shock, which signals humility and an anti-materialist streak against the church’s more lavish, status-soaked corners.
That’s a small choice with big impact because it guides your sympathy without announcing itself. You see the watch, you absorb the vibe: grounded, sincere, not trying to impress. Meanwhile, other characters telegraph hunger for power in ways that look respectable on paper. Johnson’s whole method is built around that mismatch between appearance and appetite.
He Refuses to Let “Hurt” Become a Free Pass
This is the part that can make Johnson’s work feel prickly in the best way. He understands trauma and writes pain as real. He also refuses to treat pain as moral authority.
In discussions of Wake Up Dead Man, that balance comes up again and again: the film makes room for rage and grief, but it won’t let those feelings excuse the harm that follows.
He Makes Blanc Grow by Making You Reconsider Mercy
Benoit Blanc, across the franchise, is a funny contradiction: he’s theatrical, he’s observant, he enjoys the chase, and he also has a surprisingly tender relationship to other people’s choices. He can be judgmental, sure, but he’s not immune to being moved.
Without tipping the final mechanics, Wake Up Dead Man pushes Blanc into a space where solving the puzzle isn’t the only outcome that matters. The story frames the idea that grace can be more challenging than exposure, and that “being right” can shrink a person if it becomes their whole identity.
That lands because it mirrors the audience’s journey. We watch mysteries to feel smart. Johnson keeps asking whether feeling smart is the same thing as being wise.
Rachel Sikkema is a New Zealand-based writer and creative entrepreneur who explores the intersection of film, culture, and modern relationships. Through her articles, she examines how stories shape the way we connect, love and see ourselves. When she’s not writing about film and television, she’s watching Dexter and The White Lotus for the third time.