How Netflix’s latest Knives Out mystery made me rethink religion

When I pressed play on Wake Up Dead Man: A Knives Out Mystery on Netflix, I expected a classic Rian Johnson whodunit with quirky suspects, clever clues, loveable sleuth Benoit Blanc and a murder mystery elegantly untangled. What I didn’t expect was how deeply the movie would engage with religion, forgiveness and the human experience, especially through the eyes of a skeptic like me.

Set in a gloomy, atmospheric church in upstate New York, the movie begins with the shocking death of Monsignor Jefferson Wicks, a charismatic yet certainly controversial figure whose fiery style of preaching has polarized his congregation. Everyone has a motive. The locked room setup feels like a classic Agatha Christie puzzle, but the setting, overlaid with stained glass, easter symbolism and spiritual tension, signals that this isn’t just another murder mystery.

What elevates Wake Up Dead Man beyond puzzle-solving is how it weaves themes of faith and self-reflection into its narrative. As someone who identifies as agnostic, religion has always seemed like a topic best explored in deep, earnest conversations and not in pop culture escapism. Yet here I found myself unexpectedly moved, challenged and open to seeing positive sides of religious beliefs I had rarely considered before.  

At the heart of this exploration is Father Jud Duplenticy, played with gentle intensity by Josh O’Connor. Duplenticy isn’t a stereotypical pious priest; he’s a former boxer turned clergyman, sent to serve at Wicks’ church after an impulsive fight with a deacon. He’s human in every sense, flawed, unsure, compassionate and sometimes hilariously unprepared for the weight of his vocation. 

What struck me most about Duplenticy was his unshakeable commitment to empathy. Unlike Wicks’ thunderous condemnation, Duplenticy approaches people with kindness and curiosity. He listens first, judges last. He genuinely wants to understand his parishioners, even when they have done terrible things. This is not the triumphalist religion we often see repackaged in the media; it’s a religion of humility. Duplenticy does not preach fire and brimstone. He preaches forgiveness, presence and grace. 

There’s a moment in the film that’s quiet, almost easy to miss, where Duplenticy prays with a shaken parishioner on the phone. It struck me as more honest than anything Blanc’s sharp logic could deliver. Here was a man acknowledging pain without dismissing it, without trying to fix it immediately. 

Even though he was so occupied by the mystery of the murder of Wicks, as soon as the parishioner delivered the words that weighed heavily on Duplenticy’s heart, saying, “Father…can you pray for me?”, Duplenticy snapped back to his true purpose and passion. Nothing else mattered in that moment except for an unbridled love and grace he had for a stranger who came rushing back to their religion in a time of difficulty. That held real weight for me as someone who often views religion from the outside. 

The movie doesn’t shy away from the strengths and weaknesses of religion. On one hand, Monsignor Wicks represents the worst excesses of organized faith, a leader who preys on guilt, manipulates emotions and drives away those who need community the most. His sermons are divisive, his charisma feels sharp rather than warm and his authority fractures rather than heals.

On the other hand, Duplenticy’s presence reveals the power of faith as a facilitator of community and hope. His belief isn’t about dominance or performing righteousness; it’s about connection. In a world riddled with pain and mistrust, Duplenticy’s faith reminds others that they are seen, valued and loved. This duality felt especially poignant and, for me, eye-opening. It underscores that religion isn’t a monolith. It isn’t all harmful or all healing. It’s a human endeavour, shaped by individual intentions and actions. 

From my agnostic perspective, the film didn’t try to convert me. Instead, it invited me to see that religion can be a well of meaning when practiced with empathy instead of ego. This was refreshing, especially in a media landscape where religion is too often treated as either cartoonishly good or patently bad. 

Then there’s Blanc, our beloved detective who brings southern charm and keen deduction to every case. But here? His familiar confident logic isn’t enough. Blanc is portrayed as a “proud heretic” pushed out of his comfort zone by the spiritual fog of a church mystery. His skepticism is played not as a virtue but as one piece of a larger human puzzle. 

Blanc and Duplenticy’s dynamic is the emotional heart of the movie. They represent two worldviews that often misunderstand each other, like the rational and the spiritual. Yet, instead of dismissing one another, they learn from each other. Blanc doesn’t abandon skepticism, but he slowly recognized the value of faith narratives and compassion. Duplenticy doesn’t reject logic; he interrogates it, making him a more grounded spiritual guide. This evolution feels like a conversation we all need to have more often. 

Another one of the film’s best gifts is how it treats its female characters, especially those who are misunderstood or underestimated. Characters like Martha Delacroix and Vera Daven initially appear one-dimensional, only to reveal hidden depths, motivations or struggles that defy easy judgment. 

For instance, Martha seems like a simple, zealously devoted churchwoman, but as more is revealed, her story becomes tragic and layered with devotion, guilt, fear and ultimately, the desperate hope for forgiveness. Her journey is heartbreaking, not because she fails, but because she shows how good intentions can be twisted into harmful choices when humans act out of fear instead of reflection. 

These characters remind me that people are more than their roles in our assumptions, especially women who are too often boxed into stereotypes in mystery stories. This treatment of female characters resonated deeply with me. It spoke to the broader theme of misunderstanding and redemption and not just in religious spaces, but in everyday life. It reminded me that people deserve patience and empathy, not snap judgments. 

If there’s a final lesson in Wake Up Dead Man, it’s that forgiveness matters. This isn’t portrayed in a saccharine, simplistic way, but in a gritty, vulnerable, human way. Forgiveness here isn’t just a theological concept, it’s an active decision to release hatred, grudges and blame. It transforms characters, even as it doesn’t magically ease pain. 

Duplenticy’s capacity to forgive and to invite others into forgiveness becomes a turning point. This isn’t about ignoring wrongdoing; it’s about recognizing shared humanity. For me, that was the most powerful takeaway. As an agnostic, I might not subscribe to heaven or hell, but I do believe in the power of letting go, of choosing mercy over resentment, of believing that people can grow and change. The film’s portrayal of forgiveness made that feel sacred, even without doctrinal belief. 

At its core, Wake Up Dead Man is still a clever murder mystery. It’s stylish, surprising and sharply written. But it’s also a conversation starter about faith, about understanding, about how we view those whose beliefs differ from our own. What surprised me most was how much I cared about this conversation by the final credits. 

Watching Duplenticy embrace compassion and seeing Blanc soften without losing his skeptical edge reminded me that different worldviews don’t have to clash. They can complement each other. Watching misunderstood women reveal hidden truths reminded me that people, like beliefs, are rarely what they seem on the surface. 

For someone like me who is always craving stories that expand our sense of self, curious about their meaning and skeptical about certainty, this movie was more than entertainment. It was eye-opening, and honestly? I’m grateful to have watched it.