A modern murder mystery for one and all
Two of my favorite films this year have been about the failings of generation wealth and the illusion of power. Ready or Not may have had one of the best endings of any film in its genre, delivered in such a satisfying and final way, a way left no room for doubt about the finality of fates of the characters.
Knives Out is similar in a lot of ways, just without the edge or the Satanisim. This isn’t a criticism—Knives Out is as traditional a mystery as it can be, right down to the idiosyncratic private detective and foreboding Victorian style house.
Which is surprising, considering it’s a film by Rian Johnson who is most well-known for subverting the expectations in The Last Jedi, causing millions of nerds to cry out on film Twitter, only to be suddenly silenced by Baby Yoda.
Knives Out is as Agatha Christie as can be, note for note, twist for twist. As a result, the film is fun and entertaining, if maybe a little long in the middle. As with most mystery stories, when the curtain is drawn back and the culprit revealed, everything that came before is worth the trouble. It’s a competent movie worth seeing in theater.
Harlan Thrombey (Christopher Plummer) is a mystery writer of massive success, with assets in the millions of dollars and publishing empire worth much, much more. He is the patriarch of a large family of the privileged variety—the type that argue that raise alt-right teenagers and think Donald Trump is a jerk, but one that the country needed.
They’ll even happily involve their staff in their inane political discussions, asking their father’s Latina nurse whether or not she agrees with the current immigration policies, despite routinely forgetting exactly which Latin country from which her family originates.
You can tell they are a family who relies heavily in the idea of noblesse oblige to excuse their worst impulses. Some of those impulses involve adultery, embezzlement, and general aimless—the traits that plague the upper classes. But do the faults extend to murder?
When Thrombey is found dead in his room, of an apparent suicide, someone hires Benoit Blanc (Daniel Craig) to find out. Blanc is a famous detective recently featured in The New Yorker for solving some case or another, but more importantly he’s got a goofy, genteel southern accent that is a stand in for a Poirot mustache, meaning he must always know more than he lets on. Poirot, I mean, Blanc gives himself forty-eight hours to solve the case and enlists the young nurse Marta (Ana De Armas) as his Watson.
The cast is excellent, of course. Starring Jamie Lee Curtis, Don Johnson, Michael Shannon, Chris Evans and Toni Collette, just to name a few and there’s no way the film could be underperformed. The writing is strong as well, carefully plotted and telegraphed for mystery fans. I enjoyed it, mostly, although the film felt a little too long. Luckily for Johnson, his final act is superb and funny, bringing home the loose ends with aplomb.
More than the plotting, however, I enjoyed the subtext of the story, particularly how it dealt with the underpinnings of white privilege and racism and its general middle finger to both (although, Johnson himself is as white and privileged as they come, but at least he seems aware of it).
As far as the filmmaking is concerned, as I mentioned, it was competent—nothing stood out as particularly stylish, which might be the style in and of itself. The entire film was a throwback to a certain genre of storytelling and it seems that Johnson was careful not to stray too far away from those conventions.
Still, Knives Out is likely a crowd pleaser. There’s nothing outlandish or objectionable. It’s as safe a film as you can find, particularly for the holiday season. Sometimes it’s nice to find a film I could easily see with my mother over the course of the holidays. It might give us something to talk about besides who recently divorced or died who I might have known (but probably didn’t) from church. Knives Out is worth a night out to be sure.