miles teller talking about 'whiplash': "i spent so much time looking at JK's face. i told him like, his face was always right here (mimicks in front of his). so i felt it, every wrinkle, every line in his every feature of his face is just kind of burned into my brain. [...] the script is written with such punctuation like vile, just acidity. the scene work was so intense that if you were to keep that all day it would combust."
miles teller rewatches 'top gun: maverick', 'whiplash', 'eternity' and more for vanity fair on nov 12th, 2025 (X)
the black people in Wake Up Dead Man are so important to me.
Small town New York. Total of like 3 black people at one time. Vera, her dad, and Cy.
Papa Draven was Wicks' drinking buddy. Wicks is homophobic. He's sexist. He's a straight up white replacement believer and supremacist. Despite this, Papa Draven was his drinking buddy. Black men do this often; they choose to "fit in" with the bigoted white people around them, as long as the racism is lower on the list than the others. Wicks is more concerned about harlot whores than The Blacks, and he was a religious man, so Draven chose to be his friend.
Vera, on the other hand, had the audacity to be a black woman. She couldnt just push the misogyny away and not address it. She felt it through every meeting. Every mass. Every moment she spoke with Wicks. She wasnt just a woman; she was a BLACK woman. The worst of both worlds. Less than a black man and less than a white woman. a tool. a resource. useful, but not a person to be respected.
And then she started thinking of Wicks' mother. How her dad was able to be friends because Wicks hates women more than he hates people of color. How Grace didnt get that quiet disapproval. How Grace got the loud disapproval. How Vera got both the quiet and the loud. The looks and the "harlot whore"s. That poor girl.
And Cy? Textbook toxic black man born to a single mother. So many black men in America are told time and time again that femininity is weak, women are worse, be a man, be THE man, take what you want, etc. So Cy mistreats his adoptive mother. He tells her what to do. He insults her. He goes into politics and owns the feminists and goes against abortion. women don't get choices. he resents Vera because he didnt have a dad, like that was her fault. like she should've done more. like his birth mother should have done more. and he berated her. insulted her. came into her house despite her kicking him out because he was still the boy she cared for. He still thought he had a right to her house, her money, her food and shelter. women dont get choices.
Freedom for Vera was cutting ties. Completely. Moving out. Moving away. Having no connection to any of the men in her life. She smokes again because no one can tell her not to. She can do what she wants and nobody can hold her down. So many black women have to cut education and careers short because of unwanted pregnancy. And then their sons repay them by calling them bitches and ditching them for the deadbeat dad as soon as he shows up again. She raised YOUR SON and she gets not a fucking thank you in return.
Not anymore. No one's holding her back. No one can tell her to be proper. Be appropriate. Do this. Don't do that. Youre too loud. Youre too much. Fix yourself. Make me proud. Do what pleases me. Because thats it. Women are there to please men. Please their fathers. Husbands. Sons. Doesn't matter what they want. The men must be pleased. And for Vera, freedom is nobody being pleased except her. She's living for herself. No family. No children. No church. That is freedom.
despite the fact that jud's form and view of christianity is a very pleasant one, i appreciate that no part of benoit blanc is converted. it's not like i expected benoit to become a christian obviously, but i expected him to potentially stay for a service at the end, when invited. or to show appreciation for what jud is building at his church. even just appreciation that he's welcome.
after the whole movie, when benoit is given the invite, he still says there's nothing he wants less than to stay in that church. it's very, very reasonable and realistic of a traumatized atheist, but i almost never see it depicted in this way. usually they come around to "see the beauty" in one way or another. i just really appreciate that they didn't do that.
What I love about Benoit Blanc is his unwavering faith in people. Even when he has no evidence for it yet. His ability to see something in them that deserves that faith. In Knives Out he sees the blood on Marta's shoes the second he meets her but says nothing because while he doesn't know what happened exactly, he doesn't believe she just murdered Harlan in cold blood. He lets her wander through the crime scene, handle evidence, and hear their theories. He risks her meddling with the investigation because he believes she is not a murderer.
In Glass Onion he believes Helen that one of these rich and powerful people murdered her sister and he believes she found the proof even though he never saw it. He invites himself to a secluded island with a killer on it so he can help her solve this. And in the end he was never even able to see at the napkin but he trusts Helen's anger, her love for her sister, so he removes himself and lets her destroy everything in vengeance for Andi. And I think he also believes that once she does that, the others will turn on Miles.
In Wake Up Dead Man he believes that if he lets Martha walk out those doors, she will come back again of her own free will. He risks letting her "escape." He, as Martha points out, makes a fool of himself saying he can't solve this case, to give her the chance to confess in a way that means something to her in a religion he doesn't follow or agree with. He knows, from Jud, that she has to confess voluntarily or it won't mean anything. He knows she's going to die. It would be easy for her to just go home and die never having told anyone. But Benoit believes that she will confess, and he wants it to be in a way that allows her let go of the guilt.
He believes people are worth trusting. He believes people will prove him right and again and again they do.
The fact that Father Wicks died because he was so consumed by the need to punish his daughter for her "sins" that he literally swallowed 'Eve's Apple' is maddening to me, literally named it for original sin but was so caught up in attaching that sin to femininity that he killed himself over it. Literally named his daughter Grace and never gave her a single spec of it. Literally ate the apple too. Literally.
having wicks symbolise jesus, comparing himself to jesus in that big speech, implying that his father was god and that he was preparing to fall and rise again, having him be the one that was leading the flock, etc, and then actually have him 'rise' from the dead on the third day and 'die' again after having been betrayed by someone close to him - already fantastic, i was totally on board
having the plot twist be that samson, the one that was probably the most separated from wicks' church, the one who was said to truly love and care for others the most, the one willing to sacrifice for those he loved, the CARPENTER (who uses nails on good friday to essentially make his own coffin), actually ends up as the one rising from the dead on the third day to be killed by someone close to him - also fantastic
jud, filled with guilt, finds himself at your house, looking for a safe haven after doing something he regrets OR in which jud makes a stop at your place before going to the police station
a/n: heavy spoilers for knives out 3! reader is a member of the church and there’s some religious imagery but obviously I’m not trying to make fun of anyone’s beliefs. hashtag peace and love! (also jud might be ooc here but I simply do not care)
father jud duplenticy x fem!reader, 2k words
Jud isn’t sure his being here is a very good idea.
He’s been standing at your doorstep for five minutes, soaked to the bone, mud caked all over his face and clothes. His heart punches at his chest relentlessly. It hasn’t stopped pounding since he saw (or thought he saw) Monsignor Wicks rise from the grave. And everything that followed.
He’s not even entirely sure how or why he ended up at your place. It was all a bit of a haze, the rain and the mud and the resurrection of Wicks, Jud following Wicks into the trees, rain blurring his vision. Something had taken hold of Jud, then, and in the chaos of it all he’d stabbed Wicks through the chest. Only, he’d come out of his haze to find it wasn’t Wicks who he’d killed. It was Samson.
He’s ended up at your doorstep for reasons unbeknownst to him. Jud realises all at once that he really shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t be dragging you into this. He just killed an innocent man, didn’t he? He’s probably going to jail. He should—
The door opens and Jud almost jumps out of his skin. You appear behind the door. Warm light pours out of the doorway from behind you, catching Jud like a deer in headlights.
“Father Jud? What are you…doing here?”
You give him a once over. Jud remembers he’s covered in mud from head to toe and almost turns tail. The sight of you is enough to make him plant his feet. He’s a priest, sure, but he’s not immune to pretty girls with kind eyes like yours.
“Hello,” he says awkwardly. “Sorry, how did you know I was here?”
You laugh, not nearly as awkward as him but definitely a bit confused. “You've been standing there for a while. I could see you through the window. I was waiting for you to knock.”
“Oh.”
Your eyes linger on Jud’s wet clothes, his muddy shoes. He’s not sure what to say because he’s not even sure why he’s here. He opens his mouth to tell you he’s sorry to be a bother, he’ll be going now, but you beat him to it.
“Do you want to come inside?” You say. “It’s pouring.”
Jud nods before he knows what he’s doing. Your presence draws him in like a dog on a leash. “Yeah. Yes, please.”
You open the door all the way and step back. Jud scuffs his shoes on the mat as best he can before stepping inside. Still, he drips rainwater all over your entryway.
“I’m sorry,” he says hastily. “I don’t—“
You shake your head. “It’s okay.” You give him a kind smile he doesn’t deserve. “I’ll get you a towel. Wait here, okay?”
You disappear around the corner. Jud shuts the door behind him, muffling the sound of the pouring rain. He’s shaking, though he’s not sure if it’s from the cold or what he’s just done.
Jud listens to you move around in the hallway, the soft thud of your footsteps on the carpet. He really likes you. He supposes it’s part of the reason he somehow ended up at your doorstep of all places. You’re the only one who’s been kind to him since the moment he got here. Everyone else acts weird around him. You’re different. You were never devoted to Wicks like the rest, you never acted cold or cruel towards Jud. You were always nothing but lovely to him.
If it wasn’t for the murder Jud just committed, he’s sure he’d’ve asked you to dinner sometime once he found the courage.
You return with a towel, interrupting Jud’s chain of thought.
“Here,” you say, holding it out to him. “You must be freezing.”
Jud looks into your face, and suddenly feels sick to his stomach. It was a mistake to come here. He’s only made it worse, taking advantage of your kind nature when he doesn’t deserve it. It’s not fair on you for him to show up like this after what he’s done. Guilt rises rapidly in his throat like bile.
“I’m okay,” he says quickly. “Listen, I…I shouldn’t be here. I should go.”
He spins around abruptly and reaches for the door handle, desperate to be out of your warm house, out of sight of your soft gaze. He’s undeserving of you, and the guilt makes his skin crawl. He manages to get his hand on the door handle before you stop him.
“Wait, Jud.”
Your hand wraps around his elbow. Jud freezes. He doesn’t think you’ve ever called him just Jud before. Always Father Jud. Something about it makes him stop in his tracks.
He twists to look at you. Your face is etched with worry, your pretty eyes boring into his like you could read his every thought.
“Stay,” you utter.
Jud opens his mouth to decline, but you’re faster.
“At least until the rain dies down?” You add, almost pleading with him now.
Something about the way you say it, your hand on his elbow and your eyes swimming with concern, makes Jud reconsider.
He swallows, then nods. “Okay. But just until—“
You gasp then, pulling your hand away from his elbow. “You’re bleeding!” You exclaim, eyes flitting from his elbow to his face.
Your fingers have come away stained deep red. Jud notices for the first time that his shirt sleeve has been ripped open. There’s a gash in his skin just below the bend of his elbow. Wine red blood spills out and mingles with the deep brown mud tainting his pale skin.
“Oh, um.” Jud twists his arm around to get a better look at the wound. “I’m fine, it doesn’t hurt.”
Your brow furrows. “It looks really bad,” you say worriedly, biting down on your bottom lip. “C’mon, let’s get you cleaned up.”
Without warning, you grab his hand and start to tug him down the hallway. Jud protests but you ignore him. You drag him to your bathroom and flick the light on.
Jud stands with his back against the counter next to the sink, feeling like a fish out of water in your small, clean bathroom. He watches as you open the cupboard behind your mirror, pulling out a first aid kit and a washcloth.
You move to stand in front of him, gentle with concern as you take his arm in your hands. You carefully push his sleeve up to his elbow, your fingers dragging across his skin. Jud ignores the trail of starlight your hands leave in their wake.
Jud watches your face as you take the damp washcloth and press it to his arm, cleaning away the blood and dirt from around the wound. You’re so gentle with him it almost aches. You’re closer to him than you’ve probably ever been, so close it feels cruel. He could count every one of your freckles if you looked up. A stray lock of hair falls from behind your ear and Jud’s hands itch to tuck it out of the way for you. Is this his punishment for the sin he’s committed? To have you so agonisingly close and yet completely out of his reach?
“It’s not too deep,” you say softly, setting the washcloth aside once the wound is clean. Jud’s skin tingles pleasurably where you’ve touched him. Your eyes flick up to his, “Does it hurt much?”
Jud hesitates. He feels as if there’s something lodged in his throat. Guilt and something else, something he can’t explain but that’s got nothing to do with his sin and everything to do with the way you look at him. He swallows.
“No,” he says honestly. “Not at all.”
You hum and pull a bandage from the first aid kit. You start to wrap it around his arm but Jud stops you.
“I can do it,” he says, stopping your hand midway around his forearm. “Please. Let me.”
You look a bit stunned, but you let him. Jud doesn’t tell you why. The truth is, he feels like a fraud, sitting here and letting you look after him when he’s done something so unforgivable. He’s unworthy of your care. You wouldn’t look at him the same if he told you what happened. He still has no idea why he came to you first; it was like his feet carried him here on their own accord. Like divine intervention, only it wasn’t quite that. It was something else entirely.
He knows he should’ve gone straight to the police station. He’s only making it worse by being with you. Still, some part of him needed you. Needed your kind eyes and your pretty smile. Some part of him was looking for an angel to save him.
You’re silent as Jud finishes wrapping his arm one-handed. The silence feels thick and heavy, weighing on Jud’s heart like it’s trying to squeeze the truth out of him. As soon as he’s done with the bandage, he’s opening his mouth to spill his guts before he can stop himself.
“Listen, Y/N…I’m sorry I came here.”
You’re clueless, meeting his eyes with a mix of concern and curiosity.
“It’s okay,” you say softly.
Jud shakes his head. “No. No, it’s not okay, because I did something really bad.” He chokes up then, the words getting half stuck in his throat but he keeps going, unable to stop himself, “I did something awful, and maybe I didn’t mean to do it but I certainly didn’t stop myself when I had the chance. I did what I thought was right, but it turns out it wasn’t right at all. And now I’ve dragged you into it, and you don’t deserve that because you’re—“
“Father Jud,” you interrupt.
Jud stops short. You place your hand in his and look at him so intensely he almost looks away.
“You don’t have to call me that,” he says. He feels unworthy of the title, anyway. “Just Jud. Please?”
“Okay. Jud,” you say slowly. “Whatever it is you’ve done, it’s gonna be okay.”
“But—“
You shake your head. “It’s okay. You’ve told me yourself that everyone makes mistakes, right? No one’s perfect.”
Jud wants desperately to believe you, but he just can’t. He wishes he could tell you everything, but he’s not sure he has the courage.
“There’s no coming back from what I’ve done,” he utters.
Slowly, like you’re unsure of yourself, you reach for Jud. You take his face in your hand, your touch feather light as if you’re scared he’ll push you away. He doesn’t. He stays very still, his heart pounding as you press your palm to his jaw.
“Jud,” you say softly, uttering his name like it’s a prayer. “Whatever it is, whatever you’ve done…you can be forgiven.” You meet his eyes, earnest and tender. “You know that.”
Jud falls silent. The light overhead paints your face with golden warmth. Your words seem to fill the room with a sort of radiance, and for a moment, Jud feels as if he’s under the gaze of an angel of God. If it weren’t for your hands anchoring him to reality, he’d be sure he was dreaming.
But then the moment passes and you’re just a girl. A gentle, good girl who has no idea what he’s done. And he’s just a guy who’s guilty of something horrible. He ducks his head, suddenly grief-stricken.
“I’m sorry,” he chokes out, and he’s not sure if he’s talking to you or to God or to Samson, but right now he feels that if anyone could hear him say it, he’d want it to be you. “I’m so sorry.”
Grief and guilt washes over Jud in a wave, and he breaks down in tears, unable to stop himself. His chest aches, guilt cold and sharp like a knife in his heart. You don’t waste a second in stepping forward and wrapping your arms around him, curving them around his back in a warm embrace. Jud, though he feels abhorrently undeserving of it, wraps his own arms around your waist, gripping you like you’re his lifeline. His saving grace. Maybe you are.
You rub his back soothingly, letting him cry into your shoulder, ignoring his stained clothes and his tainted heart.
“It’s okay,” you say softly. “I’m here. You’re not alone. I’m right here.”
Jud didn’t think he believed in angels. But here, in your tiny bathroom, covered in dirt and sin but wrapped in your arms, he changes his mind.
-
good thing he didn’t actually kill samson am I right guys…thank you for reading and please consider reblogging if you enjoyed! 🤍
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