He walks into the room like he owns the deed to the entire state of Massachusetts. Don Johnson, sporting a tan that suggests a permanent residence on a yacht and a wardrobe of pastel linens that scream "old money," essentially hijacked the first act of Rian Johnson’s 2019 whodunnit. When we talk about Don Johnson in Knives Out, we aren't just talking about a supporting performance. We're talking about a masterclass in playing a very specific type of American entitlement that feels both hilarious and deeply uncomfortable.
Richard Drysdale isn't a mastermind. Honestly, he’s barely a functional adult when he isn't leaning on the Thrombey family fortune. But that's exactly why the casting worked so well.
Rian Johnson needed someone who could embody the faded glory of the 1980s—the swagger of Miami Vice—and twist it into something curdled. Don Johnson didn't just play a character; he played a subversion of his own legacy. It’s brilliant. You see Sonny Crockett, but he’s gone soft, cynical, and more than a little bit racist.
The Audacity of the "Self-Made" Son-in-Law
Let's get one thing straight: Richard is the ultimate interloper. He married into the Thrombey wealth by landing Linda (played by the equally sharp Jamie Lee Curtis), and he spends the entire film acting like he built the empire himself. This is where the Don Johnson Knives Out performance finds its bite.
Remember the scene where they’re all eating lunch and debating immigration? Richard hands his empty plate to Marta—the nurse, the "friend" of the family—without even looking at her. It’s a tiny gesture. It’s effortless. And it tells you everything you need to know about his soul.
He treats people like furniture.
Critics like David Edelstein have pointed out how the film uses its ensemble to reflect different facets of privilege, but Johnson’s Richard is arguably the most recognizable "country club" villain. He’s not a mustache-twirling murderer. He’s the guy who thinks he’s being "civil" while systematically demeaning everyone around him who doesn't have a high net worth.
Why the casting was a stroke of genius
If you put a character actor in that role, it’s just another jerk. If you put Don Johnson—a man who defined "cool" for an entire generation—you create a cognitive dissonance for the audience. We want to like him because he’s charming. He has that squint. He has that effortless Florida-man-gone-preppy vibe.
Then he opens his mouth.
The contrast between the iconic leading man we remember and the pathetic, cheating husband he plays in the film is what makes it stick. It's a meta-commentary on fame and the way we let "cool" guys get away with being terrible people for way too long.
That Letter and the Art of the Panic
The core of Richard’s arc revolves around the "purple ink" letter. Harlan Thrombey, the patriarch, caught Richard cheating. He wrote a letter to Linda. He put it in a purple envelope.
The way Don Johnson plays the scene where he discovers the letter is actually blank is one of the funniest moments in modern cinema. It’s not a big, loud comedic beat. It’s the look of absolute, soul-crushing relief followed by a return to his smug, arrogant self in approximately 0.5 seconds.
Basically, he realizes he’s safe, and the mask goes right back on.
- He checks the desk.
- He finds the evidence.
- He realizes he's been "pranked" from beyond the grave.
- He immediately goes back to acting like the victim of a tragic family loss.
It’s gross. It’s perfect.
Honestly, the chemistry between Johnson and Jamie Lee Curtis is what anchors the family dynamic. They feel like a couple that has been having the same three arguments for thirty years. They don't need to explain their history; you can see it in the way they stand near each other. They are a united front of entitlement, even if their marriage is a complete sham built on lies and Harlan's money.
The Cultural Impact of Richard Drysdale
When Knives Out hit theaters, it sparked a massive conversation about the "Death of the Mid-Budget Movie" and the return of the ensemble mystery. But for fans of 80s television, it was a "Don-aissance."
People forget that before this, Johnson was doing solid work in things like Brawl in Cell Block 99 or Cold in July, but Don Johnson in Knives Out was the first time in years he was part of a massive, global cultural moment.
It reminded everyone that he has incredible comedic timing.
Breaking down the "Handing the Plate" moment
If you analyze that specific scene—the one where Richard uses Marta as a prop to make a point about "legal" immigration—you see the film's politics at their sharpest. Richard isn't yelling. He's being "reasonable." He thinks he's being kind.
The brilliance of Johnson's acting here is that he doesn't play Richard as a villain who knows he's a villain. He plays him as a man who genuinely believes he is a good guy. In his head, he's a mentor. In reality, he's a parasite. This nuance is why the film resonates so much better than a standard "eat the rich" satire. It understands the specific language of American narcissism.
Forget the Mystery, Watch the Background
If you re-watch the movie, stop looking for the killer for a second. Just watch what Don Johnson is doing in the background of the group scenes.
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He’s constantly grooming himself. He’s checking his watch. He’s looking at his phone. He’s bored by the death of his father-in-law because the death is an inconvenience to his lifestyle. While the others are feigning grief or plotting, Richard often looks like he’s just waiting for the bar to open.
It’s a specific kind of laziness that only comes with extreme wealth. He doesn't even have the energy to be a good criminal.
- He forgot to check the letter properly.
- He didn't have a backup plan for the affair being exposed.
- He relied entirely on the fact that Harlan was "old and crazy."
He’s a man who has never had to try, and Don Johnson plays that lack of effort with terrifying accuracy.
The Legacy of the Character
Is Richard Drysdale the most important character in the movie? No, that’s Marta or Benoit Blanc. But is he the most essential for setting the tone? Absolutely.
Without the blatant, casual cruelty of Richard, the stakes for Marta wouldn't feel as high. We need to see how disposable she is to people like him to understand why she needs to win. Richard is the gatekeeper of the status quo.
The costume design by Jenny Eagan also deserves a shoutout here. Those yellow trousers and the light blue blazers? They aren't just clothes. They are armor. They are a signal to the world that he belongs in a certain zip code. Johnson wears them like a second skin.
You’ve probably met a Richard Drysdale. Maybe at a wedding, or a corporate retreat, or a real estate seminar. He’s the guy who tells you "it’s all about the hustle" while living off a trust fund.
Actionable Takeaways for Movie Lovers
If you want to truly appreciate what Johnson did here, try these next steps:
- Watch the "Plate Scene" on mute. Observe Johnson’s body language. Notice how he never actually looks at the person he is "discussing." He looks at the room. He is performing "The Great Man" for an audience of his own relatives.
- Compare Richard to Sonny Crockett. Go back and watch ten minutes of Miami Vice. See how Johnson uses the same "cool guy" walk, but in Knives Out, he adds a slight heaviness to it—a literal and figurative weight of someone who has gorged themselves on someone else's success.
- Pay attention to his reactions during the will reading. While others scream and shout, Richard’s reaction is one of stunned, silent offense. It’s not just that he lost the money; it’s that the "system" he believed in (the one where the white son-in-law always wins) failed him.
The genius of Don Johnson in Knives Out is that he made a character we should find repulsive into someone we can't stop watching. He didn't play a caricature; he played a very real, very specific type of person that exists in the upper echelons of American society. It remains one of the most underrated supporting turns of the last decade.
To get the most out of your next Knives Out rewatch, focus specifically on the power dynamics between Richard and the domestic staff. It’s in those quiet, non-verbal interactions where the true depth of the character—and Johnson's performance—really lives. Check the way he adjusts his cuffs when he's nervous; it’s a tell that even his "cool" is a practiced lie.
Once you see the "performance within the performance," you can't unsee it. Richard Drysdale is a man who has been playing a role his entire life, and in the end, he wasn't even very good at it.