Sinners, Ryan Coogler’s latest work, signals his bold departure from franchise filmmaking, delivering a fresh and out-of-the-box take on the vampire genre. Set in the 1930s Jim Crow era, the story centers on twin brothers Smoke and Stack (both played by Michael B. Jordan) as they return to their roots in Mississippi with the hopes of starting over by opening a music joint. As the twins prepare for their opening night, accompanied by their gifted guitar-playing cousin, Sammie (Miles Caton), an otherworldly presence descends upon them, ready to kickstart a night of mayhem.
It seems, at the beginning, that the film’s ambitious blend of historical realism, horror, musical, thriller, and gothic vampirism, may be trying to bite off more than it could chew. But this was soon proven false by Coogler’s deep reverence for the material, which is felt all throughout its two-hour runtime.
True to Coogler’s signature style, Sinners embraces an unapologetic Africanist lens to deliver a richly-layered, riveting story about the power of community, music, freedom, and the forces that try to take those away. As one character, Delta Slim (Delroy Lindo), an elderly harmonica player who’s recruited to play for the night, said in one scene: “See, white folks, they like the blues just fine. They just don’t like the people who make it.” For Coogler, the supernatural is not just a vehicle for fear; it’s a metaphor for the insidious horrors that infiltrate the community. Weaving in musical mythology with historical realism, Sinners stands as both a tribute to the history of Black artistry — those who pioneered the blues — and a reminder of the relentless exploitation that continues to prey upon their achievements.
What really brings the film to life are the stellar performances: Jordan’s ability to differentiate between the twins showcases his versatility as an actor, but also enriches the good-cop-bad-cop dynamic of their relationship. Stack comes across as smug and abrasive, oozing confidence at every turn, while Smoke is more sinister and reserved. The film also features a wonderful supporting cast including Hailee Steinfeld, Wunmi Mosaku, Li Jun Li, Omar Benson Miller, Jayme Lawson, and Jack O’Connell. Steinfield and Mosaku play the twins’ former love interests, reuniting with them on the day of their opening night. There’s much left unsaid with regards to why their relationships ended, accompanied only by wistful longing and passionate exchanges.
Meanwhile, Caton makes a remarkable debut as Sammie, a preacher’s son with a transcending gift for the blues. It is this gift that serves as the underpinning mythology of the film, as Coogler revealed that one inspiration stemmed from the legend of blues musician Robert Johnson, who allegedly sold his soul to the Devil in exchange for supreme guitar artistry.
DOES IT WORK AS A HORROR Film?
But while Coogler ticks off all the right boxes for his thematic messaging, the film ultimately lacks the visceral intensity one expects from a horror experience. O’Connell portrays Remmick, a centuries-old Irish vampire who’s drawn to the party after hearing Sammie’s captivating music. We soon learn that Remmick also has a penchant for music and wants to turn Sammie in order to access his musical prowess, as he believes it holds the key to reuniting with his long-lost loved ones.
Despite Coogler’s attempts at making Remmick a sympathetic figure, this desire is treated more as a filler device to drive home the metaphor for white appropriation. It feels a bit heavy-handed at certain moments but it’s mostly forgivable by just how mesmerizing the musical sequences are. A standout moment is Caton’s live performance of “I Lied to You,” a scene brimming with emotional depth that literally pierces the otherworldly veil — it’s a moment that brings all generations together in five minutes of pure ear pleasure, as everyone from all ages come together to dance, the rendition mixing elements of West African drumming, hip hop, and electric guitar.
The film’s decision to stick by tried-and-tested vampire tropes such as aversion to garlic, the classic heart-staking, and the notion of inviting the supernatural inside does work to its favor for the most part. However, there are new surprise twists, such as the glowing eyes, the ability to turn victims by biting anywhere on the body, and the capacity to absorb their memories. In Sinners, it comes as a delightful surprise that they’re a family of musicians, too, performing Irish folk songs and advocating for a new world order in which all cultures blend into a single unified hive mind.
One standout scene features the group of misfits holing up in the mill as they play a round of impostor, trying to guess if any of them might secretly be a vampire. The scene is cut short when the group decides to invite the vampire clan in for an evening of heart-staking — questionable decision-making that leans more into campy slasher territory a la The Evil Dead. It’s a short-lived violent sequence that doesn’t deliver satisfying results. Moments of tragedy are briskly short-lived, never giving the audience enough breathing space as the remaining heroines run off to flee from the slaughter scene. The horror elements are there, but apart from the jump scares, they fail to create a lasting sense of dread.
Instead, it offers fun for the most part, granting the audience a preemptive sense of what’s about to happen. The overall effect is less physically terrifying, but more so thematically in terms of what the characters carry: guilt and regret. It’s not the kind of film that’ll keep you up at night, but in terms of what it’s achieved, its merits far outweigh its shortcomings.
For a first project of its kind, Sinners is a stellar piece of work that stands firmly on its own, paying true homage to Black artistry. If there’s anything to learn from the master, it’s that making a deal with the devil doesn’t seem so bad if it promises a party as good as this one.
