Sinners
Writer/Director: Ryan Coogler
Cast: Michael B. Jordan, Hailee Steinfeld, Miles Caton, Jack O'Connell, Wunmi Mosaku, Jayme Lawson, Omar Miller, Buddy Guy, Delroy Lindo
In the opening moments of Sinners, writer/director Ryan Coogler draws a direct line between American blues music and the sacred songs of other cultures around the world. There is, he tells us, something primordial about the blues, something mystical and deep and easy to get lost in, something that can connect the world of the dead to the world of the living. When the blues works, especially the stripped down blues of the Mississippi Delta, it's something truly special.Â
Sinners, the first horror film from the mind behind Black Panther and Creed, is also something special — and not just because it articulates the primal spell American blues music can cast better than any other major feature film ever has. A vampire film, a historical drama, and a piece of elegantly crafted social horror all in one, it's a thrilling, absolutely addictive achievement, and a new American horror classic right from the start.
Set in Clarksdale, Mississippi (the cradle of the Delta blues) in 1932, Sinners begins as twin brothers Smoke and Stack Moore (both played by Michael B. Jordan) land back in town, dressed to the nines and flush with cash after a stint working with Al Capone in Chicago. World War I veterans who've been hustling their entire lives, the brothers are determined to finally do something for their hometown and the people within it, many of them sharecroppers who've never really had anything to call their own. Together with their young cousin Sammie (Miles Caton, a revelation in his film debut), an aspiring blues player with a good heart, and drunken old bluesman Slim (Delroy Lindo), they set out to open a new juke joint in Clarksdale, one where everyone can have a good time and unwind away from the prying eyes of the Jim Crow South and the insidious influence of the Klan.Â
At first, everything's going well, and Smoke and Stack are even reconnecting with their respective old flames, the local cunning woman Annie (Wunmi Mosaku), and mixed race rich girl Mary (Hailee Steinfeld), both of whom the brothers left for their own tragic reasons. Then a mysterious white musician (Jack O'Connell) shows up at the door, a man with a strange way of speaking and eyes that seem to glow in the dark. Something inhuman has come for the juke joint, leaving Smoke, Stack, and their friends fighting to simply survive the night.
It's not a spoiler to say that Sinners is a vampire film, but Coogler is in absolutely no hurry to unleash supernatural monsters on his leads. The film spends a healthy and riveting portion of its runtime simply setting the stakes for Smoke, Stack, and Sammie as they all head towards what they hope will be a prosperous new era in their lives. At its core, this is a story about Black Americans attempting to build something new, vibrant, and wholly their own in a world that's hostile to their very existence, and Coogler drives that point home every chance he gets. These are people living a precarious, conditional life, one often built on circumstances which trap them where they are — many of Smoke and Stack's friends don't have real money, just tokens from white plantation owners which they can spend at company stores — and lives of deference to the white people who hold the keys to every power structure. It's in this world of walking on eggshells that Smoke and Stack hope to insert themselves not just to make some money, but to change the structure. Which is where the vampires come in.
The vampire is one of the most potent movie monsters because its very existence and desire for the blood of living humans can be transplanted into virtually any story and still retain a certain metaphorical juice. In the case of Sinners, there's a very clear allegorical line drawn right away, as white vampires attempt to descend on a Black juke joint. But what makes the film so brilliant is Coogler's refusal to end the metaphor there. All that energy the film's built up — backed up by gorgeous cinematography from Autumn Durald Arkapaw and a sexy, bluesy score by Ludwig Goransson — exploring the ways that Black people in the Jim Crow South fought to build their own world is quickly brought down with devastating force on the horror standoff that dominates the back half of the movie.
Of course the white monsters want to bleed the Black people dry, but what happens when the Black people are turned, and become complicit in their own subjugation? What happens when evil comes calling under the guise of "Can't we all just get along?" false unity? These are the questions that Sinners asks even as it's drenching the screen in blood and gore assembled by a master flimmaker with swagger to spare. It's both a joy to watch and an incisive dagger to the heart of America.Â
But even that is not the end of what Sinners has to offer, because amid all the blood, all the pain, all the big questions the film wants to ask and answer, it also never forgets about the blues. One of the great original American art forms, blues music, and especially Delta blues music, was born not just of pain but of an intense spiritual connection to something ancient and indelible. For many of its originators, the blues was not just a way to earn a little money, or to get a hot crowd sweaty and satisfied on a Saturday night. It was the one thing no one could take away from them, and that made it not just worth practicing, but worth fighting for. That's what made, and still makes, the blues such a transportive musical medium, and it's something Sinners, for all its modern storytelling techniques, is able to not just capture, but elevate. It's a magical moviegoing experience, one that'll leave your blood pumping, your skin steaming, and your heart full.
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