Sinners

Nominated for 16 Academy Awards in 2025, director Ryan Coogler's Sinners is a master class in modern filmmaking that transcends the horror genre and establishes itself as a touchstone of 21st century ingenuity. Probably best known for the hit films, Black Panther and Black Panther: Wakanda Forever, Coogler has proven himself to be a reliable auteur of high-quality projects that repeatedly counter the narrative that movies led by black directors, and featuring mostly black casts, can't have widespread appeal to audiences across the board. 

In Sinners, the identical twin Moore brothers--nicknamed Smoke and Stack--return to their hometown in rural Mississippi at the height of the Great Depression. Both survivors of the WW1 trenches, they've spent the last few years enjoying the upscale lives provided by their gangster bosses in crime-ridden Chicago. Having absconded with a princely chunk of change pilfered from their employers, the pair plans to open a juke joint outside of faraway Clarksdale, where the ghosts of the blood-stained past linger on in the long, humid nights. Or so local superstition has it. There's also the all-too-pressing matter of the Ku Klux Klan lurking on the periphery of this haunted, downtrodden area. 

With their ill-gotten gains--and a stockpile of stolen weaponry--Smoke and Stack are greeted by the townsfolk (shopkeepers and impoverished sharecroppers) with a mixture of awe, elation and misgiving. Their legends have preceded them, even among the younger generations, and they arrive home bearing a certain glamour and mystique that captures everyone's imagination--for better and for worse. Their first order of business is to purchase an old sawmill from a shifty seller who swears "there's no Klan anymore" after the brothers notice him fingering his pistol before they brandish their own display of arms. This incident later plays a major role in the movie's second climax but, for the time being, Smoke and Stack are content with their acquisition. Now, to get it up to speed for the Grand Opening, they'll need help, so they immediately turn to their long-abandoned friends for assistance. No easy task having left a trail of resentment and broken hearts in the wake of their departure. Even their younger cousin, Sammie--the son of a preacher man--isn't certain he wants to be involved in their undertaking but, in spite of his suspicions, he's soon swept up in the dreams of these charismatic entrepreneurs. He'll be their right-hand man (i.e., flunky) and maybe they'll even let him sing and play his prized guitar once things get going. He instinctively trusts Stack but isn't so sure about the other twin. 

Smoke is the "enforcer", the brains and brawn of the pair. He's smart and calculating, loyal to his local allies, deadly to his foes. Stack is the charmer, the suave, fun-loving hedonist who is also tough-as-nails and not one to be trifled with. Together, the brothers are a formidable pair bound by blood and affection. As their crew quickly comes together (because money talks), Smoke looks up his estranged wife, Annie, who practices hoodoo in a shack in the woods. Annie--herself a force to be reckoned with--isn't initially pleased to see Smoke: he took off shortly after their infant daughter died and she hasn't seen him since. But Smoke works his own brand of magic on Annie and she relents, releasing her pent-up anger and agreeing to help him and his brother open the club. Stack also has unfinished business with (the mostly white) Mary, a married woman from Little Rock who's come to town to bury her mother. Mary, less forgiving and gracious than Annie, isn't one to let bygones be bygones so she decides to hang around and see if she can rekindle the flame with her former lover. Or at least add extra drama to his life. 

The big night arrives and the club's opening proves to be a huge success--at least for the first couple of hours. Even Sammie proclaims it the "best day of my life." But when the sun goes down, the revelers are interrupted by a trio of idiosyncratic white folks playing Irish folk songs outside the club. Smoke senses something off about these people and refuses to allow them inside. They're haints, Annie whispers. And sure enough, these things are bad news for the entire neighborhood. 

At this point, we are a little more than halfway through Sinners, but the blood--lots of it--is only just now about to flow (save for one scene near the beginning). In one respect, the first hour of Sinners almost functions as its own separate movie. It's a colorful, atmospheric drama that details the daily lives of this down-at-heels community and its two prodigal sons. It gives us an idea of what life was like in the Jim Crow south, and how a marginalized, maligned group managed to find happiness and make the best of things despite their desperate circumstances.

Once the vampires arrive and the slaughter begins, the rapidly dwindling alliance of celebrants barricade themselves inside the sawmill and wait for dawn to come. But it's a long night and the bloodsuckers are persistent. Munching on cloves of garlic, wearing silver and sprinkling holy water doesn't work so well at warding off the marauders but surely Annie has something in her hoodoo chest that might work. Right?  Hmmmm....

Everything about this movie seems to go right. From the film's lively beginning to the tragic finale(s) and oddly moving coda, Sinners comes alive with its spirited mise-en-scene and Autumn Durald Arkapaw's evocative cinematography. Much of the movie's (pre-carnage) ambience, particularly the surreal dance sequences inside the club, are direct descendants of artist Ernie Barnes' body of criminally overlooked paintings.  The latter half, of course, draws inspiration from George A. Romero's Night of the Living Dead (1968).  

The music--a combination of jazz, blues, R&B, soul and traditional Irish folk music--is an essential element of the movie, and the numbers are both stirring and inventive. Once the dancers hit the floor there's a joyful note of abandon and pure pleasure that is transcendent in its surreal beauty and sensuality as it connects the diaspora of black artistic physicality throughout time.     

Actor Michael B. Jordan, Coogler's muse and longtime collaborator, deservedly won a Best Actor Oscar for his dynamic portrayal of twins, Smoke and Stack, successfully delineating the subtle differences between the two without ever losing track of who he's playing. Other Oscar nominations for acting went to Wunmi Mosaku (Best Supporting Actress) for her deeply affecting performance as Annie, and Delroy Lindo as Delta Slim, a salty old musician and full-time drunk. 

The rest of the actors in Sinners deserve praise as well: Hailie Steinfeld (as dangerous beauty Mary), Irish actor Jack O'Connell (mischievous and monstrous in the role of vampire leader Remmick), Li Jun and Yao (the Japanese-American proprietors of the general store), Jayme Lawson (effectively sultry as Sammie's quickie hook-up), and hulking Omar Benson Miller (the club's none-too-bright bouncer). However, it's Miles Caton's Sammie who is, arguably, the movie's beating heart (although Annie might have something to say about that).  Incidentally, Caton, is also an accomplished singer, and at the age of 20 made his film debut in Sinners: his mannerisms are so expressive, his voice so rich and deep, that he comes across as being a much more seasoned actor than is actually the case.  

Despite all the vampires and bloodletting, it is the concept of freedom that anchors Sinners. Freedom from the oppression and bigotry people of color still face today. Freedom for those attempting to escape their own demons. Freedom from a past that still shackles its descendants to their pre-assigned roles in history. Freedom from religion (Christianity is surprisingly ineffective in this movie). And simply the freedom to exist. 

Oscars also went to Ryan Coogler for Best Original Screenplay, Autumn Durald Arkapaw for her cinematography, and Ludwig Goransson for his eclectic, genre-bending musical score.