In his beautifully mounted spellbinder Sinners, writer-director Ryan Coogler (Black Panther, Creed) mixes tones, styles and genres to supremely entertaining heights in a boldly confident piece of studio movie showmanship. Across a sumptuous, 137-minute picture about a pair of ne’er-do-well twin brothers returning from the big city of Chicago to their rural Mississippi home during the 1930s Deep South to face both racial segregation and bloodthirsty vampires, Coogler weaves several compelling tales—thorny family dynamics, cultural and musical history, supernatural folklore and, finally, gory vampire opus—into a large scale, determined entertainment.
In his fifth collaboration with Coogler, an authoritative Michael B. Jordan stars in dual roles as former hometown Mississippi brothers who made big bank in Chicago working for Al Capone only to be chased outta town and back to the bayou. As the picture opens, Smoke and Stack (both Jordan) return to 1933 Clarksville, pockets lined with money and hearts with a dream. But this Southern Gothic world is one of oppression and danger, wherein Blacks yet toil in the cotton fields and white supremacy is barely suppressed. The brothers’ plan, to create a juke joint—part community sanctuary, part cultural destination—serves dual aims of Black resistance and reclamation.
For Sinners’ first hour, Coogler allows the story to breathe, immersing us in a richly textured world tracing the cultural roots of Black music—notably the blues. At its center is young cousin Sammy (aspiring musician Miles Eaton), a guitar whiz whose opening scene—entering a church, bloodied, as if in need of salvation—will flash back to the preceding, frenzied 24 hours. For his part, Sammy will become a focal point of the film’s thrills and, as Coogler frames in the film’s opening, one of those rare figures gifted with the power to summon spirits through song. And not always the nice kind.
This measured world building, in which we meet Stack’s soulful, superstitious former love Mary (a terrific Wunmi Mosaku), a sort of earth mother and spiritual community beacon, and Smoke’s ex Mary (Hailee Steinfeld), of partially Black lineage and with a devil-may-care attitude harboring their old flame, is rich in detail and emotion; both actresses (and both Jordans) convey palpable ache and raw sensuality. On the periphery and to figure notably in the film’s second act are a local Asian married couple (well played by Li Jun Li and Yao) who run the town grocery and impoverished white marrieds (Peter Dreimanis, Lola Kirke) set upon by a cagey stranger named Remmick (Jack O’Connell), who just so happens to be the foreboding leader of an undead troupe of merry vampiric marauders.
Like all great social horror, from the civil rights-era undercurrents of Night of the Living Dead onward, Sinners delivers a pointed critique, here zeroing in on racial injustice. And when the bloodsuckers finally descend, Coogler delivers a full-throttle, From Dusk Till Dawn-style showdown, cutting loose with visceral flair. But before its Grand Guignol final act, the film revels in fine musicality and full-scale performances giving Eaton the chance to really show his stuff; ditto Jayme Lawson as a spirited local woman who reluctantly takes the juke joint stage and O’Connell, in fine voice and dance during a pair of Irish traditional folk music numbers.
Sinners’ pleasures include impeccable tech credits—notably Ludwig Göransson’s multifaceted score and vividly saturated lensing from DP Autumn Durald, shooting on film in Panavision 70 (2.76:1 aspect ratio) and IMAX 65 film cameras to craft a frame-for-frame great looking picture. And Coogler pulls out two especially satisfying narrative stops. The first, a movie-movie flourish of immense showmanship comes from a single, extended tracking shot, gliding through the juke joint to convey centuries of Black solidarity. As the camera weaves through its denizens, Coogler stages a tribute to musical forms and genres, from the ancient to the present, to suggest the elemental importance of music in cultural perseverance. And during the final credits, which incorporate an extended musical number and appearance by Chicago blues legend Buddy Guy, he finds a luminous symmetry.
Vampire films come in all shapes and sizes with their own rules, from Nosferatu to the Hammer canon to Twilight, and Coogler doesn’t forgo their staples; he knows what the audience wants, including a funny garlic taste test and imaginatively grisly uses of the trusty wooden stake. But when such moments arrive in Sinners they often invite unexpected pathos; there is a haunted weight in the film’s denouement extending beyond the defeat of the vampires’ sectarian ideology. Like Jordan Peele’s Get Out, Coogler addresses racial inequality with a fury, staging an over-the-top shootout and decimation of clannish racial hate.
For all of this bravura flair, Sinners would not work if the performances didn’t ground it in a believable reality, and Jordan continues to excite; the subtle distinctions he draws between Smoke and Stack range from tough to tender to terrified. His is a special brand of confident yet vulnerable movie star charisma. Mosaku brings genuine gravitas and heart, Eaton provides terrific musicality and Delroy Lindo works hard to bring humor and loyalty as a reluctant back-up musician and old friend. Steinfeld, reminding us that she was an Oscar nominee for 2010’s True Grit, cuts a sympathetic line through her limited screen time.
Coogler (Black Panther, Creed), whose career has skyrocketed in the decade since his 2013 Sundance-winning Fruitvale Station, has now made his best film since that auspicious debut, adeptly blending social commentary and horror in what will surely rank amongst 2025’s best commercial rides.
4 stars
