Filmmaker Ryan Coogler has never been one to play by the rules. From the grounded realism of Fruitvale Station to the mythic world-building of Black Panther, his films thrive on a collision of emotional depth and cinematic spectacle. With Sinners, he dives headfirst into uncharted territory—a horror-thriller set in 1930s Mississippi that’s equal parts supernatural showdown and soulful meditation on history, race, and music. It’s bold, brash, and bursting with ideas. Drawing inspiration from the legend of bluesman Robert Johnson selling his soul at the crossroads, Sinners is Ryan’s most stylistically ambitious film yet.
At the heart of the film is Sammie (Miles Caton), a prodigious blues musician and preacher’s son whose songs seem to channel ancestral spirits. His cousins, Elijah and Elias Smoke (both played with charisma and subtlety by Michael B. Jordan), return to Mississippi after a stint in Chicago’s underworld. They’ve come back with money, ambition, and a dream—to open a juke joint that’ll turn Sammie into a star. But trouble isn’t far behind. Mary (Hailee Steinfeld), a former flame, arrives with baggage, as does Remmick (Jack O’Connell), a strange country singer with a sinister vibe. As night falls, the joint is besieged by vampires, turning the club into a battleground. What starts as a gritty tale of family and survival morphs into a pulpy, blood-soaked standoff between humanity and the undead.
The good
Ryan’s direction is a masterclass in tonal balance. He captures the textures of the Deep South with precision and reverence, while injecting the second half with gleeful horror mayhem. His longtime collaborators—production designer Hannah Beachler and cinematographer Autumn Durald Arkapaw—create a visually stunning world filled with earthy colors, smoky interiors, and surreal set-pieces.
Michael B. Jordan shines in dual roles, giving both twins distinct identities through posture, voice, and costume (one favors red, the other blue). Miles Caton, making his acting debut, is magnetic as Sammie—his performance feels both grounded and ethereal. Hailee and Wunmi Mosaku add emotional heft, while the vampires, seductive and terrifying, elevate the stakes. The score, by Ludwig Göransson, mixes blues and gothic tones to haunting effect.
The bad
Though thrilling, Sinners occasionally trips over its own ambition. Subplots—like a brief focus on Native American characters or a family mystery tied to Annie (Mosaku)—are introduced but left unresolved, hinting at a larger canvas that the film never fully explores. This makes parts of the story feel undercooked.
The tonal shift from character-driven drama to supernatural showdown is bold but may jar viewers expecting narrative consistency. While the vampire element is handled with style, it somewhat overshadows the emotional arcs established earlier. Some might argue the film would’ve been just as powerful—if not more—had it stayed rooted in its historical reality. The final act, packed with gunfire, fire, and fangs, races by a little too fast, leaving certain character fates feeling abrupt.
The verdict
Despite its imperfections, Sinners is a thrilling, genre-defying spectacle. Ryan infuses the film with urgency, beauty, and soul, delivering both scares and substance. The film isn’t just about vampires—it’s about survival, legacy, and the ghosts of a country’s past. Few directors can navigate so many tones and themes with this level of finesse.
It’s a lot to take in—but in the best way. Sinners pulses with the beat of blues, the fury of resistance, and the heart of a people who’ve always sung through their suffering. Ryan proves once again that his storytelling isn’t just visual—it’s visceral. And in Sinners, he offers a fierce reminder that even in a world overrun by monsters, it’s the music—and memory—that endures.
