'Sinners' mixes Delta blues and vampire horror with a powerful, flawed narrative

A look at Ryan Coogler's ambitious film "Sinners," blending Southern Gothic, music, and supernatural horror, but falling short in execution.

Peter Dreimanis, Jack O’Connell, Hailee Steinfeld, and Lola Kirke. (c) Warner Bros. Pictures

By Anna Fadiah and Hayu Andini

Ryan Coogler’s “Sinners” is an ambitious mix of genres that seeks to merge the sultry heat of the Delta blues with the supernatural intrigue of vampire horror. The film, which marks Coogler’s return to original storytelling after years working within the Marvel franchise, opens in the Jim Crow South, drenched in tension and dripping with the weight of history. The director is known for his impressive ability to blend emotional depth with social commentary, but with “Sinners,” he ventures into new territory, creating a film that ultimately teeters between brilliance and missed opportunities.

In “Sinners,” Coogler is determined to carve out his own space in the world of genre filmmaking. The result is an original drama that explores black Southern music, the stifling constraints of segregation, and the allure of vampirism. Unfortunately, while the film succeeds in some areas, it falters when it leans too heavily into its horror elements. The vampire angle, which initially seems like an intriguing metaphor for oppression, becomes too conventional, losing the film’s otherwise fiery intensity.

Set in Clarksdale, Mississippi, in 1932, “Sinners” begins with the dramatic scene of Sammie (Miles Caton), a young boy covered in blood and holding a broken guitar neck, stumbling into a church. His father, the preacher, is imploring him to abandon his sinful ways. This moment of tension sets the stage for what will soon unfold: a family of criminal recluses returning to town, the introduction of the Smokestack twins—Smoke and Stack (both portrayed by Michael B. Jordan)—and the birth of a juke joint that is poised to stir up trouble.

As the film progresses, it doesn’t immediately dive into the supernatural. Instead, Coogler takes his time, allowing viewers to soak in the atmosphere of 1930s Mississippi. The focus is on Smoke and Stack, both of whom are seasoned criminals who spent years in Chicago’s underworld. Now back in their hometown, they plan to open a juke joint in an old sawmill, gathering an eclectic group of musicians to join them. There is a charm in the camaraderie between the two cousins, as they drive through town, trying to recruit locals for their venture. Their presence, especially Stack’s bold and charismatic persona, adds a swagger to the film that is a welcome contrast to the oppressive air of the town.

One of the most captivating sequences comes when Smoke visits Annie (Wunmi Mosaku), the mother of his deceased child. Their reunion is emotionally charged, and through Coogler’s careful direction and Jordan’s skillful performance, the scene becomes a tender exploration of past regrets and unresolved feelings. Unlike many recent blockbuster directors, Coogler is able to capture intimate moments with a raw, unfiltered intensity.

As the juke joint opens its doors for the first time, the film shifts into a powerful celebration of black music. Sammie, the young guitar player, is thrust into a performance that blends the past, present, and future of black music. African drummers, hip-hop DJs, and funk musicians join forces to create a moment that transcends the boundaries of time and genre. Coogler’s decision to emphasize this convergence of musical styles is audacious, showing the deep connection between African roots and modern black music. This scene, captured in gorgeous, free-flowing cinematography by Autumn Durald Arkapaw, pulses with energy, celebrating the continuity of the tradition, even as it highlights the generational divide.

The musical sequences are further enhanced by Ludwig Göransson’s score, which deftly mixes elements of Delta blues with contemporary sounds. The music in “Sinners” becomes more than just a backdrop; it’s a driving force, shaping the characters’ actions and the narrative’s direction.

But despite the musical and emotional depth, “Sinners” falters when the supernatural elements take center stage. Vampires, or rather, a trio of them led by Remmick (Jack O’Connell), emerge as a threat to the juke joint’s harmony. Their introduction is ominous, as Remmick falls from the sky in a moment straight out of a gothic horror film. From this point on, the film shifts, albeit hesitantly, into full-on horror territory.

The concept of vampirism, in the context of “Sinners,” seems to carry metaphorical weight. At first, it feels like a commentary on the exploitation of black culture, the appropriation of black music by outsiders. However, this notion gets lost as the film transitions into more conventional vampire tropes. The vampires, who are initially presented as mysterious and potentially transformative, become more like stock horror figures, and their fangs fail to deliver the same punch that the film’s earlier emotional and musical moments had.

Coogler, known for his attention to detail and ability to craft compelling characters, struggles here to make the supernatural elements work within the world he’s created. Instead of exploring the full potential of vampire symbolism, he resorts to familiar, almost formulaic, horror tropes—such as the need for an invitation to enter a space—that take away from the film’s originality.

For all of its striking moments, “Sinners” ultimately collapses under the weight of its ambition. The film’s supernatural elements become predictable, and its foray into horror feels more like a distraction than a true exploration of the film’s deeper themes. In a late scene, a group of Klan members is mowed down by a machine gun in what feels like a nod to Quentin Tarantino’s style. This moment, though cathartic, seems tacked on, a final attempt to inject some excitement into a narrative that had already begun to lose its grip.

While “Sinners” may not fully deliver on its promise, it does signal that Coogler is capable of creating original works outside the confines of the blockbuster world. Much like the vampire characters in the film, Coogler’s vision feels trapped between two worlds: the commercial demands of franchise filmmaking and the artistic freedom that comes with creating something truly unique.

Ryan Coogler’s “Sinners” is a film that showcases his ability to create engaging, complex narratives, but it also exposes the limitations of a director caught between the world of blockbusters and the desire for artistic freedom. The film’s lush musical sequences and emotional moments highlight Coogler’s talent, but the transition into vampire horror feels jarring and undermines the emotional core of the story. Despite these flaws, “Sinners” is a daring attempt that leaves us hoping that Coogler will find his way to even greater cinematic heights in the future.