INSERT BLOODY GOOD VAMPIRE PUN [HERE] CAUSE I JUST WATCHED RYAN COOGLER'S 'SINNERS'

Set in 1932 rural Mississippi, in the midst of Jim Crow and Prohibition, Ryan Coogler's Sinners opens on a terrified guitarist fleeing to the sanctuary of a church, bruised, bloodied and clutching the shattered neck of his broken instrument. It's interwoven with a prologue about how a touch of the divine in some musicians can draw evil toward them. So, he’s ordered by the preacher, his father, to give up his 'sinning' ways and put the instrument down. But Coogler cuts away before we see the decision made and, instead, we wind back to what happened 24 hours prior. 

The premise of Sinners is deceptively simple: twins Smoke and Stack (Michael B. Jordan in dual, suspendered roles) return to their hometown in Mississippi (earlier that day), bringing their acquired wealth from their seven-year stint with mob life in Al Capone-era Chicago to start up a juke joint. The way townies react to their presence make it clear that their return is ripe for all kinds of delicious trouble, just not the kind they (or we) think.

Elusions to sins and sinners not so subtly remind us they are the bad guys. And yet, you can’t help but notice the good in them, or at least understand their survival instincts while moseying around with dubiously acquired cash and booze deep in a south infested by the Ku Klux Klan and, it turns out, other monsters.

*SPOILERS FOR 'SINNERS' FROM THIS POINT*

Figured We Might As Well Deal with the Devil We Know.

Sinners is freaky as ef. It’s a freaky tale of supernatural evil and the blues that indirectly takes its inspiration from the legend of Mississippi bluesman Robert Johnson selling his soul to the devil at a remote crossroads in return for fame and fortune. And it’s also, in a forthright way, a riff on the idea of blues as a kind of music that is avidly consumed by its producers’ enemies.

The movie settles into an infectious rhythm as Smoke and Stack set about enlisting friends (and more) to assist with their juke joint’s big debut, including the key musician with talent so great it’ll summon a supernatural threat: the twins’ younger cousin Sammie (powerhouse singer Miles Caton making an impressive debut).

Despite the stacks of devilish puns and bad omens (wicked snake included) that fill the opening sequences, for the first 45 minutes you almost forget it's a genre film. As the twins bring us deeper into their past, as we learn of the events that lead to their present, as we meet the people that fill out their world, and gain a deeper understanding of what these people mean to Smoke and Stack, you might mistake this for a charming, character driven period piece. Aside from its brief, flash-forward opening, Coogler really takes his time to get to the blood-letting. It's sun-drenched first half is paced like a prestige HBO drama. And there’s genuine care applied to building characters and relationships before sinking its teeth into the horror.

But it's not without reason. It’s the characters that provide most of the worldbuilding here (and the world-building is precisely Coogler’s point). Every new introduction is as instrumental to fleshing out this complex world as the setting itself: the booze-loving, coulda-been-something musician, and scene-stealing comedic relief Delta Slim (played by the legend, Delroy Lindo), Cornbread (played by Omar Benson Miller) as security, town grocers Grace (played by Li Jun Li) and Bo Chow (played by Yao) to supply essentials like food and signage.

The twins and young Sammie also find themselves navigating love during their prep work, with the twins both reopening old wounds with former lovers Annie (played by Wunmi Mosaku) and Mary (played by Hailee Steinfeld, who surprisingly doesn't get a single song in this kinda musical) and Sammie smitten by married singer Pearline (played by Jayme Lawson, whose voice is captivating). And it's this robust ensemble that provide an awe-inducing amount of depth.

Jump on the Work. Don't Let the Work Jump on You.

Ok, let's get this out if the way: Michael B. Jordan is a bonafide movie-star. Whether he's relating in very different ways to the brothers’ paramours, charming his way through life as Stack or coiling, then striking, as Smoke, he conveys the differences between the twins in finely calibrated physicality and what look like distinct thought processes for each of them. Smoke and Stack become a grounding anchor in a large-scale epic despite its primarily single location, with Jordan immersing himself so fully in both parts that the brothers feel like two complex, complementary halves of a whole.

But while Michael B Jordan absolutely kills it in this role, the break-out, buzzy actor everyone will yapping about tomorrow is Miles Caton as Sammie Moore, the prodigious Preacherboy, who plays a mean guitar and sings like a blues elder. Sammie's role is essential in setting the tone (literally) and Caton's talents are what really bring the role to life. Keep an eye out for that boy come awards season.

White Folks Like the Blues Just Fine, They Just Don't Like the People Who Make It.

The significance of music on the storytelling can't be understated. The opening preamble sets up a horror that won’t arrive until much later, establishing that, rarely, a musician comes along with talent so great that their music can pierce the veil between the living and the dead. That it can be a beacon for evil. And, that’s exactly what happens.

Reuniting with his Black Panther composer and wunderkind Ludwig Göransson, Coogler and Göransson use banjos, percussion and wailing slide guitars to underscore the passionate dance between the brothers, friends and lovers who pack the dance floor and side rooms of the Juke. Original songs, like the seductive “Pale, Pale Moon,” the ominous “Pick Poor Robin Clean” (an obnoxious little ditty used to introduce the fanged baddies) and the rockling “Juke,” which brilliantly explodes in a rhythmic celebration, nodding to musical excellence by diverse cultures, past and future.

There's a particular sequence of magical realism—that may be jarring to some—in which Sammie plays his guitar in the Juke for the first time. And music and dance and recognizable rhythms of the past, present, and future fill the dance floor while a single tracking shot takes us around the room. It's a hypnotic use of sound as a mix of blues, hip hop, r&b, and even a little trap meld into one anachronistic symphony that somehow doesn't take you out of the film.

Siren-like Irish folk songs are sung by the main antagonist, Remmick (played by Jack O'Connell)—who seems to be hell bent on proving that Riverdance is the work of Satan—to seduce prey. And there's something incredibly unsettling about seeing this white man sing an Irish tune while a bunch of Black folk shake and jig around him. The metaphor is clear, if not a little heavy handed.

Music is a character.

"Pale, Pale Moon", sung by Pearline, serves as the background music for several important beats. On the one hand, the stomping set off by the song (so infectious it made me want to jump through the screen and join the party) covers up the sound of a gambling cheat being beaten by Smoke's men, a grim reminder of how far Smoke is willing to go to maintain power. It's also the song that a now vampiric Mary uses as the background of her seduction (and eventual murder) of Stack.

And "Pick Poor Robin Clean" is the song that Remmick and his minions, Joan and Bert, our blood-sucking outsiders, play when they first arrive at the juke joint. They try to get into the establishment under the guise of sharing their music, presenting themselves pleasantly enough. But the song's lyrics, despite its upbeat notes, has a darkly menacing quality to it, causing the core crew to immediately distrust these White devils—as they should.

I Think I Shat Myself.

If you still need another reason to appreciate Sinners, the film is absolutely beautiful. It's beautifully tinged with warm—some would say warm blooded—tones without veering into sepia, a quaintness that only this setting in this time period can achieve, and, of course, style.

Oscar winning costume designer Ruth E. Carter is the creative force behind each of the twins unique looks. The way Beyonce had Black folks in New York sporting cowboy boots and hoe downing, Sinners may well cause a resurgence of interest in the Blues and sport coats. And with the 2025 Met Gala and its theme, “Superfine: Tailoring Black Style,” an expression of Black dandyism (and inspired by the book Slaves to Fashion: Black Dandyism and the Styling of Black Diasporic Identity), coming on the heels of Sinners, I wouldn't be surprised to see vests, tea dresses, and tilt hats becoming the look of the season—Sinnnerscore.

You Keep Dancing With the Devil, One Day He Gone Follow You Home.

If the brooding , sexy, romantasy kind of vampire is all you're into, this film probably (definitely) won't satisfy that itch. But if old school, blood thirsty, high leaping, night walkers with strict rules and a deathly sun allergy are your cup of tea, drink up.

(And don't forget to stick around for the mid credits scene, if not just for Hailee Steinfeld's dope 90s fit.)

4.75/5 ★: Devilish fun (with a side of social commentary).