Nothing in life is free, but many things cannot be paid for in money or material goods. Faustian legend persists because of its cross-cultural appeal – an understanding that to exist in this world is to be constantly bargaining with something like the "devil," sacrificing time, relationships, or perhaps even freedom in exchange for whatever one desires more in that moment. This existential tradeoff abounds in stories of Black artistry and what it takes to nurture and protect it. Malevolent outside forces are drawn to it like flies to molasses or – maybe – like vampires to blood, but to keep them at bay can come at too high a cost.
Sinners, Ryan Coogler's bold, knotty, and engrossing supernatural thriller, deals with the devil and its associates head-on, and in ways that suggest the writer and director might be working through his own internal creative conflicts. It's 1932 in Clarksdale, Miss., and enterprising twin brothers Smoke and Stack, both played by Coogler's longtime muse Michael B. Jordan, have returned to town after some years away in Chicago. (Clarksdale is one of several places where early blues pioneers like Robert Johnson are said to have "sold their souls to the devil.") What the siblings got into while up North in all likelihood wasn't on the up-and-up; think robbing, stealing, and doing business with Irish and Italian gangsters. But now back home, they're flush with cash and booze and eager to set up a new venture: a juke joint.
They purchase an old sawmill from a white man who insists he's not a Klan member (sure) and then set about enlisting everyone in their circle to help make their dream a reality in just a few hours, because opening night will be tonight. This includes their young, fresh-faced cousin Sammie (exciting newcomer Miles Caton), a preternaturally gifted guitar player with a low, buttery voice that evokes a man at least three times his age; old-timer (and lush) bluesman Delta Slim (the ever-magnetic Delroy Lindo); and Smoke's longtime love Annie (Wunmi Mosaku, a powerful presence), the community's Hoodoo conjurer. Everyone gets more than they bargained for.
It's possible you're aware that Sinners involves vampires, and it does. In a straightforward metaphor for all the ways Black culture has been co-opted by whiteness, the raucous pleasures and sonic beauty of the juke joint attract the interest of a trio of demons led by Remmick (Jack O'Connell); they wish to literally leech off of the talents and energy of Black folks. And – this is not a spoiler – some of those Black people make it pretty easy for Remmick and his ilk to taste blood.
But that's just a small bite of this dense, multifaceted text, which is Lemonade-like in its approach to excavating and curating a bibliography of reference points: cinematic genres, musical influence, religious and spiritual lore, cross-cultural exchange, colorism, Jim Crow. (Production designer Hannah Beachler, who won an Oscar for Coogler's Black Panther, also worked on Lemonade.) One dazzling musical sequence finds a kinetic way to connect many of these ideas, via fluid camerawork and Ludwig Göransson's rich score.
Jordan is at his very best here, yet more proof that Coogler might be the only director the actor's worked with thus far who truly understands what makes him a star. As Smoke and Stack, Jordan has to make each character distinct yet in sync, and he mostly succeeds, inhabiting a thick Southern drawl that sings and swings effortlessly with each word and turn of phrase. When they're together, their physicality and interactions are visually seamless. Though it takes a minute for their essential differences to manifest through the narrative, sharp details in how they're uniquely styled by the renowned Oscar winner Ruth E. Carter (also for Black Panther, as well as its sequel Wakanda Forever) help distinguish them visually.
Ultimately, Smoke is the leader and more pragmatic of the two, but he's also more emotionally open, as seen through his tender dynamic with Annie. On the cruder and slightly ruder side of things – though still charming, because this is Michael B. Jordan – is Stack; kind of a scoundrel, and forced to confront the aggrieved, white-passing Mary (Hailee Steinfeld), a childhood friend and ex-paramour he left behind when he and Smoke went up North.
Just as this is a grand creative swing for Jordan, it's an even greater leap for Coogler, who continues to occupy a unique and rarefied space within Hollywood. His feature debut Fruitvale Station (2013), which gave Jordan his first lead role, was a low-budget indie about Oscar Grant, a young man killed by a police officer in 2009. The film was an acclaimed breakout at Sundance, but the landscape for Black filmmakers was much bleaker then than it is now – which is why it was such a big deal (and unprecedented) to see Coogler move so quickly into bigger budgets and mainstream success with his three follow ups, Creed, Black Panther, and Wakanda Forever. That kind of swift career ascension tends to primarily be afforded to white male directors like Colin Trevorrow.
But success is relative and comes in many facets. Seeing more Black filmmakers like Coogler get the same opportunities to helm massive franchises as their white guy counterparts is progress, and he more than most has accomplished the difficult feat of making those intellectual property-based projects greater than they ever needed to be. In a recent interview with Deadline, he reflected: "I've engaged with audiences all over the planet, man. Who can say, at my age, that they've had four movies released theatrically? And yet I still haven't really opened myself up to the audience … I got scared that I would look up and be 50 and would still be in that situation. And by then, I might not have anything to say."
For some of us who've been following him since Fruitvale, the question has always lingered – even as we cheered and loved those franchise films – what fresh stories from a visionary as singular as Coogler were being lost to the corporate machine?
Sinners is our answer, and a striking and satisfying one at that, a gorgeous and complex thrill ride that demands to be taken in on a giant screen with an enthusiastic crowd, even though it hasn't taken pains to include Hollywood's favorite commodity, franchise nostalgia. And amid all of its thematic yin and yangs – secular/religious, North/South, and so on – it's not much of a stretch to see that Coogler's wrestling with what it means for him to be a Black artist with a seat at the table. There's always a price to pay. And in Hollywood, the cost can be as much as your soul – but if you play it right, every so often you can negotiate for a better, more fulfilling deal.
Copyright 2025 NPR
