Sinners

Ryan Coogler’s Southern Gothic blues horror is one for the ages

Instant Favorite

Have you ever left a movie and known that it would be talked about for decades? I keep a running list of my favorite movies. Not the best movies ever made, just the ones that scratch an itch in my brain. (I’ll be honest, there are some objectively BAD movies on the list, but I love them anyway.) Usually, I wait a few days to see if the high wears off before I add a movie to the list. That’s the rule. But with Sinners, it made the list before I even left the theater. Set against the brutal reality of Jim Crow, Sinners is scary not just because of what’s supernatural, but because of what is real. The horror lives in the erasure of self and how even becoming a monster can feel like an escape.

Sound That Wakes the Dead

“There are legends of people with the gift of making music so true, it conjures spirits from the past and the future.”

That line opens Sinners, and by its conclusion, it doesn’t feel like mythology. It feels like fact. Music is the soul of this film, not just a soundtrack. It binds generations, opens portals, and reanimates the dead. The power of the blues is dangerous, coveted, and very much alive.

A huge part of that power comes from Ludwig Göransson, Ryan Coogler’s longtime collaborator. They met in college making student films together, and Göransson has scored every one of Coogler’s movies since. His range is astonishing, he’s worked on Christopher Nolan’s traditional orchestral scores as well as producing Childish Gambino’s rap albums. In Sinners, he leans into period-appropriate instrumentation: slide guitars, hand claps, harmonica — sounds that feel pulled straight from front porches of the 1930s. Those sounds make the score feel authentic, resonating with me in a way that few scores ever have.

Thank god these two met in college

And then there’s also the Irish music. Sinners could have gone with the usual horror cues of eerie strings and haunting choirs, but instead we hear upbeat Irish folk songs with sorrow in the lyrics. It’s an unexpected choice, but a brilliant one. The use of Irish folk melodies connects a second history of displacement, tying back into the themes of the blues.

Ryan Coogler showcases the transformative power of Black musical traditions. As a white man with European roots, I can never fully understand the nuances of that power, but I recognize that it deserves discussion. In Sinners, sound is legacy. And for those who can’t claim it, the desire to consume it becomes terrifying.

The Price of Admission

Set in the Mississippi Delta in 1932, the film follows twins Smoke and Stack (both played by a phenomenal Michael B. Jordan) who return home from Chicago with new money made from working with the mob. Their goal is simple: open a juke joint and make a name for themselves as owners of one of the best spots in town. But on opening night, a group of white vampires arrive. They offer money. They offer “fellowship.” What they don’t offer up front is the price of this camaraderie.

Remnick, their leader (played with chilling charm by Jack O’Connell), doesn’t just want in; he wants access. Specifically, he wants to harness the power of their music, to use its spirituality to commune with his own lineage. He wants to consume and absorb, to turn the musicians into commodities. It’s vampirism as cultural appropriation—pitched as solidarity, but executed with erasure.

The vampires’ offer isn’t just a Faustian bargain, it’s a severing from ancestry. To become one of them is to lose your history and with it, your connection to the culture that shaped you.

That Shot

If music is the soul of Sinners, then this shot is the heartbeat. A stretch of uninterrupted movement that turns the juke joint into a time machine. When Sammy (Miles Caton, in a groundbreaking debut) takes the stage and sings, the camera glides like a spirit: through the crowd, into the rafters, and across time itself. In a single, uninterrupted shot, we witness the evolution of Black musical culture as it morphs from ancestral drum circles and spirit calls to Delta blues, jazz, rock & roll, and eventually hip hop.. The music is triumphantly shown as a living lineage. Dancers fall into a trance. Ancestors and descendants appear. The roof then explodes off the building to cap off one of the most audacious shots ever put to screen.

I’ll give you a little snippet because I’m feeling generous, but go see the whole thing in theaters, you won’t regret it!

There are very few moments in cinema where I’ve muttered “holy shit”. This was one of them, and I wasn’t alone. My theater erupted in applause when the shot concluded. I sat there dumbfounded, thinking how in the world was this created? Turns out they hid two invisible cuts as the camera crossed thresholds within the building, but they are so well executed that they are impossible to see with the human eye. God, I love filmmaking. This shot isn’t just spectacle. It’s one of the most important pieces of art of this decade.

The Horror of Hospitality

It’s almost cruel how long Coogler lets us revel in the party’s warmth. The first half of Sinners is so alive, so character-rich that you nearly forget what genre you’re in. The film lulls you with charm: Stack’s charismatic ego, Smoke’s quiet strength, the anticipation of a night that might change everything. Then the vampires knock.

Once the horror kicks in, it doesn’t abandon the story, it deepens it. The rules of vampirism in this world are horrifying: when someone turns, their memories become part of a shared hivemind. This isn’t just bodily transformation, it’s colonization of the soul.

Sinners doesn’t rely on jump scares or gore for fear; the true terror is in the loss of self, the seduction of power, and the weight of choice. ​​And all of it unfolds under the shadow of Jim Crow, a regime so violent and dehumanizing that even vampirism starts to feel like a seductive escape.

The Doom Was Inevitable

Even without the vampires, the characters in Sinners were marked for tragedy. A scene late in the film quietly reveals that the Klan had planned a massacre for the following morning, meaning that every person in that juke joint was already a target. This knowledge reframes the entire film as a battle not just against supernatural forces, but against a world that had already decided their fate. The vampires didn’t bring doom, they just got there first. That context deepens every joyful moment that came before, casting them in an unbearably bittersweet light. The real horror is the system that hunted these characters before they stepped into the frame.

All in the Execution

There’s a confidence to Sinners that’s rare. It blends heist movie, horror thriller, and character drama without ever feeling overstuffed. Coogler’s direction is precise, even when the film feels chaotic. The shifts in pacing are purposeful. Coogler brings the camera in close when it matters and lets it soar when the story demands space, crafting set pieces that feel both intimate and monumental.

He gets career-best performances out of his cast, including Michael B. Jordan’s stellar dual role as Smoke & Stack, Miles Caton’s breakout performance as Sammy, Wunmi Mosaku’s anchoring portrayal of Annie, and a grounded Hailee Steinfeld as Mary. Jordan brings swagger, sorrow, and a superstar presence to two characters who feel like real brothers; not just a visual trick, but a fully felt bond. Caton, in his first major role, is a revelation; magnetic and raw, with a singing voice that cuts right to your core. Mosaku plays a character whose instincts are sharp and whose faith never wavers, delivering the film’s opening line and sensing the threat before anyone else. Her performance balances spiritual insight, protective strength, and a deep emotional warmth. Steinfeld plays a white-passing mixed-race woman navigating a world that pressures her to abandon her roots. Her performance captures both disconnection and deep care, making her feel like a genuine part of the community.

A Beautiful Ending, or Two

Most films with this much ambition falter somewhere. Sinners never does. It ends with a payoff that feels like catharsis. Smoke dies a heroic death – but not before unleashing hell on the men who came to destroy his community. Throughout the film, people call him “soldier boy,” and in his final stand, you see why. He’s a surgical killing machine, the Klan’s worst nightmare. One man against dozens, and he dismantles them like he’s been waiting his whole life to do it. And when it’s all done, mortally wounded, he extinguishes his final cigarette. That’s the last we see of Smoke, the gangster. When his deceased wife and child appear and call him Elijah, his birth name, it’s not just a reunion, it’s a release. He’s no longer the man who lived by loss and violence. He’s a husband and father again. He gets the peace he sought for so long.

Smoke goes out on his own terms

Just when I thought it was over, a mid-credit scene gives Sammy the last word. Sammy, much older and at peace, has built a life beyond the violence. He and Stack share a final memory, agreeing without hesitation: that day was the best of their lives. It’s the kind of closure that doesn’t need explaining.

Final Verdict

Sinners is a revelation. A Southern Gothic horror movie with soul, scares, and song. It’s thrilling, emotional, and fun as hell. But more than that, it’s meaningful.

It’s about who gets to create. Who gets to inherit. Who gets to survive.

It’s a film that rewired something in me. Ryan Coogler has made something that doesn’t just deserve awards, it deserves study. It’s the kind of movie people will grow up watching, quoting, obsessing over. Some movies entertain. This one speaks.