"Sinners" is strange, but full of courage

We’re used to a cinema that tells us everything. We are because television has told us everything, and now platforms do the same. Nothing escapes it. Every name, story, relationship—everything must pass the test of comprehension and clarity before it can reach the audience. Simple stories, easy plots, recognizable characters. Situations and family ties are explained over and over again so that no viewer is left behind, whether it’s the casual moviegoer who finds themselves watching the twentieth Marvel film without having seen the previous ones, or the home viewer who plays a series in the background while folding laundry or cooking dinner. Simplicity is what's demanded nowadays, and the result is often an adventure without a real adventure, like A Minecraft Movie. In a landscape where a certain laziness prevails—both in form and content—Ryan Coogler offers an unusual product that sits right in the middle, in the liminal path between mainstream and auteur, where his The Sinners tries to find its place. Like the demons introduced early in the story, driven by melodies full of fire and talent, these evil creatures are led and lured by those who reproduce such sounds, finding an infinite source of ecstasy and pleasure.

This is all Coogler, director and screenwriter, who has journeyed from the lands of Wakanda in Black Panther to reimagined sagas with Creed, tells us about the entities we’ll meet in his film. And nothing more is needed to step into the fascinating mystery that The Sinners presents, unusual and strange in the constellation of feature films trying to find their identity while still courting mainstream attention. Yet it doesn’t try to please the audience even once; instead, it invites them to join the longest night in the life of protagonist Sammie Moore, played by young Miles Caton, and his cousins and twins Smoke and Stack—both portrayed by Coogler’s favorite actor, Michael B. Jordan, who’s been with him since his debut Fruitvale Station in 2013. Set in 1932, when blues was a serious matter, The Sinners tells the story of the night when the criminal brothers return to their homeland to open a club for the Black community. There’s beer from Chicago, food in abundance, and the best music one could hope for. The film is a snapshot from the return of Smoke and Stack to the following morning, which will decide the fate of their existence, where the line between sinner and innocent grows increasingly blurred by the minute—between succumbing to life’s pleasures like alcohol and sex, and a more mystical, legendary dimension represented in the film by the figure of vampires.

Thus, Coogler creates his own From Dusk Till Dawn, infusing it with a cinema that refuses to give anything up. He tells us about the protagonists' past and how they ended up in that barn-turned-nightclub, enriching their return with unbreakable encounters destined to be relived again and again. He shows us the power of music, so supernatural it can attract even the undead. Between historical roots and a sense of community, between art that pierces through time and racism avenged with blood and rage, The Sinners is everything and its exact opposite. It’s a page of history, yet it never existed. A film about redemption and the resurrection of Jordan’s twins through their constant transgressions. It’s certainly a reflection on music, on its endless possibilities, and how it transcends space and time. And who knows if a film like Ryan Coogler’s will succeed, standing as a unique piece on the great chalkboard of contemporary cinema, struggling to find its place. So unexpected, forceful, unruly. Just the right amount of impossible and improbable. Overflowing with grandeur in every frame, to the point that it almost struggles to stitch scenes together coherently.

With a soundtrack that is the triumph of the narrative itself—supporting and clashing, telling what we see on screen and at times its very opposite. It roams freely, independent of the scenes Coogler assembles, forming a collaboration with Ludwig Göransson that’s not only fruitful but filled with trust and daring. The composer, at times, becomes a director himself. A sonic tapestry that perfectly reflects the rigorous yet unhinged nature of The Sinners—a wild race with no brakes, where crashing is a real risk. But we could use more of this kind of courage. More of that willingness to leap without a safety net. Ryan Coogler and his blues-vampire-talents do exactly that. And the result is original, undeniably surprising, and at times teetering between confusion and thrill. It’s a heatwave dragging you into the devil’s arms, straight into hell.