The rapid ascension of Ryan Coogler as a pop-filmmaker of some stature has taken a somewhat counterintuitive route. After bursting onto the scene with an acclaimed Sundance film — his 2013 feature debut Fruitvale Station, a modest social-injustice drama starring the actor who would go on to become his regular leading man, Michael B. Jordan — Coogler immediately segued into adapting IP with established characters and somewhat immovable creative gatekeepers already in place. Creed and the first Black Panther are at least significantly better than they have any right to be, particularly relative to the films that preceded them in their respective franchises, but both projects feel like a young artist building exquisite castles in someone else’s sandbox. And by the time Coogler directed his Black Panther sequel, Wakanda Forever, the whole endeavor felt weighted down by the needs of servicing the larger franchise and the untenable problem of how one replaces a beloved star after an offscreen tragedy. All of which is to say, despite name recognition and the accumulated clout to get other people’s films produced — including 2021’s Judas and the Black Messiah — it remains a little unclear what a full-fledged “Ryan Coogler film” actually is. That makes his new film, Sinners, an original period horror, both a culmination of a decade spent refining his voice on the largest scale imaginable as well as a reintroduction to a filmmaker we barely know.
What’s most encouraging about Sinners, then, is how few of the bad habits and self-defeating tendencies of the Marvel movies have been retained. No one would accuse this film of being made by a committee: for better and worse (mostly the former), it’s undeniably a film born of a singular sensibility that feels unbeholden to corporate-think or audience expectations. Ribboned with spiky racial politics, almost erringly patient by modern horror standards, and thoroughly lived-in with an especially ribald sensibility, Sinners is practically too much of a good thing. Set in rural Mississippi in the early ’30s, the film is centered on identical twin smugglers and hoods going by the too cute nicknames of Smoke and Stack (both played by Jordan, with negligible difference between the two characters or performances). Having survived The Great War and gangland Chicago, the two men have returned to their birthplace with a truckload of stolen booze and a satchel full of cash with the intention of converting an old saw mill into a juke joint catering to the local black community. Over the course of the film’s first hour — Sinners runs a very full 138 minutes, with its plot carrying over well into its end credits — we watch the two brothers defiantly go about their business buying the building from an unctuous racist, making preparations, and hiring musicians for that evening’s grand opening. Set against endless fields of cotton, chain gangs, and expansive blue skies (which are especially prominent in the IMAX format the film was shot in), the extended opening act serves as a literal getting-the-band-together sequence. Stack gathers up blues guitarist Sammie (R&B artist and first-time actor Miles Caton) and harmonica player Delta Slim (Delroy Lindo) to provide the evening’s entertainment, as well as a gentle giant, Cornbread (Omar Benson Miller), to work security. Meanwhile, Smoke purchases supplies in town, making a detour to hobble a couple thieves who would dare try and steal from him, while also paying a visit to local witch doctor Annie (Wunmi Mosaku). Annie’s an old flame, and the film’s conscience; she shares a tragic connection with Smoke, and coaxes the hardened gangster’s scowling facade to fall away just long enough to engage in some impromptu lovemaking.
The physical union, while surprising in the moment (although perhaps it shouldn’t be in light of the film’s title), is far from an isolated incident, as sex is never far from anyone’s mind in Sinners. Stack crosses paths with an ex as well, Marie (Hailee Steinfeld), a white-passing biracial woman whom he pushed away years ago, supposedly for her own protection. But it’s clear from the way they bicker with one another that the fires still burn hot for both of them. As for Sammie, he’s smitten with local married woman Pearline (Jayme Lawson), and all those allusions to cunnilingus happening around him have put some interesting ideas in his head. And so, by the time the film finally relocates to the juke joint, just as dusk turns to night, the film can barely conceal how hot and bothered the characters are. Sinners even briefly turns into a sex farce of couples repeatedly sneaking away to unlocked storage rooms to hungrily paw at one another, and all the while Coogler’s roving camera circumnavigates the dance floor, simply taking in the revelry. As the music builds and time and space appear to fold in — in the film’s showcase sequence, the past, present, and future magically coexist in an elaborately choreographed, single-take musical number — it starts to feel like nothing could derail this party. And with the film now entering its second hour, one might reasonably start to ask the question: “Wait, isn’t this movie supposed to be about vampires or something?”
In fact, it is, although Coogler not being in any real hurry to get to them is perhaps unintentionally revealing about where the film’s interests lie. Yes, there are vampires; a bluegrass playing trio, led by Remmick (Jack O’Connell), who saunter up to the juke joint, sweetly pledging respect, camaraderie, and commerce… if only they would be welcomed inside. The film’s conception of vampires is quaintly old-fashioned: they can’t enter domiciles without invitation, hover menacingly in the air, can only be harmed by sunlight, garlic, and wooden stakes — it’s all very Lost Boys. But what’s compelling here is how the film’s conception of the undead plays into its ideas on race, which are fascinatingly out of step with modern-day liberalism, particularly performatively declaring oneself an ally. The film views its white characters as silver-tongued devils, hiding their true intentions behind smiles and damning people of color through negative associations and loss of their culture as much as they are through explicit violence. Sinners gets awfully gory in its homestretch, but easily the most unnerving visual in the film is that of dozens of “turned” Black people, maniacally dancing an Irish jig in time with Appalachian folk music. At its core, then, Sinners is wary of a rainbow coalition and white interlopers; one can readily interpret the film as an indictment of racial appropriation — at one point Remmick menacingly tells an African American character, “I want your stories, I want your songs” — while also championing exclusively Black spaces and artists. Released at a moment in history when the U.S. government is attempting to deny the existence of race and diminish Black accomplishments, the mere acknowledgement of Black excellence, while rebuking the idea of a homogeneity, seems designed to inspire constructive discomfort.
Coogler lights a very long fuse, and many of Sinners’ chief pleasures involve following its circuitous path; piling on digressions and flying in the face of what one would call a tightly constructed narrative. As in soul food, the fat is the flavor. With little inclination to get down to business, Coogler is guided entirely by his own muse; whipping the viewer into a frenzy with the sensuality and musicality of the filmmaking and the casual intersection of carnality, mysticism, and criminality. And for a good long while, it’s a delectable tease without immediate release. Even once Sinners shifts into being an overt genre film, its most memorable scenes are those that approach familiar scenarios in a roundabout way. For example, the way our main characters confront someone who refuses to admit they’re really a vampire while indignantly claiming their request for an invitation to enter the building comes down to manners. Or the film doing a variation on the blood test scene from The Thing, only with gloves of garlic, where indigestion crops up at the worst time imaginable. By the time the film finally arrives at its big vampires-versus-humans battle royale, it almost feels like a letdown. Sinners’ bifurcated structure recalls another vampires-at-a-roadhouse film, Robert Rodriguez’s From Dusk Till Dawn, and as with that film, there’s something rather obligatory in watching our characters heroically sacrifice themselves or agonize over whether to drive a stake through the heart of a loved one. Coogler denies what the film ultimately is for as loFng as he can, deftly playing with pacing and upending expectations. Once it’s time for the film to drop the hammer, you can feel it rushing to cram as much mayhem and action spectacle as possible into a compressed period of time. For some, it will be too little, too late, but, for this writer, it all seems to betray the low nature of the endeavor. Still, studio releases this idiosyncratic and confident don’t come along often, making Sinners a bit of a genuine event. Like Coogler’s career, the film follows an unconventional path, but it distinguishes itself nicely.
DIRECTOR: Ryan Coogler; CAST: Michael B. Jordan, Hailee Steinfeld, Jack O’Connell, Delroy Lindo, Wunmi Mosaku; DISTRIBUTOR: Warner Bros.; IN THEATERS: April 18; RUNTIME: 2 hr. 17 min.
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