Sinners

Director: Ryan Coogler
Starring: Michael B. Jordan, Hailee Steinfeld, Miles Caton, Jack O' Connell, Wunmi Mosaku, Jayme Lawson, Omar Miller, Delroy Lindo, Peter Dreimanis, Lola Kirke, Li Jun Li, Saul Williams, Yao, David Maldonado, Helena Hu, Buddy Guy
Running Time: 137 min.
Rating: R

★★★ ½ (out of ★★★★)    

Writer/director Ryan Coogler takes a big swing with his supernatural drama Sinners, which burns slowly until erupting into a full blown horror spectacle. Following a first half that draws favorable comparisons to Killers of the Flower Moon, we're prepared for the possibility this too will be a historical exploration into generational trauma, racism and religion. And it is, only with Coogler taking a wildly different turn to get there, with music functioning as these characters' paths to salvation. 

Sharing a lot more in common with 1996's From Dusk Till Dawn than the franchise projects Coogler's known for, it's a uniquely conceived genre period piece that doesn't sacrifice the mainstream appeal of his previous work. But what sticks out most is how he deftly handles challenging material that could have gone wrong in any number of ways. While the writing and performances carry an opening hour we'd rather not see end, the real insanity starts when he pulls the trigger and all hell breaks loose.

It's 1932 and identical twins and World War I veterans Smoke and Stack Moore (Michael B. Jordan) return to their hometown of Clarksdale, Mississippi after working for the Chicago Mob for years. Upon purchasing an old sawmill from a local landowner, they plan to open a juke joint establishment for the Black community with singing, dancing and a bar. They're joined by their cousin Sammie (Miles Caton), an aspiring guitarist whose pastor father believes blues music is the devil and would far rather his son be at church. 

The twins also recruit Smoke's girlfriend Annie (Wunmi Mosaku) as cook, town drunk Delta Slim (Delroy Lindo) as their pianist, sharecropper Cornbread (Omar Miller) as a bouncer and local Chinese shopkeeper spouses Grace (Li Jun Li) and Bo Chow (Yao) as suppliers. Despite distractions stemming from the animosity Stack's mixed-race ex-girlfriend Mary (Hailee Steinfeld) harbors toward him and Sammie's infatuation with married singer Pearline (Jayme Lawson), the opening is a success. At least until the arrival of vampire Remmick (Jack O' Connell) with married Klu Klux Klan couple Bert and Joan (Peter Dreimanis and Lola Kirke), who crave much more than blood. 

If trailers and commercials didn't already hint where the story's headed, you'd wonder what the feared, respected Smokestack Twins are up to when they arrive, throwing their weight around like they own the town. Unfailingly loyal one minute, brutally violent the next, it's clear the money and connections they've made in Chicago has only strengthened their grip over Clarksdale. Distinguishable by their contrasting red and blue hats, they're also simultaneously loved and hated by residents, many of whom know better than to cross them. 

As the brothers attempt to get the joint off the ground, we see another side of them that's filled with regret and determined to create something that will bring this community together through a shared love of music. The loyalty is evident in their recruitment of Sammie, who limps into his father's church bruised and battered in the film's opening flashforward, offering a hint of what's to come. With music and excitement filling the air, an Remmick's gang crashes these opening night festivities as they attempt to assimilate everyone into their undead cult, resulting in a power struggle between good and evil.     

While the vampires seemingly share a hive mind, Irish immigrant Remmick plans to builds this family around an appropriation of Black culture, with Coogler introducing some not so thinly veiled symbolism regarding racism in the Deep South and the corrupting influence of hate. There to consume and exploit, the vampires view a highly vulnerable Sammie as their missing key due to his extraordinary musical talent. But before they can get to him, others are converted one-by-one with a single bite as they're hauled up inside fighting for their lives as seeds of mistrust are sown and alliances tested.

Jordan gives a powerhouse turn in his dual role as the intimidating, hotheaded Stack and a more contemplative Smoke, somehow managing to leave little doubt as to who we're watching in any given scene. And once the twins' seemingly unbreakable bond is broken, Jordan's performance shifts into another gear, enabling the actor to display his action chops. 

Newcomer Caton holds up his end of the deal as Sammie, tracking his journey from young, impressionable sharecropper to blues hero. Steinfeld also leaves an indelible mark as the white-passing Mary, who's pretty much beloved by everyone despite the messy unfinished business with Stack. Lindo, Mosaku, Lawson and Li are all equally exceptional in their varied roles, with each fully fleshed out and given a considerable amount of attention. And thanks to some astounding visuals and Oscar winner Luwig Göransson's blues and folk infused score, everything comes together in a way we quite haven't seen before.   

After the big showdown, there's no returning to yesterday, or even earlier that same afternoon. Once this band of mysterious intruders show up at their doorstep, the surviving characters' lives are permanently transformed and the real protagonist is forced to process it for the rest of his life. With that, Coogler sticks the landing in one of the few post-credit scenes to function not as a gimmicky device, but an unmissable coda the film couldn't exist without. It's a crucial reveal used to maximum effect, giving us a little more to contemplate and the urge to watch it all again through a different lens.