Let the White One In — Sinners
One of the main premises of Ryan Coogler’s Sinners is that music is a deeply-rooted source of power and identity that can transcend generations. It’s a feeling that a lot of us have experienced, when a particular song, lyric, or performance resonates so much that it’s almost out of body. Even for someone as non-religious as myself, there are times where the force of great music can be its own form of spirituality. My introduction to punk rock, the first time I heard Billy Joel, the euphoria of performing in a musical, the first time I saw Bruce Springsteen live. These were all moments where I felt connected to the rest of the world in a deeper way than can ever be observed or properly measured, where everything aligned in an instance of perfection.
Had that thesis been the sole focus of Sinners, it would easily rank among the best films of the year so far. The fact that Coogler adds in so many more superlative elements skyrockets it to the pinnacle of 2025 cinema, a position from which it will be near impossible to be displaced. His fifth feature, and the first since his 2013 debut with Fruitvale Station to not be tied to any pre-existing IP, the flick sees Coogler at the height of his powers, taking full advantage of his skills as a visual artist and storyteller to take familiar themes and tropes and spin them into pure cinematic gold. From fantastic performances to expert production elements to one of the greatest scores of the modern era, he has crafted something truly awe-inspiring, not to mention appropriately thrilling.
Set in Jim Crow-era Mississippi, the film brings its cast together while they’re all at various crossroads of their lives. This is fitting, as one of our main heroes, Sammie, is an up-and-coming blues guitarist and singer whose background is something of a reference to Robert Johnson and the legend of him selling his soul at “the crossroads” for musical talent. Sammie is played by newcomer Miles Caton, a noted singer and songwriter, who as a child performed on shows like Little Big Shots. This is his first film role, and if he’s not a household name by the end of the year, I’ll be stunned.
Sammie is the son of the local minister (Saul Williams), earning him the nickname of “Preacher Boy,” and the film opens in rather shocking fashion, with him stumbling into his father’s Sunday service severely injured, gripping the remains of his Dobro guitar. Now, starting a film in medias res isn’t a new trick, but Coogler uses it as such a heavy tone-setter, peppering in jump cut flashback scares to break up Sammie’s thousand-yard stare, that you can’t help but get hooked. You want to know what happened to him, and as it turns out, unlike other movies that start at the end and work backward, we only have to go back a measly 24 hours. A lot can happen in a day, and Coogler knows exactly how to show it.
We then meet our other protagonists, twin brothers “Smoke” and “Stack” Moore, played by Michael B. Jordan in a dual role. Before he even opens his mouth (sarcastically quipping that they’re actually cousins), you can see the talent on display, as the pair’s onscreen presence is seamless, alternating between visual effects and body doubles with ease. Everything about their introductory shot demonstrates just how well this crew knows what they’re doing. Dressed to the nines, the brothers have returned home after spending some years in Chicago, with enough cash on hand to buy a disused sawmill and turn it into a juke joint for their community. Both men are slick, smart, and confident in their grand scheme, warning the racist landowner (David Maldonado) not to try any funny business with the local KKK. Imagine being a black man in 1932 Mississippi and having both the money and swagger to stand toe to toe with a Klansman and demand respect without batting an eye. That’s how tall Smoke and Stack can walk.
And yet, we never truly learn how they got that way. In a curious but very well-executed creative choice, the twins’ backstory is largely left to the imagination. There are hints and allusions, including an abusive father, hustling for Al Capone, and inciting a gang war between the Irish and Italian mob outfits in the Windy City, but nothing is ever explicitly laid out, because Coogler has no intention of flashing back to any of it. We’re told enough to inform their character motivations, and that’s all. This is one of the few exceptions to the “show don’t tell” philosophy, because we’re told all the information we need to ponder things for ourselves and project our interpretations onto the characters without being subjected to a huge exposition dump. Somehow, some way, Smoke and Stack got themselves a truck, a ton of booze, and a wad of cash up north, and now they’ve decided to come home and open this bar for their friends and neighbors. We know the gains were probably ill-gotten, but it’s clear they did it for what they feel are good reasons. That’s all that matters, though I’m sure there’s something to be said about paving roads with good intentions.
In the span of just a few hours, Smoke and Stack get the place ready to start jumping. They recruit an old bluesman to play the night (Delroy Lindo as “Delta Slim”), a Chinese couple to supply food and drink from their grocery store (Li Jun Li and mononym actor Yao as Grace and Bo Chow, respectively), an old fieldhand friend and gentle giant named Cornbread to work security (Omar Miller), and Smoke’s estranged wife Annie (Wunmi Mosaku from Lovecraft Country, a work to which many have compared this picture) as cook. It’s kind of amazing how quickly this all comes together, because it feels like a slow burn. The first half of the runtime shows this whole process, an “all hands on deck” affair that belies the terrors yet to come, as the only real conflict is Stack reuniting with his old flame, Mary (Hailee Steinfeld), and getting a delightfully raunchy earful about his absence. There are times when I look at my phone in the theatre, just the clock, to see how deep into a film we are whenever I get bored. For Sinners, it was the exact opposite, as so much had transpired in this buildup that I was genuinely surprised that only an hour had gone by.
However, this really is a film where the tonal shifts are literally day and night. When the sun falls, the juke is opened, and we are treated to an atmosphere of pure joy, lust, and the spiritual experience of music. Caton’s incredible bass vocals stir up every fiery emotion possible, both on screen and in the audience, earning the amorous affections of a young woman named Pearline (Jayme Lawson), herself a singer, who later joins in the stage festivities once fully caught up in the moment. Sammie’s performance is instantly the best single scene so far this year, as his blues speaks visual truth to Coogler’s throughline about how music can draw a line between generations, from Africa’s tribal past, to the film’s present, to even the future of rock, funk, and hip hop. Using some immaculate one-shot photography and a litany of Texas Switches, musicians and instrumentalists from across time and geography enter and exit the frame, each contributing to the overall profile of the song. Even the Chows get in on the cultural action, as Asian heritage is drawn in and incorporated as well.
But as Sammie’s father warned early on, the more you “dance with the devil,” the more likely it is that he’ll come looking for you. That’s exactly what we get in the form of Remmick (Jack O’Connell). Pursued by Choctaw hunters, he’s able to take refuge in a local Klansman’s house after being invited inside by him (Peter Dreimanis) and his wife (Lola Kirke). That was a huge mistake, as Remmick is a vampire who quickly bites and turns the couple, and the trio then make their way to the juke, Remmick drawn by the power of Sammie’s soulful music.
Remmick asks to be let in, but Cornbread and the twins refuse in a fantastically nuanced scene. The racial undertones to the entire conversation can’t be ignored, but as is pointed out, Mary is white and she’s welcome, but the others are not. Even when they perform some soothing Irish folk music, they are turned away due to the understandable lack of comfort of having white strangers suddenly drop in on a newly-opened black establishment.
But Coogler doesn’t rest on his laurels and go for the low-hanging fruit of Remmick and the others just being racist. There’s a certain logic, along with charisma, to Remmick’s argument, especially when you consider the Irish angle. We might be whiter than bread, at times so pale as to be transparent, but historically, the Irish weren’t exactly granted the same privilege as other white communities. For the longest time there was an interpretation that the Irish were “the blacks of Europe.” It’s a very reductive and shortsighted view of ingrained bias and discrimination, but it did exist, especially when it came to Irish immigrants to the U.S. during the antebellum and Jim Crow eras.
The fact that this isn’t as literally “black and white” as the skin tones of the characters is why Coogler is able to have his proverbial cake and eat it as the film goes into its back half. Once the stakes are fully introduced, the film shifts from a music-infused fable of the folly of hoping for social mobility in a world that won’t allow it, to full-on siege survival horror. There have been comparisons to From Dusk till Dawn as far as the framing device goes, but the execution is unique. Using the mythology of vampires having to be invited into their victims’ homes, the main players hole up in the juke while Remmick builds an army on the outside, growing his numbers (and his choir) while needling the survivors to find his way in.
Again, this could have been shown as a simple bit of literal race baiting, with a rapacious white man trying to destroy any spark of black creativity and success. But Coogler’s script is far smarter than that. Yes, assimilation is part of the equation, and the way he depicts it is both creepy and inspired. However, at the same time, you see that Remmick’s personal motivations aren’t necessarily racial in nature. He seeks a sense of belonging, of community, of companionship in his immortal form, and he finds that connection through music. He fits neatly into the archetype of the people who would consume Sammie and those with talent like his, but in the end he’s just looking for his own tribe, and is willing to create one by force if needed. In that way he’s a very tragic monster, because something superficial prevents him — and everyone within his influence — from finding that deeper, humanistic rapport. One of the more clever runners in the story is that literally everyone except for Remmick, his first victims, and the Klansman who sold the sawmill can tell Smoke and Stack apart. For the viewer, there are subtle hints through wardrobe choices and the inflection of Jordan’s voice in some dialogue, but in all practical terms, they are identical. However, they’re so much a part of the identity of this town that no one misses a beat in accurately distinguishing them. That’s the sort of familiarity Remmick seeks through his predatory nature, but can never achieve, even when he sucks it out of his victims’ bodies. The irony here is as delicious as the blood he feeds on.
All of this gets across thanks to some absolutely tremendous performances. I was going to watch this picture just on Jordan alone, and he does a fantastic job. But really, there are moments where he’s outshone by Lindo, Mosaku, Steinfeld, Li, and O’Connell, the latter of whom should really start pushing the studio to campaign for a Supporting Actor nod next year. And of course, we can’t forget Caton, who blows them all away for most of the proceedings. If you had told me that Michael B. Jordan playing two roles would only be the THIRD best performance most of the time, I’d have thought you were crazy, but here we are.
Not to be outdone in all of this is Ludwig Göransson composing the score. He worked extremely closely with Coogler and Caton to craft original songs and a mind-blowing orchestral soundtrack. Of particular note is the way the music evolves as the story goes on. Again, taking Coogler’s conceit and putting it in amazingly tangible terms, the style of the score adapts and progresses over the course of the film, starting with bluegrass country and delta blues, before accelerating to modern country and rockabilly themes, before bombastically concluding with what feels like 80s death metal. This is insane and truly innovative. I can’t remember the last time I watched a movie and immediately wanted to buy the soundtrack albums when I got home. I did here. Göransson already has two Oscars (Oppenheimer and one of his previous collaborations with Coogler, Black Panther), and I can’t imagine he won’t be up for his third next year.
Literally and figuratively, there’s not a false note to be had here. Ryan Coogler has firmly established himself as one of the great filmmakers of his generation, and he keeps getting better. This is yet another peak in a career that has yet to hit a valley, and it’s a testament to what happens when actual creative thought and passion are poured into a project. Hopefully it’s a sign that the film industry is finally righting itself after a couple of off years, because this is the fourth movie so far in 2025 that will get top marks (I just handed another one out a few days ago), but let’s be clear, Sinners is head and shoulders above them all. This film is so good that the other three pantheon entries might as well be “C”s by comparison.
Grade: A
Join the conversation in the comments below! What film should I review next? How has music influenced your life? Would you want “immortality” knowing you had to die violently first? Let me know! And remember, you can follow me on Twitter (fuck “X”) as well as Bluesky, and subscribe to my YouTube channel for even more content, and check out the entire BTRP Media Network at btrpmedia.com!
Originally published at http://actuallypaid.com on May 1, 2025.
