Is It a Sin to Not Like Sinners?

Here we go again (he says, as the voices of those who anointed The Substance the “greatest film in the history of cinema” last year continue to ring in his ears)…

Where do I even start with Ryan Coogler’s Michael B. Jordan-fronted Sinners? I suppose the natural — and indeed, best — place to begin is the first act, which, if I’m being completely honest, is one of the few parts of this otherwise godforsaken mess I actually enjoyed.

Though incredibly deliberate, the first act is undoubtedly the cleanest and most straightforward of the film’s three. We’re introduced to Sammie, the starry-eyed son of a pastor who has dreams of making it big as a blues musician, and his two gangster-ass cousins, Smoke and Stack, who’ve returned to the Mississippi Delta from the Windy City with plans of opening a juke joint using money they “earned” from mob-related stick-up jobs. We follow the trio as they prepare for the juke joint’s grand opening — upgrading the décor of the building they purchased (which, interestingly, was previously owned by the local KKK chapter’s leader), stockpiling food and booze, and generating a buzz around town. Along the way, a cast of supporting characters accumulates, and several narrative, symbolic, and thematic seeds are planted — all of which show the promise of taking root and growing into magnificent, fruit-bearing trees in the acts to come.

Act two — which takes place entirely during the grand opening of the juke joint (now named "The Juke Club") — builds on much of the momentum established in act one. Relationships between characters are explored further, pasts begin to seep to the surface, and sources of conflict start to make their presence known. Concordantly, the film reaches its tonal and stylistic zenith during this section, highlighted by a rousing and transcendent performance by Sammie, whose hallucinatory guitar riffs and hypnotic words stir souls both inside and outside of the club.

Which bring us to the proverbial moment where things go off the rails. Everything after Sammie’s performance is a complete and utter disaster. With the grace of a giraffe on roller skates, Coogler introduces a horde of flash-mobbing, Irish-dancing vampires into the mix, and, well… I just couldn’t take things seriously after that. With their arrival, the film morphs into a bizarre horror-comedy hybrid — and like most things that don’t know what they are, it quickly loses direction. The assured build-up of the first act and a half is rendered pointless by this chaotic, batshit third act, which shows all signs of being pieced together not by a man but by an actual bat. And at this point I have to ask: Is it now a requirement that all modern films take the exit ramp for Crazy Town in the third act? Must they always devolve into some blood-filled shitstorm? Can films not end any other way anymore? Did I miss a memo? Whatever the case may be, I’m quite frankly fed up with these lazy filmmakers who think that “wacky,” “goofy,” and “over-the-top” are synonyms for “edgy,” “provocative,” and “transgressive.”

I also think it’s lazy to desperately pack films full of topics and themes in hopes that some — or any — might resonate with audiences, and I‘m sorry to say that Coogler and Co. are guilty of this in Sinners. Don’t get me wrong, I love it when a film gives me a lot to think about. But I love it even more when all the topics and themes interact to produce something richer than the individual components could on their own. I liken it to a Rube Goldberg machine — you could take out any object and use it as it was originally intended, and that would be perfectly fine. But there’s something magical about watching all the objects work together — knocking into each other, setting off reactions, sparking movements — to create a result far more fascinating and impactful than any single piece could achieve alone.

Instinctively, I thought Sinners was just one big deconstruction of cultural appropriation. There are black people drinking Italian wine and Irish beer, white people singing the blues and speaking with drawls, and vampires — of all colours, shapes, and sizes — quite literally sucking not just the blood, but the memories, experiences, and culture out of those they bite, without even the common decency to say “thank you” when they’re finished. That was my initial reading of the film, but clearly, there‘s a lot more to it than just that. Among the other topics and themes we're invited to consider — to varying degrees — are: race relations, music and its influence, sin and morality, witchcraft and the occult, safe spaces and cultural preservation, the mythology of genius, ownership and transactional relationships, and much more.

Going back to what I said earlier, these ideas are fascinating enough on their own, but when thrown together as they are, the result feels more like a thematic scrap heap than a well-oiled Rube Goldberg machine. I should also say that, as a white man watching Sinners, I wasn’t entirely sure what tone of voice Coogler was talking to the collective “us” in. He makes us out to be the villain in a backhanded sort of way (which, given the period the film is set in, is definitely fair), but he also seems to acknowledge that pointing fingers in such a way is both too easy and ultimately unproductive. It’s all very confusing 🫤.

Technically, the film is decent. The cinematography — though energetic — doesn't make much of an impact except in scenes like Sammie’s performance, which features an impressive, winding one-take that must’ve been a bitch to coordinate. The sets, costumes, and props are hit-or-miss; some elements successfully transport you to that time and place, while others feel less convincing. The same goes for the music: I loved the soundtrack, but Ludwig Göransson’s score, uncharacteristically, felt too intrusive and sonically all over the place.

In terms of acting, I found the supporting cast — particularly Delroy Lindo and Jackson O’Connell — more compelling than anything Michael B. Jordan brought to the table. However, in Jordan’s defence, I thought the Smoke and Stack characters were very poorly written, irrespective of whether they were in human or vampire form.

It’s funny — in the space of a week, I’ve seen two films that couldn’t have affected me more differently: Warfare — a tight, masterfully crafted flash-bang of a film that shifted my atoms in a way no other movie in recent memory has been able to — and Sinners — a long-in-the-tooth oddity that bares its fangs early, then mostly gums its way to the finish. To be fair to Coogler, I appreciate the effort and ambition — and I admit, if I were in his shoes, and had just been given that whiff of post-Marvel freedom, I’d probably get incoherently drunk off the possibilities too. But unfortunately, my senses don’t lie to me, and that third act left such a bad taste in my mouth I had to grab an 8-pack of Old Milwaukee on the way home just to wash it out.

P.S. — Did there really have to be vampires at all?