Sinners, which is directed, written and produced by Ryan Coogler -- the visionary behind "Black Panther" and "Creed" -- is set in Jim Crow Era Clarksdale, Mississippi, and tells the story of two gangster twins, Smoke and Stack, both played by Michael B. Jordan. They return home from Al Capone's Chicago, looking for a fresh start. The twins recruit their musically-inclined younger cousin to perform at their new juke joint, where the night takes a supernatural turn when vampires, three white people, show up and begin eating and infecting members of the community.
I felt as if I hadn't watched "Sinners," but had instead read it. The film flows like an exhilarating and exalted allegorical short story, rather than a horror-fantasy-musical-supernatural-period piece (or any other concoction of genres that audiences have interpreted it to be). "Sinners" is the first movie to be shot in both IMAX 70 mm and Ultra Panavision 70 formats. The IMAX 70 mm creates a wide aspect ratio, making the film feel expansive. Cinematographer Autumn Durald Arkapaw expertly navigates both the scenic plains of the Mississippi Delta and the intimate juke joint where most of the film unfolds. The actors remain centered in the frame, while the world around them builds and evolves in the background, just as one would experience in a novel.
Ryan Coogler's work consistently explores themes of race, love and complex social dynamics, particularly within the context of Black culture, and "Sinners" certainly fits his niche. Yet, this film marked a bold creative departure. With "Black Panther," Coogler had a certain obligation to Marvel fans to amaze and enrapture with his vision of Wakanda. With "Creed," he had a duty to boxing fanatics and the legacy of the "Rocky" franchise to evoke the emotions of a classic sports drama. But with "Sinners," Coogler freed himself from any and all obligations. This film is pure expression. In doing so, "Sinners" serves as a needed reminder that art is a dialogue between the creator and the creation, and the audience is merely a witness.
In "Sinners," color operates as a quiet form of narration. As the night evolves, the blue tint of the Mississippi Delta gradually turns red. Stack and Smoke also exist as contrarily toned characters: Stack is seen as red, and Smoke as blue. Blue evokes rootedness: tradition, lineage, community. Red signals disruption. Stack's white-passing lover Mary, portrayed by Hailee Steinfeld, seen in pink, is the first of their community to be turned. Her infection marks the beginning of the film's descent, and her proximity to whiteness, aesthetically and metaphorically, is not incidental -- Coogler seemingly is commenting on the ways in which colonialism makes communities turn on one another.
Sammie, the twins' younger cousin, played by Miles Caton, exists in a liminal space, unaffiliated and generally wearing brown. Warned that his music is "dancing with the devil," he plays anyway, choosing to pursue it in spite of his father. Annie, Smoke's partner, played by Wunmi Mosaku, becomes the film's cultural anchor as she is the first to identify the vampires and confronts them with pickled garlic juice, wooden stakes and ritual instinct. The vampires are not just supernatural, they're allegorical: stand-ins for infiltration and subtle violence of colonialism. They don't storm in -- they must be invited in.
"Sinners" is Coogler stepping out of the box. He tells a multidimensional story, giving an allegory for colonialism while also creating an immersive genre-bending story on the surface level. There's power in creating without apology. "Sinners" doesn't seek approval, and that's exactly why it works.