Ryan Coogler’s Sinners (2025) is an ambitious film that navigates race, history, power, desire, love, and survival. Oh, and it’s also a vampire film. But it is the binding force of music, specifically, blues music, that grounds the film and defines it at its very best.
The film opens with a narration explaining certain musicians’ ability to connect the past, present, and future through their songs. This gift, however, comes with a cost: it can attract dark, supernatural forces.
Sammie (Miles Caton), the son of a preacher and cousin to twins Stack and Smoke (Michael B. Jordan), is blessed with this ability– but more on that later. Alongside Sammie, we meet a vibrant cast of characters as they prepare for the opening of Smoke and Stack’s new juke joint. The twins are an integral part of the film, as one would expect when you have two Michael B. Jordans on screen, but Sammie is the film’s true protagonist.
Sammie is torn between two paths–a life of perceived sin as a blues musician and the other life of holiness as a preacher. The twins become proxy embodiments of Sammie’s internal struggle. Stack encourages his gift, even giving him their father’s old guitar. Smoke, on the other hand, urges him to abandon music in favor of the Bible.
The film shines brightest when it focuses on Sammie’s journey. Miles Caton is a revelation in his debut, perfectly encapsulating Sammie’s inner turmoil and astonishing with his first on-screen musical performance. It’s almost a shame that the film isn’t solely interested in his character arc.
Coogler juggles several storylines and narrative threads—some more effectively than others. There are ten major characters in total, each granted their own exposition. Coogler does well at building this community and immersing you in these lives, however, the film can feel a bit disjointed as it attempts to navigate these relationships and each storyline. The ambition is admirable, but having so many narrative strands takes away from the nuance they each offer.
As if the film is semi-aware that it is losing its thread, it stages an elaborate sequence to reiterate the film’s core thesis and repeat the film’s opening narration.
It begins with Sammie playing his song at the juke joint. As he plays, conjured spirits materialize among the dancers, each dressed from different eras. The moment unfolds in a continuous shot, the music swelling into a blend of genres that reflect the vast history of Black musical expression.
This is not only one of the best moments in the film, but it is perhaps one of the most memorable sequences in modern cinema.
Ludwig Göransson’s score is transcendent throughout the film, emphasizing the power of music in the literal sense, as on display with this score. Working with collaborators, Göransson crafts blues-infused compositions that ebb and flow with the film’s emotional beats. But this is far from the only powerful musical moment. In one especially profound scene, Delta Sim (Delroy Lindo) chokes on a sob before transforming it into a hymn, turning his pain into art.
It is Sammie’s music that attracts Remmick (Jack O’Connell), an ancient vampire. Remmick believes Sammie’s gift can reconnect him with lost loved ones. Despite Remmick’s belief that they can all be a loving family, his true motives are clear. Remmick seeks assimilation on his own terms. He wishes to consume Sammie, to profit off his skills, only for the benefit of himself. He becomes a metaphor for the music industry at large and the white-led appropriation of Black music and culture.
In pursuit of this goal, Remmick creates a quasi-vampire army that even our main characters are recruited into. This presents an interesting dynamic, particularly between the twins. The film has established differences between the twins– Smoke is pragmatic, while Stack is charismatic.
Smoke seems stuck in the past while Stack looks to the future. Despite their differences, there is a deep sense of obligation to one another, bonded by blood and shared trauma.
Vampirism creates an explicit shift in their dynamic. There is a notion that vampirism could grant the brothers the power, and perhaps equality, that even money could not grant them. This idea, and the rift it causes between the twins, seems like the moment the film has been building towards. This could provide a compelling conflict, but– like most of the final act– the film rushes through it rather quickly.
The film struggles with its pacing for the entire runtime. After a slow, deliberate buildup, the climax feels rushed. It’s slightly disappointing that the film crafted a story with so much care in the beginning, but did not carry this through until the end. An extended runtime could have been used for more complex analysis of some of the themes Coogler is interested in exploring.
He is forced to confront the various narrative threads he has been spooling as we reach the conclusion. The film’s shakiness is most explicit here, giving multiple endings between Smoke, Stack, and Sammie. While the structure may be uneven, each conclusion hits with emotional weight.
Sammie’s story specifically stands out, as is the case with most of the film. He’s finally forced to choose between his music and his family, and the church’s expectations. Despite all the hell his music may have brought, he still chooses it. And by doing so, he chooses himself, the joy, freedom, and catharsis that his art provides. If music is a sin, then he will gladly be a sinner.
Sinners is a bold, unwieldy film stuffed with ideas but grounded by a consistent theme: music as a powerful connecting force and tool for liberation. While Coogler doesn’t manage to pull off every narrative swing, his ambition is thrilling, especially in a landscape that often feels starved of originality.
Despite its faults, Sinners is an exhilarating cinematic experience from its thunderous score to its star-making performances. It is not only what the industry needs desperately, but what audiences deserve.
Review Courtesy of Kam Ryan
Feature Image Credit to 2025 Warner Bros. Ent.