‘Sinners’ – Review
“You keep knocking at the devil’s door. One day, he’s going to follow you home.”
That line hits like a freight train and sets the tempo for Sinners, the new genre-shattering horror-action explosion from visionary filmmaker Ryan Coogler. And movies don’t get much cooler, bloodier, sexier, or more utterly insane than Sinners. This is cinema on fire. Coogler has returned to the silver screen like a lightning bolt outta hell, and he’s brought with him a film so audacious, so alive, so dangerous, that you’ll be gripping your seat from the first note of a dirty blues riff to the final splatter of blood-soaked catharsis.
Trying to leave their troubled lives behind, twin brothers Smoke and Stack (Michael B. Jordan) return to their hometown to start again, only to discover that an even greater evil is waiting to welcome them back.
Ryan Coogler has already cemented himself as one of Hollywood’s most electrifying voices thanks to the hard-hitting Fruitvale Station, the knockout punch of Creed, and the mythic blockbuster juggernaut that was Black Panther. Now unleashes every ounce of creative fury with Sinners. This is no studio-safe, hand-holding horror flick. No, Sinners is pure, unfiltered grindhouse poetry; a fusion of gangster grit, vampire carnage, and Southern gothic seduction, all spun out to the heavy strum of the blues.
From its opening frame, Coogler lays it all on the line. This is a film born in shadow, sweat, sex, and superstition. It’s 1930s Mississippi Delta, and the moon is high, the air is thick, and two twin outlaws are back in town looking to raise hell. Enter the SmokeStack Twins – two sides of one dangerous coin, both played with wild-eyed brilliance by Michael B. Jordan in his most untamed performance yet. Jordan’s turn as both Smoke, a cold, grizzled war vet with a stare that’ll burn a hole through you and Stack, a fiery, fast-talking smooth operator with a devilish grin is nothing short of magnetic. These aren’t just dual roles; they’re dueling spirits, bound by blood and guilt, fueled by ambition and haunted by the sins of the past. Back from Chicago with bullets in their pockets and ghosts on their shoulders, the Twins have a plan: open their own juke joint, throw the kind of party that echoes through the ages, and finally put their violent legacy to bed. But as that old Southern saying goes — “when you dance with the devil, don’t expect to lead.” And oh baby, the devil does show up.
Just as the party hits its fever pitch, in slithers Remmick, played with snarling, scene-devouring menace by Jack O’Connell. This isn’t your elegant, cape-wearing Dracula type. Remmick is all bloodlust and id, a sadistic Irish-fried Nosferatu, rolling in with a clan of pale-faced, fanged degenerates who turn the Twins’ juke joint into a literal bloodbath. What follows is part siege movie, part supernatural thriller, and part adrenaline-charged shootout, with Coogler orchestrating the madness like a maestro of mayhem. O’Connell chews the screen as Remmick, tapping into pure animal rage with a performance that’s as magnetic as it is malevolent. There’s no negotiation here. He’s not some ancient vampire hiding behind charm; he’s the other kind, the kind that rips and shreds and screams. And once he sinks his teeth in, Sinners becomes a roaring, bullet-riddled hellride to dawn.
But what’s fire without a little desire? Enter Hailee Steinfeld as Mary, Stack’s former flame and one hell of a femme fatale. Picture Jane Russell dipped in honey and danger. Steinfeld smoulders with raw energy as she slinks back into the Twins’ orbit. She’s sultry, unpredictable, and every bit as lethal as the bloodsuckers stalking the night. There’s a burning tension between Mary and Stack that never lets up, and Steinfeld commands every second of it, giving the film a sensual pulse that thumps as hard as the music.
And the music – oh lordy, the music. Coogler doesn’t just use the blues as a backdrop: he weaponizes it. Scored to the blistering talents of Ludwig Göransson and his wife Serena, Sinners pulses with the soulful ache of Howlin’ Wolf, the deep rhythms of the Delta, and the electrifying rage of Southern roots music. The score drives the film, giving it grit, heart, and spine. And in one jaw-dropping, soul-shaking moment, Coogler delivers the kind of sequence that filmmakers dream about. Preacher Boy Samuel (Miles Caton) stepping into the spotlight in a 360-degree tracking shot as he channels music from the other side. It’s cinematic alchemy, a scene that sings with ancestral power and musical fury, and it’ll leave your jaw on the sticky juke joint floor.
Coogler defies genres with Sinners, tearing down the walls between action, horror, musical, and gangster flick with an outlaw’s grin and a fistful of style. He doesn’t just bend tropes, he stomps on them in snakeskin boots and sets them on fire. From moonlit vampire carnage to full-auto Tommy gun shootouts, to the haunted blues pouring from every crevice of the Mississippi night, Sinners feels like a mad love letter to cinema itself.
But what really elevates Sinners is Coogler’s ability to ground the supernatural in truth. This isn’t fantasy for fantasy’s sake, there’s weight here. Drawing from Southern folklore, African American history, and his own family lineage, Coogler crafts a film that’s not just about monsters, it’s about legacy. About the sins we inherit, the violence we carry, and the music we use to drown out the cries of the past.
And yeah, it’s gory. Like, gnarly, rip-your-face-off gory. When the siege hits its peak and the juke joint becomes a battleground, it’s a full-on, blood-soaked ballet of carnage. Stakes in the heart, severed limbs, fire, fang, and fury – Coogler goes full grindhouse and doesn’t blink. Yet somehow, the carnage never feels gratuitous. It’s cathartic. A howl of rage and redemption that leaves you breathless.
Every frame of Sinners is soaked in style, every beat feels earned, and when the credits roll, you’ll want to light a cigarette, pour a bourbon, and cue up a Howlin’ Wolf record just to stay in that headspace a little longer. Because Sinners isn’t just a film. It’s an experience. A sweat-drenched, blood-drenched, sex-dripping, soul-burning rollercoaster ride that hits you in the gut and then makes you dance about it.
Hot. Sweaty. Sexy. Bloody. Brooding. Violent. Horny. Scary. Sinners is everything you want in a night at the movies and then some. Ryan Coogler didn’t just knock on the devil’s door. He kicked it off its hinges.
Image: Warner Brothers Pictures
