Sinners arrived earlier this year riding considerable hype, bolstered by the star power of Michael B. Jordan and Hailee Steinfeld. Directed by Ryan Coogler, I went in with no knowledge of the story, premise, or critical response. To my surprise, I found myself engaged throughout. Coogler’s past work , notably Black Panther and the Creed films, never resonated with me, so I didn’t expect much. In fact, had I known in advance this was his project, I likely would have not have given it a chance. 

Before diving further into the plot, it’s worth examining the characters, who are truly the heart of Sinners. Their arcs, performances, and interactions carry much of the film’s weight, and understanding them is key to appreciating how the story unfolds.

The strongest element of Sinners lies in its character work. The film takes its time showing how each figure’s life has been shaped by the realities of the Jim Crow South, making their struggles and ambitions feel lived-in. That grounding pays off;  it’s easy to become invested in their arcs. Coogler supports this with striking cinematography, particularly in sequences of the Twins driving down dusty Delta roads, gathering old friends against a backdrop of cotton fields. The technical side holds up as well: the audio design is sharp, and the soundtrack adds depth without overwhelming the narrative.

When I first realized Michael B. Jordan would be playing twins, I was understandably skeptical. Yet the twins’ backstory: working for Capone in Chicago, securing a massive score, and returning to Mississippi to open a juke joint proved compelling. The film does a remarkable job showing how the community evolved in their absence, while everyone still either respected, loved, or feared them. Jordan instills the characters with charisma and gravitas, providing a dynamic center for the story to orbit around.

R&B singer Miles Caton, stepping into acting for the first time, delivers the standout performance of the film. Little Sammy’s journey from a preacher’s son cautiously navigating the lifestyle of sinners to a young man asserting his ambition beyond the Delta, is handled with nuance. One of his defining moments, at the train station, standing his ground with Delta Slim and Pearline, captures the essence of his early development. Musically, the character is vibrant and integral to the narrative, a natural fit given Caton’s real-life talents. The closing scenes, showing Little Sammy reunited with Stack and Mary decades later in Chicago, provide a rare moment of mystery in an otherwise meticulously foreshadowed story.

Annie, portrayed by Wunmi Mosaku, is one of the film’s most compelling characters. A strong, witty Hoodoo practitioner and herbalist, she serves as a protector for her community, relying on her instincts and spiritual practices to guide and defend those around her, including her long-lost lover, Smoke. Her role during the vampire invasion, insisting that Smoke drive a wooden stake through her heart to prevent her soul from being replaced, highlights her agency and creates a truly heartbreaking and memorable moment for the audience. Annie’s deep connection to her culture and spirituality, coupled with her past with Smoke and the shared loss of their daughter, adds emotional weight and richness to the narrative, providing the audience with a grounded, human anchor amid the supernatural chaos.

Remmick, the Irishman-turned-vampire, is a villain both terrifying and darkly humorous. James O’Connell delivers a performance that is simultaneously evil, human, and eerily charismatic. If not for Caton’s performance, this would be the best performance in the film. His portrayal draws parallels between heaven and hell within the Jim Crow South and highlights the illusory freedoms afforded to black communities, suggesting how submission to the vampires might have been “better” in a grotesque sense. The role demanded musicality and physicality and O’Connell utilized those attributes to command every scene he occupies, making him an undeniably compelling antagonist.

Hailee Steinfeld’s character, Mary, is less memorable as she is attractive, though she delivers a few notable moments, particularly a climactic sex scene in which she kills Stack. While her presence is limited, it arguably benefits the film, granting Steinfeld enough to make an impact without overshadowing the richly developed cast.

While the ensemble cast brings depth and nuance to the story, the film’s structure doesn’t always serve them well. As the narrative shifts from character-driven moments to broader plot mechanics, the pacing begins to falter, revealing some tonal inconsistencies that affect how the story unfolds.

The film opens with a two-minute tangent that felt oddly Disney-esque to me (light, whimsical, and frankly, kind of lame). It sets up the climax so transparently that the rest of the movie becomes a waiting game. For the first hour or so, the audience isn’t really discovering anything; we’re just sitting around waiting for the inevitable chaos to unfold. That early reveal robs the story of tension and mystery, which could’ve made the buildup far more compelling.

One of the film’s most striking qualities is its heavy use of foreshadowing; some subtle, others glaringly overt. Early on, the priest warns his son, Little Sammy, that if he keeps dancing with the devil that one day the devil will follow him home. This line is immediately followed by a “one day earlier” title card, which leaves little mystery about the dark events to come. 

Visually, the cinematography shines in moments like the car ride through dusty backroads and cotton fields, as the twins return from Chicago and reconnect with old friends. Those scenes are beautifully shot and carry a nostalgic weight. Symbolism is woven throughout, such as the killing of a snake in the back of a truck; a clear nod to ancient and biblical associations of serpents with evil. The audio work is also worth mentioning: the soundtrack complements the mood well, and the overall sound design adds depth to the setting without being overbearing.

That said, certain choices undercut the tension. Grace’s decision to let all the vampires in with a simple command compresses what could have been a drawn-out, terrifying confrontation into a brief scene. A more deliberate buildup, perhaps a dawn showdown between the Klan and the vampires, might have delivered a more gripping climax, and even offered a darkly clever allegory for the monstrous reality of the Klan.

I didn’t expect Sinners to land as a horror film, but it succeeds in surprising and engaging its audience. The performances are strong, even outstanding in several key moments, and the script largely holds up, balancing character development with suspense. While a few plot points stumble or could have been handled differently, the film remains compelling and well-crafted. Its 7.6 rating on IMDb feels appropriate.