Still Thinking About Sinners

Few movies have stayed with me the way Ryan Coogler's Sinners has. Its power, beauty, and message have all lingered in my mind since seeing it over two weeks ago. Sinners is a genre-defying blend of supernatural horror, historical drama, and cultural commentary, set against the backdrop of 1930s Mississippi. It explores themes of racial oppression, cultural resilience, and the redemptive power of music. The story follows twin brothers, Smoke and Stack (both portrayed by Michael B. Jordan in a marvelous performance), who return to their hometown to open a juke joint, only to confront a vampiric evil that threatens their community.

Now, this sounds like the setup for a really fun vampire flick and Coogler delivers a bloody, violent final showdown that all vamp pictures need. What we get, though, is so much more than that. One sequence stands out. Smoke and Stack have opened the juke joint, a crowd of black people has arrived to dance to live blues. Coogler uses this moment to craft an historical journey of the role music has played in black culture throughout the ages. He weaves images of dancers from a variety of genres and eras, presenting them together as one. It is a startling and profound moment that underscores a core theme of the film: the need for safe spaces during a time of racial segregation.

Sinners is set during the Jim Crow era in Mississippi. The juke joint served as a place for black people to drink, dance, and enjoy a reprieve from the bigotry and hatred. That montage Coogler serves up portrays how integral juke joints and music clubs have been. It also serves as interesting counterpoint to the role of spirituality, which we see in the character of Sammie (Miles Caton). Sammie is a guitar virtuoso who agrees to play for Smoke and Stack despite admonition from his father of the demonic nature of playing that music. 

Once the juke joint scene starts (at this point, Sinners almost feels like a musical), we are introduced to the vampire element in the form of the Irishman, Remmick. After turning another white couple into vampires the three of them arrive at the club asking to be let in. They want to join together. Music unites us, Remmick says. He is charming, smooth, and his intentions sound pure. We in the audience know better, of course. The club's bouncer, Cornbread (a very fine Omar Benson Miller), is wary, too. Smoke and Stack insist that Cornbread not allow Remmick's group into the juke joint. This space is for black folks, they say. Remmick's offense at this is, of course, almost comically ironic. In a time and place when black people had to use separate drinking fountains and restrooms and couldn't even eat in white-owned restaurants, we find white people trying to charm their way into a black space under the guise of unity. This refusal by Smoke and Stack sets up the bloody third act where Remmick's trio begins the process of turning a horde of vampires loose on the joint. 

The elements in Sinners serve as metaphors for historical and ongoing racial injustices. Remmick and his band of vamps symbolize external forces that exploit and endanger marginalized communities. Their intrusion into the juke joint represents the persistent threats to black spaces and autonomy. All I still think about is how that juxtaposes with that aforementioned montage about music and black culture. When Remmick arrives, the juke joint is hopping and boisterous. The joy and exuberance is intoxicating. Surely there can be no harm in wishing to be part of such a communal experience. Remmick and company present themselves as allies. "I am your way out," he says. "This world already left you for dead. Won't let you build. Won't let you fellowship. We will do just that. Together. Forever."

Now, it is tempting to view Sinners as historical fiction about a time that no longer exists. It throws vampires in to make a point that no longer is relevant. Current events make it clear that the message is still all too relevant. That declaration from Remmick, sounding like an ally to marginalized they intend to exploit, feels all too familiar when I hear political speeches, commentary, or platforms. Coogler's movie tells us something about trusting the wrong people with what is most important. I especially thought about giving away one's cultural and social identity, personal identity, to those who aren't interested in protection but exploitation. And that train of thought led me to the title of another of my favorite vampire movie: Let The Right One In.