Sinners

Ryan Coogler Struggles to Harmonize Horror and History

Ryan Coogler was pulled into the franchise machine soon after his debut feature Fruitvale Station (2013). Since then, he’s revived the Rocky franchise with Creed (2015) and entered the Marvel Cinematic Universe with his two Black Panther films. Along the way, he’s helped elevate other filmmakers as a producer, including Steven Caple Jr. (Creed II (2018)), Shaka King (Judas and the Black Messiah (2021)), and his longtime collaborator Michael B. Jordan in his directorial debut, Creed III (2023). But Coogler’s return to an original project has taken over a decade—and it’s finally here with his horror film Sinners (2025).

Sinners is set in 1930s Mississippi, where twin brothers Smoke and Stack (both played by Jordan) return from Chicago with dubiously acquired wealth. They plan to open a juke club featuring some of the best blues musicians in the county, including the veteran Delta Slim (Delroy Lindo) and a young prodigy, Sammie Moore (Miles Caton). The film unfolds over the course of a single day and night—the club’s grand opening—as the local Black community comes together for one night of freedom, even as a sinister presence, the white stranger Remmick (Jack O’Connell), looms in the shadows.

Written solely by Coogler—his first solo screenplay since Fruitvale Station—Sinners is another contained, one-day narrative that attempts to capture a lifetime’s worth of relationships, regrets, and social commentary within limited hours. That structure proved devastatingly effective in Fruitvale Station, which builds toward its tragic climax with intimate care. But in Sinners, Coogler seems caught between two impulses: indulging in the B-movie, grindhouse horror influences that inspire the film’s genre moments, or focusing on the more character-driven and historical themes—the psychological toll of the Great Migration, and the disconnect between those who left and those who stayed behind in the South. Coogler appears far more invested in the latter. The supernatural, though occasionally potent, feels like an afterthought, more interested in the transcendent power of music than any monster lurking in the dark.

It’s in its treatment of music—especially the blues—that Sinners finds its most magical and resonant moments. The film opens with a voiceover that posits great music as a force capable of transcending time and space, collapsing past, present, and future into a shared liminal space. That power, however, also attracts evil. If that last twist feels tacked-on, it’s because it does in the film too. Still, Sinners delivers one of the most breathtaking scenes in recent cinema when Sammie plays his first song: the crowd is overtaken by the melody, and suddenly we see a man with an electric guitar burst forth, a DJ spinning on stage, dancers in 90s hip-hop gear twerking beside figures dressed in pre-colonial West African garb. It’s a breathtaking collision of generations—a moment reminiscent of the floating audience in Rocketman (2019) or the invisible band-mates session in Begin Again (2013). It’s Coogler at his most inspired—but the spell is broken when the film pivots to a jarring final act of standard horror fare.

When Sinners does veer into horror, the scenes are gripping, with impactful choreography and tense staging. But they barely last ten minutes. Much of the rest is spent with characters deciphering supernatural lore, doubting themselves, and moving through familiar survival beats. The film even tosses in some questionable character sacrifices and lazy twist endings, all of which feel like setup for a potential franchise rather than a satisfying standalone. It’s a tonal and thematic clash with the richer, more historical story that begins the film.

As with most of Coogler’s work, Michael B. Jordan leads the cast, this time pulling double duty as both twins. Jordan remains an incredibly charismatic performer, with undeniable screen presence—but he struggles to distinguish Smoke from Stack. While Robert Pattinson gave a masterclass in differentiating clones in Mickey 17 (2025), here, aside from costuming, the brothers blur into one another. Fortunately, the supporting cast shines. Wunmi Mosaku and Hailee Steinfeld deliver strong performances as former flames of the twins, while Lindo once again steals scenes as a drunken veteran bluesman. But the real standout is newcomer Miles Caton, who not only sings beautifully but also grounds the film with a tender, restrained performance as a young man caught between opportunity and temptation, never losing his sense of self.

On a technical level, Sinners is as polished as Coogler’s past films, with lush costuming, atmospheric production design, a distinctive score by Ludwig Göransson, and some chilling practical makeup effects during horror sequences. The film begins as a compelling character study and exploration of historical displacement, then flirts with magical realism through the intergenerational power of music. But the horror elements feel stapled on, and Coogler himself seems disinterested in them, offering only brief, undercooked genre thrills near the end.

In the end, Sinners is a fascinating but uneven film—one that shows Coogler straining between commercial pressures and his own artistic instincts. It's still worth watching for its ambition and moments of brilliance, but it also leaves you wishing he’d followed his original voice all the way through.

6.6/10