‘Sinners’: Coogler’s pulse-pounding blood-red passion sings the blues…

Two brothers, Smoke and Stack (both played by Michael B Jordan) return to the Mississippi Delta after years away. They’ve served in World War One and, later, in the Chicago Underworld of Capone. Now they’ve finagled money, escaping with enough cold hard cash and Irish beer to open up their own juke joint. They call in old favours from friends and competitors alike, all to get their establishment up and running as quickly as possible, even striking a deal for land and isolation from nearby landowners who likely spend their own nights burning crosses.

But even as they overcome old rivalries and make sure to get their joint jumping, their history follows them. Their young cousin Sammie has an almost preternatural ability with a guitar, but an immediate family that think it’s the devil’s music; Stack’s ex-lover Mary (Hailee Steinfeld), a woman of mixed-race but often mistaken for white, comes looking to rekindle and redefine their relationship and Pearline, a dissatisfied married woman eyes up Sammie as a potential alternative.

However, for all the problems bubbling away within, there’s a different danger heading their way. Even as the blues echo out across the bayou, there’s a different beat pulsing towards the party and this kind of soul music doesn’t take prisoners…

*some spoilers*

Vampires are old-school monsters, but they are also almost perfect candidates for examining the human condition. Whether they be the demons of the classics, the tormented yet somehow misunderstood outliers of more contemporary tales or even of the sparkly, angsty millennial version, they’re often useful as a stand-in for something else. Like all good fantasy, a good or great story can slip in a monster as a metaphor and, when used wisely can provide both the chill of the spine and a prick of a conscience. With Sinners, Ryan Coogler takes up the chalice and challenge and heads to the Deep South, gleefully slicing away at conflicting cultures, offering an unapologetic and sliding scale of societal powerplays, sometimes with a smile, sometimes with a razor. Those who want a traditional slice-and-dice horror film will find much to satiate them once the carnage eventually begins, but those looking for something that positively rattles and hums with something more will also enjoy the show.

The casting is spot-on. Jordan handles the brothers’ roles well. If, for the early scenes, they are hard to distinguish, it seems to be on purpose, though the way the story develops and the differences develop become more overt as the story progresses. Steinfeld (most recently seen in more family-friendly Hawkeye) continues to be a versatile presence, here slinking across the screen and holding her own. There’s able support from veteran Delroy Lindo as alcohol-soaked bluesman Delta Slim; Wunmi Mosaku plays the spiritually-savvy Annie, Li Jun Li (as Grace) and Bo Chow (as Yao) cater the forlorn event while Omar Benson Miller (as Cornbread) acts as a doorman and bouncer who becomes a person who isn’t the right one to let in.

Undoubtedly, the film’s soundtrack is the pulsating, bloody yet mesmeric heart of this beast. It’s hard to remember a film where the music is not only so good, but so important to proceedings. Whether it be the crooning blues of the bayou, the foot-stomping, barn-storming bluegrass songs, sung from the soul and played with aching fingers or the infectious Irish melodies that haunt the night, there’s barely a moment where music isn’t the spine of everything that’s happening or that will…

Pacing is, arguably, uneven with a feeling that the film – like some of its characters – is at war with primal aspects of itself. Sometimes those obvious themes soar, plummet and dovetail majestically, sometimes alternatively cramming metaphors together or letting them meander leads to frustration. It all feels specifically nuanced but also with some moments of messy indulgence, yet both working to be the eventual sum of those parts. Coogler makes the calculated decision to fully immerse us in a sense of time and place – a devotion to the trials and tribulations of the Jim Crow era of the American South and the changing fortunes of its black communities. It certainly makes us care about the people we meet, but the supernatural darkness we know is coming takes a long while to manifest, initially supplanted by the all-too-human social tensions of the day. Before fangs are featured, there’s already fraternal conflict, complicated love-lives and the sadly ever-present lurking of an intolerant Klan around the edges.

When the carnage does begin, it comes in a series of brutal waves. There is the initial, creeping horror of an enemy that is quite literally within – invading the barn where the festivities are taking place and under the skin of those who were once friends. But even when the initial predators are repelled, it’s only a matter of time before they find their way back in and that’s when an all-out battle begins. There’s a series of familiar genre homage and touchstones here. The insidious nature of something dangerous and ‘Other’ brings to mind the grungy classic Near Dark, the more outrageous aspects echo Tarantino’s less-restrained From Dusk ‘Til Dawn and there’s more than an overt nod to the likes of the timeless Crossroads (the Ralph Macchio film, not the Britney Spears romp or the British soap).

Ultimately, Coogler plays to his known strengths and interests, a powerhouse, driven and passionate director with an enviable record who knows the story he wants to tell and the history that he wants to expose. Yet sometimes he throws so much into the mix to do so that the story boils rather than simmers. Coogler adds some epilogues, one that feels unnecessary and another two during/after the credits that adds a new timeless air to the fates of key characters.

There’s arguably nothing ‘new’ here, merely a knowing combination of something ancient and timeless – but the mix is a potent force. Some scenes do positively sizzle (an abstract fever-dream sequence in which past, present and future musicians jam together to show the power of music is fantastic, but a last-minute denouement for those Klan neighbours seems to belabour a point already made). However, its many strengths outnumber the indulgences and Sinners is a worthy edition to the higher-echelons of the modern vampire genre, standing on its own merits, be they visual, audio or just guilty-pleasure. There’s also the chance for a potential franchise that could be built not just by repeating and emulating what’s on show here as a pragmatic money-maker, but by genuinely expanding the world-building for which Coogler has started the fantastical and emotive foundations.