Sinners did something I haven’t seen in a long time. I didn’t catch it right when it dropped. I came to it a little late, which feels on brand for me and a lot of other Black folks who sometimes operate on CP Time.
It had been on my radar, mainly because of the powerhouse duo of Ryan Coogler and Michael B. Jordan, who directed and starred in the film, respectively. From Fruitvale Station to Creed and Black Panther, these two continue to redefine excellence in modern Black entertainment. Their partnership is a testament to what can happen when Black filmmakers support one another in an industry that often sidelines us. As Black movie directors and producers, Coogler and Jordan are setting a new standard for Black representation in media, one that is authentic, layered, and community driven. Their work reflects a healthy brotherhood, deep friendship, and powerful business partnership that models successful unity within the world of Black artists and creatives. In an industry that has historically marginalized Black entertainers and creatives behind the camera and on camera, their ongoing success feels revolutionary. Together, they are breaking barriers and reimagining what’s possible for Black representation in Hollywood and beyond, as seen in Sinners.
What immediately stood out to me about Sinners was that it was an original IP completely free from an existing franchise or cinematic universe. It was something bold, fresh, and new. All I knew going in was that it was Coogler, Jordan and a strong supporting cast, and that it had something to do with vampires. What drew me in even more was how Coogler engaged with audiences during the press tour whether through breaking down visual language, discussing the technical craft, and being transparent about the creative process. He wasn’t just promoting a film; he was inviting us into the art of filmmaking itself. That kind of honesty and intentionality builds trust and makes you want to lean in even closer.
It became clear that this was more than just a movie. This was a cultural moment. A collective experience. The film’s success is undeniable. It was dominating the box office, lighting up the timeline, and inspiring repeat viewings with some going back two, three, even four times. The hype wasn’t fading; it was building. So, I went.
And when I walked out of that theater…
I was speechless.
From the moment the credits rolled, I understood the hype. Sinners felt completely new, yet strangely familiar. Every detail felt intentional. The storytelling was layered, poetic, and rich with purpose. My mind couldn’t stop racing. What struck me instantly was how differently it landed for everyone I talked to. My interpretation didn’t align with my friends’, and as I kept talking to others, I realized: Sinners is an even more deeply layered film than I initially assumed. Everyone walks away with something unique. That’s why people keep returning. Each viewing uncovers new meaning, new symbols, new truths.
It reminded me of replaying a favorite song. You catch something new every time like a lyric, a beat, an emotion that hits differently depending on where you are in life. Since watching it, I’ve been asking people what they took from it. And if they haven’t seen it, I urge them to go. Not just to watch, but to experience it. Because every voice, every perspective, adds to the larger conversation.
Sinners isn’t just a vampire film. It’s not just horror. Sure, it wears the visual language of horror, but it’s rooted in something far deeper. Historically, horror has always served as a reflection of the anxieties of its time. The best horror unsettles us not just because of monsters, but because it exposes truths we’d rather ignore. Sinners does this with a distinctly cultural and historical lens. It’s not only about fear. It’s about identity, memory, lineage, resistance.
Ryan Coogler didn’t just make a genre film. He made a cultural artifact. A love letter. A spiritual reckoning. A piece of living, breathing art that honors Blackness in all its complexity. You can feel it in every frame: religion, race, trauma, legacy, joy, love, and survival. It’s expansive but precise. Not monolithic, but richly interconnected.
Sinners opens the door to layered conversations deeply reflective of the Black experience. Some of the conversations I’ve had center around the tension between twin brothers Stack and Smoke’s romantic lives, with one navigating an interracial relationship with a Black woman who is White-passing, and the other embodying the complexities of Black love. These contrasts highlight relationship traumas, colorism, and the nuanced process of navigating biracial identity. At the same time, they underscore the healing potential and freedom found in healthy Black relationships and the value of honoring healthy boundaries in relationships.
Annie, who many have mistaken for Stack’s mother or aunt based on how the film has been promoted, subtly exposes internalized biases around aging, beauty, and desirability especially when it comes to dark-skinned Black women. Her character opens up space for deeper reflection on love, spirituality, and a character who extends beyond the stereotypical mammy role.
Blues music plays a central role in the film, carrying the weight of history, grief, and ancestral power. The sounds of blues music echo throughout the narrative, serving as a connective thread between generations and as a tool of resistance. The contributions of Black musicians are portrayed not simply as entertainment, but as sacred expressions that channel cultural preservation, spiritual truth, and emotional release. Gospel music, gospel jazz music, and Southern soul music also subtly inform the film’s sonic atmosphere, paying homage to the deep-rooted influence of Black jazz musicians and the legacy of Black musical traditions.
The intimacy and vulnerability shared between Stack, Smoke, and their younger cousin, Preacher Boy, challenge the harmful stereotypes often imposed on Black men. Their brotherhood creates space for emotional complexity, tenderness, and healing which move beyond the stoicism that is so often expected.
Sinners doesn’t shy away from the heavier themes either. It confronts the broader systemic forces that continue to shape and suppress Black life from the suffocating grip of capitalism to the evolving face of exploitation and modern colonization, now disguised as opportunity, ownership, and access. The film reminds us that evil must be invited in. It doesn’t just appear and in doing so, it prompts reflection on the roles we each play in either perpetuating or resisting harm.
Sinners doesn’t tell us what to think, it prompts us to feel, reflect, question, and discuss. That’s what powerful art does: it helps us look inward and connect outward. Scroll through social media or talk to anyone who’s seen it, and you’ll notice that no two takeaways are the same. Everyone finds something different. A line, a scene, a symbol, a melody. The film is full of open-ended doors and that’s intentional. And that’s what makes Sinners brilliant. It captures the cinematic feeling of Blackness. It arrives at a moment when we’re still questioning what safety, visibility, and freedom truly mean and feel like. At a time when division is rampant, and Blackness is criminalized, commodified, and misunderstood. When we’re constantly pulled between individual survival and communal responsibility. When we’re asking: What is freedom outside capitalism, white supremacy, exploitation, lust, greed, and generations of historical, cultural, and spiritual disconnection? When simply navigating the world and being allowed to feel what we feel can be a struggle in itself.
Sinners explores what it means to be loyal, to belong, to believe, to resist. It echoes the complexity of navigating Blackness in the 1930s, a period of survival and fear that still lingers today. The horror isn’t just supernatural, it’s systemic. It reminds us that even if we survive what haunts us at night, we still face the violence that exists in broad daylight. No amount of wealth, colorism, migration, or proximity to power or Whiteness can fully shield us. The monsters or temptations may change shape, but the dangers remain. And just because we’re alive doesn’t mean we’re truly living. What endures and what brings us life is our capacity to choose: to choose love, to choose life, to choose each other. To build family and community rooted in love in all its forms: self-love, communal love, familial love, romantic love, cultural love, and more. Even when society and the world feel unstable, these are the things that ground us. They remind us that while we may not always be protected, we are never powerless and we can still feel fully, deeply alive.
That’s why this film is hitting so hard and why even people who usually avoid horror are showing up. Because Sinners is more than a movie; it’s a gathering. A conversation. A mirror. A moment. The music, the setting, the wardrobe and everything in between, they don’t just support the story; they live in it. Like music, Sinners is timeless. It reaches across generations, across the diaspora. It’s a cautionary tale and a celebration all at once. It warns of what happens when we give others access to our world without boundaries. And it shows the beauty of protecting and preserving what’s sacred.
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