David Farnor | On 28, Jun 2025

Director: Ryan Coogler
Cast: Michael B Jordan, Miles Caton, Jack O’Connell, Saul Williams, Delroy Lindo, Wunmi Mosaku
Certificate: 15

In 2002, James Brown appeared in a BMW advert directed by Tony Scott that followed a musician selling his soul to the Devil. It was inspired, in part, by the legend of blues icon Robert Johnson, who lived for 100 years. Echoes of that legend can be heard again in Sinners. Ryan Coogler’s inspired riff on horror, music, legacy and living forever.

The film stars Michael B Jordan as Elijah Smoke and his twin brother, Elias Smoke – aka the Smokestack Twins. Having fled their home to seek fortune in Chicago – where they are reputed to have been running in Al Capone’s circles – they are now returning to Mississippi to bring brass, music and, most importantly, profitable business back to their old digs. Their plan? Start a juke joint in an old barn and bring in the punters by deploying their cousin, the astonishingly talented Sammie (played by the also astonishingly talented R&B musician Miles Caton).

Sammie is the son of a preacher man (Saul Williams), and we know from the off that his father doesn’t approve of the blues lifestyle. Can a musician find fame and pursue the blues and still hold on to God? That probingly personal question drives Sammie as both a character and guitarist, and Ryan Coogler thoughtful unpicks the way that the blues and spirituals are intertwined with faith, as a search for answers, expression and connection – and then opens up that spiritual vein one step further, as he subtly changes key from period drama into full-on horror.

A prologue sets the mood by telling us about music’s power to “pierce the veil between life and death” – and so, once Sammie starts to play, he attracts the attention of the sinister, Remmick (Jack O’Connell), a wandering Irishman with a taste for folk music, who just so happens to be a vampire. He heads up a hoard of bloodthirsty underlings – played by Lola Kirke and Peter Dreimanis – who form a literal band around him.

For Remmick, his music is a way to maintain a relationship with the past – and there’s a unique, beautiful and specific metaphor in the way the film compares music’s timeless, enduring existence with the undead life of a vampire. That takes on another layer as Remmick seeks to acquire Sammie’s talents and bring them into his own fold: the vampiric offer of freedom and escape from the pain of life is also a form of consumption and appropriation. There’s a rich undercurrent of commerce, creativity, Black culture, colonialism and prejudice that amplifies every precisely composed beat of Coogler’s impeccable script.

And all this is before the party gets started. A patient first act lays down an entertaining groove, as Sammie and the Smokestack twins recruit veteran pianist and harmonica player Delta Slim (Delroy Lindo), field worker and old friend Cornbread (Omar Miller) as their joint’s bouncer, shop owners Grace and Bo Chow (Li Jun Li and Yao) as their food and drink suppliers, and cooking whizz and Hoodoo herbalist Annie (Wunmi Mosaku) – who is also Smoke’s estranged wife. Complicating things further is Stack’s ex-girlfriend, Mary (Hailee Steinfeld), who still has feelings for him.

The main ensemble are exceptional, bringing a natural chemistry to their relationships with a lived-in weight and intimacy. Michael B Jordan subtly finds the differences between the brothers, down to a masterful, unspoken touch involving a cigarette, but they both share a passion and determination that makes you root for their dream of creating an unforgettable night for anyone in the Clarksdale area.

Jack O’Connell is creepily almost-charming as the villain stepping into their space. He’s initially outwardly friendly but too bold in his impositions, with a hollow note that makes him intimidating and untrustworthy – he’s a superb counterpoint to Jordan’s confident, striding presence. Amid the rising tensions, Delroy Lindo steals the entire show as Delta Slim, a man who is loyal to the end, unless there’s a bottle of drink in it for him. Lindo, who deserved and Oscar for Da 5 Bloods and every plaudit going for The Good Fight, is a delight here, effortlessly finding a key between melancholy and laugh-out-loud comic relief. “White folks like the blues just fine, they just don’t like the people who make it,” he sharply observes – and there’s a tangible horror to seeing people trying to take the Smokestack twins’ self-built refuge and escape away from them.

As things modulate into a From Dusk Till Dawn-style scenario, Sinners just gets better and better. Coogler mounts a stunning set piece that effectively spans the movie’s whole second half, upping the gore and style without descending into confusing chaos and maintaining the simple but effective visual device of using red and blue costumes to distinguish between Jordan’s brothers.

As the stakes become clearer, and more supernatural, Sinners explicits meditates on how music can be used for good or evil, and, in one jaw-dropping crescendo halfway through, how it – and the blues, specifically – ties together people across generations. It’s a source of fellowship, identity and healing – and, when it’s played in the right hands by a master artist, it’s utterly intoxicating. Immersive, distinctive and endlessly creative, Sinners is one of the best films of 2025 – and a horror legend in its own right.

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