Ryan Coogler’s ‘Sinners’: A Cinematic Revolution on Ownership and Freedom

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[This story contains spoilers for Sinners.]

Frequently, a movie doesn’t initially appear, but when it does, it becomes evident that it’s a crucial addition to the cinematic world, filling an unrecognized gap in our society. However, Ryan Coogler’s Sinners is exactly such a film. Sinners transcends being just a fantastic vampire movie, which is remarkable given the exhaustive exploration of the subgenre. Instead, it’s simply an outstanding film, a modern American masterpiece that can proudly stand alongside other classics that have been bestowed with

What does this do? It establishes markers, symbolically speaking, in the past, present, and future, creating a profound encounter that echoes throughout different eras and locations, touching on our deep-rooted connection with art, culture, ownership, and their respective claims. Coogler explores the very essence of freedom and possession using horror, music, narrative, faith, and his own role as a director within the studio environment.

Within the storyline of Sinners, there’s also a broader debate unfolding. The agreement between Ryan Coogler and Warner Bros., allowing him to retain rights to the movie in 25 years, has sparked intense discussion during its opening weekend. Some industry insiders have labeled it risky or even a possible studio-killer. However, the statement made by the New York Times about the film’s box office performance, “Mr. Coogler will then own it, despite not paying for it,” is misleading. Implying that Coogler doesn’t deserve ownership of his creations, or even suggesting he’s stealing them, is a significant error in judgment. Furthermore, this argument overlooks the fact that Coogler’s production company, Proximity Media, did invest money into the film.

However, it’s hard to imagine anyone, given their recent experiences, leaving Sinners without questioning the notion that corporations should have eternal rights to something they didn’t invent. This argument, which seems to justify contemporary exploitation, may have originated, consciously or unconsciously, in racial biases. Interestingly, Quentin Tarantino secured a similar agreement with Sony for Once Upon a Time in Hollywood, retaining the rights in 20 years. This move was applauded by industry experts without any hint of potential issues.

As a passionate gamer, I cherish the concepts of autonomy and possession, deeply ingrained in American culture and perhaps even more so in human nature. We yearn for liberation from constraints that hinder our lifestyle, self-expression, and personal aspirations. However, freedom doesn’t come without its costs; often, it’s tied to what we possess or, unfortunately, who we believe we possess.

We feel free of financial burdens when we can showcase ownership of a house or car. We feel liberated from spiritual constraints due to the form of worship we own and customize according to our preferences. We feel unbound by societal norms when we hold papers proving our status. But, as wisdom often reminds us, what we own ultimately owns us. The things that make some people free can be a shinier set of chains for others.

Ryan Coogler examines the illusion of liberty in the Mississippi Delta during 1932, just 67 years after the formal abolition of slavery in the U.S. Most Black inhabitants are sharecroppers, continuing to cultivate the same cotton fields their ancestors had for generations. They possess few tangible or societal benefits (as evaluated by white standards) despite their labor. Their homes are modest shacks situated on plantation land, and opportunities for advancement are limited, with the only apparent paths being to become a preacher or to gamble on moving elsewhere. Throughout this struggle, the Ku Klux Klan is actively operating. Although they have legal freedom, it doesn’t feel liberating, a theme Coogler emphasizes at the conclusion of his film.

Regardless of the appearance of freedom, Black life persists with vigor, even amid struggle and hardship. The opening scenes of the movie present an intricate harmony that only a filmmaker deeply connected to the location and its inhabitants could achieve. Although these circumstances are far from ideal, Coogler refrains from exploiting Black pain or tragedy, recognizing that our struggles are interwoven with our narrative and rhythm. This way of living is not merely existence; it’s the Blues—a genre that carries neither sorrow nor entertainment devoid of joy.

The movie revolves around Sammie (Miles Caton), a budding Blues guitarist who dreams of making it big in music. However, his father, Jedidiah (Saul Williams), is apprehensive about this career choice, fearing it will lead him down a path to the Devil. The film subtly blends past, present, and future events, and Jedidiah’s cautionary tale for Sammie echoes that of Robert Johnson, a renowned Delta Blues musician and singer from the 20th century. Johnson is considered one of the most influential musicians of his time and even earned the title as the first rock star. Tragically, he died at the young age of 27 under enigmatic circumstances, but before his untimely demise, he released his iconic single “Me and the Devil Blues.

The strange events surrounding Johnson’s death led to stories that he had made a deal with the Devil at a crossroads for his musical talent. This tale brings to mind similar fears about Sammie, as he initially appears covered in blood, with facial scratches and looking weak. However, this isn’t a horror movie, but a story where powerful music (composed by Caton and Ludwig Goransson) can offer redemption rather than condemnation. While it may not save us from eternal suffering, it could help us find salvation, even if temporarily. And as Sammie discovers through his twin cousins, overcoming sins might be the key to defeating the Devil and experiencing genuine freedom, albeit for a short time.

Prior to the narrative of the movie, identical twins Smoke and Stack (portrayed by Michael B. Jordan) experienced combat together during World War I before migrating to Chicago, where they became bootleggers working under Al Capone. Their pursuit was not merely for independence from their hometown haunted by their abusive father and the traumatic experiences of war, but also freedom from emotional pain as both had left behind the women they loved. For Smoke, this is Annie (Wunmi Mosaku), a practitioner of hoodoo and root magic who had a child with him. For Stack, it’s Mary (Hailee Steinfeld), a woman with mixed heritage, who feels more connected to the African American community she was raised among than her white in-laws, making their relationship precarious due to the societal taboo of interracial relationships. Smoke and Stack thought that abandoning their past and the people who shaped them would bring a certain kind of freedom, but they couldn’t elude the past. Instead, what they required was not to flee from it, but to confront it, reconcile with it, and unearth the ancestral strength hidden within it, which they could not do under the scrutiny of their oppressors.

Despite America providing a new beginning for some, it serves as a stark reminder that racial prejudice restricts true liberty for Smoke and Stack, no matter where they go. They perceive Chicago not as a vibrant city, but as another plantation disguised by skyscrapers instead of fields. This sentiment is chilling and painfully accurate. It was true in the past, and unfortunately, in many aspects, it still rings true today. There’s nothing quite like the unsettling reality of traversing this nation, a land constructed by our forebears through slave labor, and continuing to feel unwelcome, constantly aware of surveillance and mistreatment legitimized by badges and laws.

In a nation with a history of forced labor and KKK surveillance, it’s not too distant from the one where Oscar Grant III, the protagonist of Coogler’s debut film, “Fruitvale Station” (2013), was fatally shot by a police officer who served an 11-month sentence for his actions. In such a place where human life seems disposable, we must strive to establish something enduring, a legacy that can’t be taken away.

In a former sawmill, pilfered funds are used by Smoke and Stack to establish a dance hall, which they purchase unwittingly from the local Ku Klux Klan leader who intends to transform it into a hideous slaughterhouse for its inhabitants. However, the evening takes an unexpected turn. “For us, by us” is Stack’s declaration, invoking the spirit of Daymond John’s groundbreaking clothing line, FUBU, one of the most thriving Black businesses ever, whose initial meaning was diluted as it expanded with various partners and collaborators.

In addition to their involvement in a mob heist, it’s worth noting another complex aspect: Capone had connections with the U.S. government. This relationship between organized crime and government officials grew stronger post-World War II. The twins didn’t just rob the mob; they also, indirectly, targeted a U.S. government that neglected their reparations while financially supporting illegal activities of white immigrants, who would eventually be identified with mainstream American culture. Fear of immigration began to focus solely on those lacking distinct white features.

In the movie “Sinners,” the search for belonging, a crucial aspect of the Black American experience, is vividly portrayed not just through Smoke and Stack’s perspective, but also through various other characters. As Smoke, Stack, and Sammie work to establish their juke joint in the Mississippi Delta, they bring together a diverse group of people, each embodying different facets of the Black experience. Characters like Annie, Mary, Delta Slim (Delroy Lindo), Cornbread (Omar Benson Miller) and Pearline (Jayme Lawson) all play significant roles. However, “Sinners” transcends this focus, as Ryan Coogler skillfully weaves historical context into the narrative without narrowing it to a single group or theme. This approach allows for a more inclusive and holistic portrayal of this important period in history.

The significant contribution of Chinese immigrants to the Mississippi Delta, as well as their involvement within both the African-American community and the building of America, is underscored by Bo (Yao) and Grace (Li Jun Li), a married couple who own shops and whose heritage shapes Sammie’s Blues. These individuals prove indispensable partners when darkness falls. Inadvertently assuming the role of storytellers, Sammie safeguards the tales and lives of these people.

The key aspect that distinguishes Sammie from his counterpart Remmick in the movie, and what’s crucial to grasping Sammie’s role, is that he doesn’t hoard these tales; instead, he carries them with him. In a particularly poignant and inspiring scene, he uses these stories, along with his own narrative, to compose music that resonates with ancestral tunes and the future of music influenced by Blues – rock, country, funk, pop, and hip-hop. Sammie’s talent lies in his capacity to intertwine these narratives, infusing them with pain, joy, humor, and sharp intelligence, in a way that binds outsiders, making their sense of belonging indisputable. It isn’t the physical location of the juke joint that provides freedom, but rather the atmosphere it fosters. Even when the sawmill is destroyed, as depicted in a dreamlike montage Sammie evokes, the music continues, and the people dance.

In America, music is woven deeply into the fabric of daily life – from social gatherings and shopping sprees, to political campaigns and waiting in lines. It’s hard to imagine a modern tune without tracing its roots back to the Blues. Music isn’t just a part of our culture; it’s an integral piece that reflects who we are as a people, and unfortunately, that includes Black Americans, despite facing barriers in various aspects of life.

Regardless of those who choose to ignore us or silence our voices, we have managed to capture the attention of many – that’s power. And that’s exactly what Remmick seeks – not to share this power but to devour it.

It’s an intriguing choice to portray Remmick as Irish instead of a white American born in the south. This decision could be interpreted as a tribute to Bram Stoker, the Irish author who brought the world’s most famous vampire character to life through his novel Dracula. Moreover, the Irish people have endured colonization by the British Empire, and their predominantly Catholic faith was largely replaced by Protestantism. Interestingly, the negative consequences of colonization during this period in Ireland mirror those experienced by Africa during its own colonization by both America and Britain.

During times of famine and illness, Irish immigrants came to America, only to face mistreatment from native-born white Americans. As the Civil War unfolded, Irish gangs emerged, viewing African Americans as a threat to their property and wealth, resulting in conflicts between these mobs and Irish police forces. This clash is depicted in Leslie M. Harris’ book, In the Shadow of Slavery: African Americans in New York City 1626 -1863. Although anti-Irish sentiments persisted into the 20th century, many Irish were able to organize and secure positions within local government, eventually comprising a substantial portion of New York City’s police force. This became their own unique legacy.

Remmick’s longing for connection and community has roots in both his past and present. His call for unity and camaraderie echoes the atmosphere at Smoke and Stack’s juke joint, but it becomes problematic due to Remmick’s push for a uniform culture. This attempt to blend Black American and Chinese American experiences erases their unique aspects, ultimately making them indistinguishable from mainstream white culture.

Some people may assume that Remmick’s yearning for Sammie’s gift, which enables him to connect with his Irish ancestors, stems from a lack of ability in Irish or white culture to bridge the gap between the living and the deceased. However, this assumption is incorrect, as the opening prologue reveals that the Irish possess their own tradition of storytellers, known as the filidh, who are responsible for poetry and preserving oral history – a role once held by the druids.

Remmick doesn’t lack connections with his ancestors or have a distorted moral compass. Instead, it’s simpler for him to take, to strip a culture of its essence, blend it together, and then pass it off as his own creation, rather than putting in the effort to forge his own path towards connection. Moreover, since he can’t connect in the way Sammie did, Remmick is disconnected from his past, and despite having experienced oppression himself, he ends up becoming an oppressor, thinking that possessing something he didn’t create grants him liberty.

In a way, it’s fascinating to see how some of the themes from as far back as 1932 are still resonating today in Hollywood. Ryan Coogler’s “FUBU” (For Us, By Us) call was heeded, and the impact of “Sinners” will extend beyond the screen. It’s not just about the film itself, but the process behind it, the way it was nurtured and preserved.

Once upon a time, it was enough for Black creators to be grateful for the chance to create something, but that wasn’t true liberation. Real freedom, a sentiment that will endure, is to produce, own, and leave a legacy through your work—not just for yourself, but for the community. This isn’t just a personal journey, it’s a movement, much like the Blues.

This powerful work, titled “Sinners“, serves as both a triumphant cry and a soulful ballad echoing the American South. It’s a song born from and dedicated to those who labored to construct it, yet found themselves marginalized within its boundaries. The actions depicted in this piece are a reflection of that oppression, a struggle to reclaim what was rightfully theirs – forty acres of land and a mule, but with the added compensation of interest accrued over time.

Ryan Coogler infuses his work, Sinners, with ancient energies, making it seem enchanting and mystical. Just as any quality magic act should, it is breathtakingly beautiful, captivating, and promises entertainment. It’s a hit with audiences across the board. However, it also intertwines with the forces of nature in a way that suggests power, and carries an undercurrent of risk for those who question the transformative power that turns debt into freedom.

Although some progress has been made, the freedom promised to Black Americans may still be elusive. However, the contributions we’ve made – our music, stories, culture, and monuments – are not just part of our heritage, but also a shared legacy among us. Some white audiences might find this unsettling, particularly those who fear change or seek to control success. Yet, it’s important to clarify that Black Americans don’t aim to dominate; we have our own vibrant culture and narratives.

However, the impact of our contributions is undeniable. Our music reaches your ears, our stories captivate your minds, and our culture resonates with you. This influence means that much of what you believe to be yours was actually crafted by others. You can’t avoid the pervasive influence of Black creativity – it’s a form of power that transcends boundaries. In essence, the main message of Sinners for concerned audiences is that Black Americans don’t claim ownership over you; we simply have an unavoidable impact on your thoughts and perceptions.

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2025-04-22 23:25