Sinners (2025, dir. Ryan Coogler) sets the myth of the vampire against the backdrop of the Jim Crow South — a haunting reflection on cultural appropriation and exploitation.

From the very beginning, Christianity is portrayed less as faith and more as a cult. In the opening shots of Sam (Miles Caton, just 20 years old), the church he approaches looms like a warning. Its triangular shape and single high window suggest secrecy — almost the architecture of a hidden order, evoking Illuminati symbolism.

The film moves between quiet, eerie moments and flashes from the night before, setting up the rest of the story as a flashback. Sam’s father, a pastor, shows open disdain for his son’s music — to Sam’s growing frustration. Defiant, Sam follows his cousins Stack and Smoke (both played by Michael B. Jordan) to the opening night of their club.

It’s here that the story hits its stride. The second act, set mostly inside the club, is my favorite part of the strongest part of the movie. What begins as a grounded historical drama — all sweat, sound, and Southern heat — gradually transforms into a horror story about the spiritual and psychological cost of sin.

One of Sinners’ best qualities is how fully it leans into old-school vampire lore. Most of the film unfolds inside Pearline’s, the club, which becomes a kind of safe house. True to myth, vampires can’t enter unless they’re invited. The moment anyone steps outside, gets lured out, or opens the door too wide, danger floods in. Those scenes hold some of the film’s sharpest tension.

But the monsters aren’t mindless. Disguised as a traveling group of folk musicians, they’re turned away at first — polite, charming, and deeply unsettling. Their kindness has a predatory edge, a false warmth meant to draw people in. It’s not empathy but manipulation, a way of feeding on vanity and desire.

The plot sometimes feels secondary to the film’s atmosphere and visual style. But what a style it is. Twice, Coogler shifts the aspect ratio from widescreen to fullscreen — both times just before major fights. It’s a bold move that completely changes how the film feels. Widescreen gives Sinners a mythic, sweeping scope; fullscreen tightens the world, turning it tense and claustrophobic. It’s as if the frame itself closes in, trapping both the characters and the audience inside the same rising pressure.

Sinners isn’t really about vampires — it’s about the hunger beneath belief itself. Coogler suggests that power often hides behind righteousness, twisting faith into something self-serving. He turns familiar mythology into something raw and unsettling, forcing the audience to consider darker instincts that may be buried in the name of salvation.