Many say art is in the eye of the beholder. But when it comes to Sinners, that idea warrants a challenge. Ryan Coogler’s Sinners is not just a film – it is art in its purest, most evocative form. From the very first frame, the movie demands not just to be watched, but to be experienced. The opening scene, featuring a young Sammie stunned and speechless amidst the emotional wreckage of his world, sets the tone for a visual and emotional journey that is nothing short of poetic.
Coogler masterfully paints the Mississippi landscape with a palette that feels both rich and restrained. The warm, muted tones of the earth, the dense greens of the trees, and the dusky twilight skies wrap the viewer in a sense of place that is as much a character in the story as any human on screen. Each shot is composed with the precision of a painter, every frame dripping with texture and intention. It’s not just beautiful – it’s purposeful. The colors don’t just set the mood; they tell the story.
Beyond the visuals, Sinners elevates its narrative through rhythm and silence. Coogler uses sound—and the absence of it—with the care of a sculptor chiseling away at stone. Dialogue is sparse, but the space left behind is filled with emotion, tension, and nuance. The film invites the audience to listen not only to what’s said but also to what’s withheld. In this way, Sinners functions more like a poem than a traditional narrative. It trusts the viewer to sit with discomfort, to read between the lines, to feel rather than be told.
Equally vital to the film’s artistry is its music. The score and soundtrack work like brushstrokes on an emotional canvas, underscoring Sammie’s internal state and the spiritual weight of the story. Featuring contributions from artists like H.E.R., Leon Bridges, and an original score by Nicholas Britell, the music evokes a deep, soulful connection to the culture and conflict onscreen. Gospel, blues, and stripped-down piano melodies echo through scenes like distant memories. In an interview, Britell said, “We wanted the music to feel like it was part of the soil—emerging from the land, the people, and their pain. Every note had to carry a burden, a hope, a history.” In Sinners, music is not just background—it is storytelling. It gives voice to what the characters cannot say, elevating mood into meaning, and making the intangible utterly palpable. It is, quite simply, another layer of the film’s artistry. In some ways Sinners works as a musical and music history, from the birthing of the blues, to advent of other black American and African music forms like Hip Hop , Ragtime, Jazz and more.
Then there’s Sammie—our guide through this world. His performance, shaped as much by expression as by dialogue, is a study in internal struggle. Coogler doesn’t spoon-feed us Sammie’s trauma; instead, he allows us to witness it unfold in small, human moments. This is storytelling that respects the intelligence and emotional capacity of its audience, hallmarks of artful filmmaking.
Thematically, Sinners is layered and introspective. It explores guilt, identity, heritage, and redemption—not in heavy-handed monologues, but in glances, gestures, and choices. It dares to ask hard questions and offers no easy answers. Like all great art, it lingers long after the credits roll, sparking conversation and introspection. To call Sinners art is not a stretch—it’s an understatement. Ryan Coogler has crafted a film that blurs the lines between cinema and canvas, prose and poetry. In doing so, he reminds us that sometimes, art isn’t just in the eye of the beholder. Sometimes, it’s right there on the screen, daring us to recognize its brilliance.
