A review by Mercy Oluwanisola Akintola.
As a creative person, if someone said you can’t create anymore, what would you do?
As a storyteller, if someone said, you can’t tell stories anymore. You can’t even imagine stories anymore, Sola, what would I do?
We would die here. Because telling stories and creating with my hands is all I know. And if I can’t do that, I can’t even think about it. It makes me nervous. As I type this, my hands are shaking.
That is how Sammie must have felt when he walked into the church after having the best day of his life and the worst night of his life, and his father said to him, “Drop the guitar, Samuel. In the name of God!”
You see, Sammie’s father only saw the guitar as something that brought trouble. He failed to see that the guitar was what saved Sammie, literally.
By now, I’m sure you already know the movie I’m talking about, the best cinema to come out of 2025. Ryan Coogler did not just give us a movie inspired by historical times; he gave a love letter to creatives, a reminder to never give up on your art, no matter what.
The movie starts with a narration from Annie, played by the gorgeous and talented Oluwunmi Mosaku. She says, “There are legends of people born with the gift of making music so true that it can pierce the veil between life and death…” This introduction already showed us how talented Samuel was, even before we met him.
The story follows Samuel and his older twin cousins, Stack and Smoke, both played by the magnetic and formidable Michael B. Jordan. Sinners is set in the post-Reconstruction South, unfolding on 16 October 1932 in the town of Clarksdale, Mississippi. After chasing the promise of success in the North, the twin brothers return home with hopes of starting anew, opening a juke joint of their own.
In the words of Stack, “Look at the sky, that’s a mighty day to be free, ain’t it? Our own juke joint. For us and by us. Just like we have always wanted.”
That line sat perfectly with me, not just as a creative, but as an immigrant. The dream of finally building something for yourself, the way you want it, for you and your people.
The movie does a great job of telling the story of people of colour and their struggles before the 1920s and 1930s, and even till today. It makes historical references, like the lie that the guitar given to little Sammie, played by Miles Caton who has a heavenly voice by the way, once belonged to Charley Patton, known as the father of the blues. One moment that stood out was when Stack refused to open the door for his brother after he had turned into a vampire and smoke references the Jim Crow laws, which were state and local laws in the United States that enforced racial segregation and discrimination, mainly in the Southern states, from the late 1800s until the mid-1900s.
The most ironic moment, however, was when little Sammie asked Mary, a white-passing woman played by the radiant and expressive Hailee Steinfeld, “What are you?” and she replied, “I’m human.”
That question is one people of colour and immigrants still get till this day from white people in America.
I could continue listing the references, but I don’t want to lose you guys.
The movie was shot so beautifully. The colour is impeccable. There is something about the driving scene that reminded me of the driving scene in The Sound of Music. Maybe it’s because it is one of the oldest movies I have seen. My favourite scene was the one where Preacher Boy was singing, and we got to see how sacred music was for people of colour, and how it influenced us in the past, the present, and the future.
Ryan Coogler illustrated this by showing us different cultures of music, from Delta blues, to someone playing bass-line guitar like Prince, to a DJ hyping up Sammie, to masquerade dance. Ryan Coogler and Ludwig Göransson were able to turn that scene into poetry without making it look overworked.
What begins as a space of joy soon becomes something more, a gathering place where music, movement, and memory collide, holding culture and history in rhythm. But the celebration does not last. An unnamed evil begins to creep in, threatening not just the brothers’ dream, but the very heart and soul of the community they hoped to revive.
I could go on about the good qualities, the references, and how beautifully shot this movie was, but I think you should go find out for yourself. And if you don’t get inspired, my dear, then something is wrong somewhere, because I did.
Award season is upon us, and if Sinners is not in the mouths of people after everything I’ve said in the last few paragraphs, then there has to be a problem somewhere and some explaining to do. Leading with 17 nominations at the Critics Choice Awards, a record 21 nominations at the Black Reel Awards, and seven nominations at the 83rd Golden Globe Awards, Sinners is clearly being recognised.
However, despite all these nominations, the awards are not popping in the way I think they should. What makes all of this even more annoying, if I’m being honest, is that Sinners keep showing up everywhere, but when it’s time to actually give the awards, suddenly everyone starts acting shy. At the Golden Globes, the film was nominated, present, and clearly respected, yet the wins did not come the way many of us expected. And this is not new. Hollywood loves to acknowledge films like Sinners just enough to look aware, just enough to look fair, but not enough to fully commit. It’s like saying, “yes, we see you,” and then quietly moving on.
Now, the Oscar nominations are not out yet, and they are set to be announced on 26 January. That waiting period alone is doing a lot of talking. We are all watching, fingers crossed, refreshing pages, asking ourselves whether Sinners will even be nominated at all. And the fact that this is still a question is part of the problem. When a film is this strong, this culturally loud, and consistently nominated across major awards, the conversation should not be if it gets nominated, but how many. The uncertainty shows how conditional recognition still is.
Let’s be very honest here. Race has always influenced how awards are given in Hollywood, whether the industry wants to admit it or not. Films led by Black stories and Black creatives are often welcomed only when they feel comfortable, inspirational, or safely contained. Sinners refuse that. It is joyful and dark, spiritual and rebellious, historical and very present. And that kind of honesty makes institutions like the Golden Globes and the Oscars uncomfortable. These awards are not just about talent; they are about what kinds of stories Hollywood feels safe rewarding. Too often, the boldest ones are left with nominations, praise, and long speeches about “importance,” but no trophy in sight.
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