Sinners, directed by Ryan Coogler, is a surprisingly amateurish (for all the attention it’s received) thesis on race and culture lacking in both originality and dramatic weight. The movie begins in Peaky Blinders territory: swaggering meet-ups; sly threats; twanging scores; anachronous, forced sexiness. And that’s the good part. Soon, all of these storylines will vanish behind a metaphor for cultural appropriation that’s heavy-handed with two capital H’s—so cliche, in fact, that it accidentally undermines itself: who’s the vampire, if not the film director who feeds on such familiar ideas? Coogler has Jordan Peele in mind, but Peele understands dread: we experience the terror of Nope, an excellent film with essentially identical themes, whereas we only observe Sinners—and fruitlessly, since nothing surprising emerges from its series of cultural exhibits. Coogler has convinced himself that, by making a mess, he’s followed a great artistic tradition. But there are different kinds of messes—there are gritty, down-home expressions of love and suffering, like the blues; and then there’s this: a jumble of telegraphed, academic points, like a professor’s papers scattered across his desk. Some messes you’re just supposed to clean up.
Categories