Perhaps I was the last movie nerd in the world to underestimate Ryan Coogler.
Establishing himself in 2013 with ripped-from-the-headlines indie drama "
Fruitvale Station," Coogler would bring that same level of grit and sincerity to franchise filmmaking with "
Creed." "
Black Panther" would launch him into the stratosphere but, I felt anyway, at the sacrifice of a lot of his more intimate style. This was truer still of the superhero blockbuster's
inevitable sequel, which wasn't all that distinguishable from any other mid-tier Marvel movie. A lot of smaller directors have signed up for massive studio projects with the understanding that this will give them a blank check to fund their weird, personal efforts from now on, an agreement that is increasingly unfulfilled. It seemed like Coogler was going down this same path but, actually, I'm a wrong idiot who is wrong. Coogler came back with "Sinners," a personal, gritty, weird genre hybrid that became a big hit earlier this year. It's also the best new release I've seen in theaters in a while and looks unlikely to be dethroned as my favorite film of 2025. Here, let me ramble about it some more.
In Prohibition-era Mississippi, twins Elijah and Elias – nicknamed Smoke and Stack – return to their home town. Using money and booze stolen from the Chicago mob, they purchase an old sawmill with the intention of turning it into a juke joint. They recruit several locals to run it, including their cousin and aspiring bluesman Sammie, experienced musician Delta Slim, Smoke's ex-wife and Hoodoo practitioner Annie, and a pair of Chinese immigrant shop owners. The club attracts a crowd, including Stack's white passing ex-girlfriend Mary and Pearline, a singer Sammie takes a liking to. Sammie's soulful playing also draws the attention of Remmick, a white vampire recently chased into the area. Unable to enter the joint without an invitation, he begins to transform anyone who ventures outside into undead bloodsuckers. A tense standout ensues through the night that will change the lives of everyone involved.
“Sinners” is a movie of great texture and I mean that almost literally. Cinematographer Autumn Durald Arkapaw shot the film on 65mm, ensuring a depth to the film's look that seems much more difficult to achieve with digital technology. Every shot of the film is filled with details, from the extremely precise period costumes to the production design that makes every setting seem like a real, lived-in location. This sense of specificity extends all throughout “Sinners.” The characters' backstories and pasts are discussed naturally through dialogue, suggesting a whole world existed before the viewer sees the events of the film. Whether its the fate of Smoke and Annie's unborn child, the brothers' history as World War I veterans or time working with the mob, or the personal recollections of Mary or Delta Slim's lives, it all adds up to create a world that feels utterly fully formed. The film embraces the shared histories of blues music, the lives of the black community in the American south,
how Hoodoo grew out of African mysticism, and a vampire mythology all its own. This pairs extremely well with the Mississippi setting, where everyone is always glistening with a layer of sweat and dirt.
Honestly, the first act of “Sinners,” devoted entirely to introducing this cast of extremely well realized characters and the world they inhabit, could have gone on longer than it did. However, “Sinners” is also a hard-hitting monster movie/action flick mash-up. A sequence in which the established cast stand in a circle and eat garlic cloves in order to determine if any of them are vampires is clearly inspired by
the blood test scene in “The Thing.” It's a logical homage, as “Sinners” captures that same Carpenter-style mixture of anticipation and catharsis. Once the vampires outside become a known factor to the humans inside, “Sinners” turns into a tense stand-off. The undead taunt and interrogate the people inside, attempting to draw them out. This is broken up with some expertly crafted action sequences, of brilliantly devised gun fights, extremely physical close-quarters fights, and lots of spurting blood. When the vampires do make it inside the juke joint, it results in one of the most exciting climax in recent history. And “Sinners” isn't afraid of its status as a low-down horror flick either. These bloodsuckers flash their fangs, have eyes that glint in the darkness, leap eerily through the air, and grow increasingly more grotesque looking as the film goes on.
By inserting its story into such a layered world, “Sinners” touches on about a dozen fascinating observations about America's racial history. Perhaps the most important idea present in the film is the power of music. Blues and black roots music is depicted as spiritually transcendent, melodies filled with so much emotion and power that they pierce spectral boundaries, time and space. This is fantastically depicted in a jaw-dropping sequence where Sammie's performance causes spectres from the past and present to appear throughout the juke joint. It's almost like a crash-course in the history of African-American music, its relevance as a spiritual and cultural force, all in one spellbinding scene. Coogler's film innately understands
how music creates a ritual space and doesn't limit that power to any one culture or race. As wicked as the film's vampires are, they were once human too. Remmick is Irish, implied to be as old as
the Roman invasion of the British isles. Him and his trope of vampires play bluegrass and dance jigs, equally driven into an almost religious frenzy by the sense of community created by this music. Their music is
good too, the film acknowledging that all traditional folk music has the power to bring people together and create an otherworldly connection.
Music also represents an escape from the troubles of daily life, of which people of color in the thirties south had more than their share of. The undead creatures pressing down on the juke joint feels, at times, like a metaphor for the pressures of existing as a black person in a racist, white-dominated society. The extended epilogue of “Sinners” establishes that, for a brief moment, they all had a taste of true freedom. Throughout the rest of the film, the white vampires – chased by Native American hunters in their introduction and, later, explicitly aligned with the Klu Klux Klan – attempt to force their way into this space. Remmick uses a need for money, a necessity to exist in a capitalistic culture, to try and worm in. At a key moment, a white authority figure similarly attempts to temps Smoke with an offer of money. Throughout the film, the evils of white Americans are aligned with greed and money. Some have read “Sinners” as arguing for racial essentialism when it seems much more critical of the cash-driven systems of repression than anything else.
“Sinners” is an all-around work of infectious brilliance. The cast is excellent, lead by two extraordinary performances from Michael B. Jordan, who makes both brothers totally distinctive characters in their own right. Jack O'Connell and Miles Caton, as the villain and Sammie, should become stars based off this. Delroy Lindo, meanwhile, once again proves himself as one of Hollywood's most underappreciated character actors, turning Delta Slim into such a fully realized, funny, tragic character. After being a damn good ensemble piece and vampire thriller for most of its runtime, “Sinners” then turns into a bad-ass action film in its final act, featuring a shoot-out set piece for the ages. Nobody needs me to heap more praise on this one. Plenty of other folks have pinpointed it as the stand-out horror fusion of the year. On the big screen, it played out like a magnificent rush and proves just as thrilling, exciting, and touching upon rewatch.
[9/10]
I've written about a good number of old dark house movies over the years, that hybrid of murder mystery and slapstick comedy set in creepy old mansions that frequently featured cliches like masked villains in fedoras, hidden rooms, family secrets or buried treasure. I've also already written about Mary Roberts Rinehart's “
The Bat,” one of the most popular examples of the subgenre on-stage, which inspired quite a few imitators along the way. Such as “
The Monster,” written by Crane Wilbur, a screenwriter and director better known for starring in influential silent serial “
The Perils of Pauline.” By 1959, the old dark house was a thoroughly old, dead horse. However, Wilbur must have maintained some fondness for the format. He would write and direct the third cinematic adaptation of Rinehart's play that year. Wilbur previously penned the scripts for “House of Wax” and “The Mad Magician,” establishing a working relationship with Vincent Price. Price so happened to be a fan of Rinehart's play, having seen it on-stage as a child, and lent his talent to this throwback “Bat” made as the fifties were about to become the sixties.
Cornelia Van Gorder, popular author of mysteries and thrillers, has recently moved into the Oaks, a secluded manner in an isolated forest. The local area is being terrorized by a serial killer known as the Bat, a faceless man with steel claws, who has also apparently released rabid bats into the woods. This threat has scared off all of Cornelia's staff except her loyal maid Lizzie and her mysterious chauffeur. Meanwhile, bank president John Flemming – landlord of the Oaks – has recently stolen a million dollars in securities from his place of work. He threatens his doctor, Malcolm Wells, into helping fake his death and covering up the crime. Wells shoots him in the back instead. That same night, Lizzie spots the Bat lurking outside the Oaks. The police are called, Lt. Anderson arriving to investigate. Wells is called to the home as well after Lizzie is bitten by a bat. Cordelia is inspired by the case – which includes rumors of a secret room in the house – for her next novel, as more people gather at the mansion. A search is on to identify the Bat before he strikes again and steals the hidden riches.
While "The Bat" resides firmly within the horror genre, thanks to its monstrously clawed and murderous villain, it's important to remember that Rinehart was
a mystery writer first and foremost. The plot is engineered to leave the viewer guessing about who among the cast is the killer. To achieve this, 1959's "The Bat" loads its narrative down with an abundance of red herrings. Obviously, the audience expects Vincent Price to play the villain. By having Dr. Wells commit murder in the first act, he's clearly designated as an amoral and distrustful man. It is later revealed that Cornelia's chauffeur is an on-the-run bank robber, though he insists he's incapable of taking a life. There's yet more warm bodies buzzing around the story: The cop, the worker Fleming framed for his crime, his young wife, another woman who works at the bank, and at least one other guy whose name I can't recall. Most of these characters are introduced in quick succession in the first half, giving the viewer little time to memorize who is who. While some become victims of the Bat, I spent entirely too much of the runtime trying to recall the significance of each face to the overall story.
It is a bummer that "The Bat" is belabored with too large a cast and too many plot threads. When focused on Agnes Moorehead as a sharp-witted and observant writer trying to untangle a real mystery, the film proves mildly distracting. The 1926 version had Lizzie the maid as obnoxiously shrieking comic relief. As played by Lenita Lane – the director's wife – Lizzie becomes Cornelia's plain spoken sidekick. (And possibly more, as the two are noted to share a bedroom. Considering
ever-campy Vincent Price is introduced on a weekend retreat with another man, feel free to add this one to
your queer horror histories.) The two have a delightful rapport. Moorehead easily grounds the film, adding far more wit and charisma to the protagonist than was probably necessary. "The Bat" concludes by having Moorehead face the camera and dictate the closing lines of her latest novel, a de facto breaking of the fourth wall which had me leaving a movie I was otherwise unimpressed with smiling.
To classic horror nerds like myself, obviously "The Bat" is of most interest because of its masked bad guy, spooky location, and Price's role. While the 1926 "Bat" had the titular antagonist dressed as a hideous flying mammal, this version opts for a fedora, an overcoat, a black stocking that renders the face featureless, and black gloves outfitted with steel claws. It is a striking image, especially when the villain is lurking in the shadows or thrusting his claw right into the camera. (An influence on Bava, whose "Blood and Black Lace" features
a similarly dressed killer, perhaps?) The shots of the Oaks standing among a fog-strewn wood pair well with the shadowy interiors and twisting tunnels. Cinematographer Joseph Biroc is best known for his work on "It's a Wonderful Life" and "The Towering Inferno" but he photographed
his share of noirs earlier in the fifties. Some of that atmosphere is definitely brought to "The Bat," especially in a cool shot of the killer running up the stairs and casting his sinister shadow on the ceiling.
As for Price, he brings his irreplaceable charm to a handful of scenes when his character shows his more sinister side. Otherwise, the horror star isn't given nearly enough to do and exits the film too early. I didn't recognize Gavin Gordon as the detective but knew I had heard his voice before. A quick check revealed that, while twenty-four years younger, he played Lord Byron in
the "Bride of Frankenstein" prologue. Released on the back-end of a double feature with Hammer's "The Mummy," this "Bat" probably would've been forgotten. That is if it hadn't fallen into the public domain, leading to many late night TV screenings, free availability online, and countless VHS and DVD reissues. Most of those releases slapped
a distinctive publicity still of Price, smoking a cigarette before a shadowy silhouette of a bat, onto the cover. That ubiquity accidentally made this one of the most iconic images of the actor's career. Price would dismiss the film, saying the script wasn't very good. He was right and it's a jumbled screenplay that keeps an otherwise sturdy, atmospheric thriller from being more compelling.
[6/10]
Here's another episode from “One Step Beyond's” third and final season, made in England. Like most installments of the program, it is about psychic powers. “The Tiger” follows Pamela, an utterly adorable little girl who has a close relationship with her nanny, the elderly Mrs. Murphy. After Murphy takes Pamela to the circus and purchases her a stuffed toy tiger, they are introduced to the girl's new governess, Miss Cartwright. After Pamela informs Miss Cartwright that Murphy regularly performs witchcraft, she dismisses the nanny. Afterwards, the cruel governess confines Pamela to a “punishment room” in the basement, taking her toy tiger away, and generally doing everything she can to crush the child's imagination and independence. That's when weird shit begins to happen around the home, doors and furniture clawed at as if by a wild animal. Pamela believes a tiger is responsible, one that she has “wished” into existence, a fantastical belief Miss Cartwright is eager to dissuade the girl of.
Too often, “One Step Beyond” was a rather melodramatic and maudlin series. There were way too many episodes about predictions of the future. “The Tiger,” however,” feels a bit more like something E.C. Comics might have published, if less lurid. This is a classic tale of a person with a rotten heart getting punished for their crimes, usually via machinations of their own making. Miss Cartwright, as played by a suitably cruel and ice cold Pamela Brown, truly is a miserable villain. She seems to delight in punishing a child simply because she does not confirm to her ideas of acceptable behavior. The kid is so sweet and harmless but Miss Cartwright, without ever raising her voice, responds only with belittlement and harshness. She's a total bitch, in other words, and exactly the kind of person in need of an ironic punishment.
Obviously, the script implies that little Pamela has latent psychic abilities. The poltergeist activity, in the form of spectral tiger attacks, are the result of the girl's telekinectic powers. Considering her old nanny was said to be a witch, this events could easily be the result of literal magic too. However, I much prefer the reading that the imaginary Tiger is a manifestation of the anger she feels towards her governess that she's far too sweet and proper to actually express. Either way, glimpses of clawed up clothes or chairs or off-screen roars prove a lot creepier than any clear shots of an actual tiger could be. Host John Newland chimes in during the epilogue, assuring us that the episode is inspired by paranormal events documented by Charles Dickens in 1871. That would've been
a year after Dickens died, by the way. Truly, a strange event! Either way, “The Tiger” is a solid one, showing that “One Step Beyond” was better when focused on supernatural revenge than psychic premonitions.
[7/10]
The second part of “Morticia's Romance” only half-way acknowledges the suicide pact the first half seemed to end in. Pugsley asks about it but Gomez and Morticia do not elaborate on how they decided not to kill themselves. Instead, they recount how Gomez remained extremely nervous about the prospect of marrying Ophelia. Grandmama and Mother Frump make various financial deals to push the marriage through, while Gomez and Morticia remain in love with each other. Seeing no way out of being forced to marry her sister, Gomez grows increasingly despondent. That's when Fester touches upon a solution: Trick Ophelia into falling in love with someone else! Cousin Itt is quickly chosen as her potential beau but Gomez' cowardice makes him reluctant to wiggle out of the already made arrangements.
I somewhat suspect that, based on the success of the first season, “The Addams Family” crew got a slightly bigger budget for the second season. That would explain why this episode includes some rather elaborate sight gags involving newly made props or sets. These include: Fester having a watch that is an hour-glass strapped to his wrist, Cousin Itt shrinking to a tiny toy size under a hair dryer, and Gomez hiding in a cave with an echo that can be turned on and off. These are all A+ gags, especially the latter. Turns out Cousin Fungus just lives in a cave underneath the Addams house. Always makes me happy to learn more about the extended lore of this particular brood.
Of course, the interactions between the cast is the real thing that keeps this show so consistently entertaining, even if those sight gags are all straight-up bangers. A rather circular conversation about Gomez being a spineless coward is good one. As is Grandmama tricking Mother Frump into upping her options for a dowry. John Astin and Carolyn Jones' chemistry remains unmissable. The moment when they consider their sealed fate but cannot hide their obvious passion for one another is an easy highlight. As is the declaration near the end that they intend to go up-stairs and make some thunder of their own, another naughty joke I can't believe they got away with. I guess if there's anything distracting from this perfectly amusing half-hour is the script simply informing us that Ophelia isn't to Gomez' liking. She doesn't seem any more or less eccentric than the rest of the family, though I do enjoy watching Carolyn Jones be more aggressively wacky in her behavior.
[7/10]
