المؤسس عثمان الموسم الأول مدبلج الحلقة 3
المؤسس عثمان إختر سيرفر المشاهدة
ملاحظة:
إذا لم تشتغل الحلقة إختر سيرفر 1 أو 2
Sinners movie review & film summary (2025)
Vampire films frequently grapple with a lack of originality. The established formulas and mythologies of the genre are consistently reused and slightly altered: holy water that burns, repulsive garlic, deadly sunrises, and trusty wooden stakes to the heart remain the classic weapons against vampires. Typically, the most significant variation between stories is simply the location—be it a distant Eastern-European land, an American cityscape, or an arid desert. Acknowledging these constraints, I must give some recognition to “Sinners,” a gritty, bloody Southern Gothic horror musical. It’s a chaotic film that attempts to throw everything at the genre but often falls short in hitting its mark.
In Ryan Coogler’s “Sinners,” Michael B. Jordan portrays Smoke and Stack, two bootlegging brothers and ex-soldiers who once fought in World War I. After leaving their hometown years ago, they settled in Chicago, working for Capone’s organization. Now, they’re heading back to the Mississippi Delta with stacks of cash and crates of Irish beer, planning to open a juke joint in an abandoned sawmill purchased from a racist white man. They hope their younger cousin Sammie (played by Miles Caton, a former backup singer for H.E.R., who holds his own for the most part) will assist them. Despite their efforts, however, they fail to establish a haven that shields people from the pervasive Jim Crow racism of 1932. A violent threat looms as their opening day comes to an end, but I’m getting ahead of the story.
“Sinners” is unmistakably a Coogler film, echoing many of the themes and aspirations he explored in “Black Panther: Wakanda Forever.” The director aims for grandeur when a more intimate touch might have sufficed, reflecting on fractured Black legacies and exposing the scars of American racism. The film also brings Michael B. Jordan back into Coogler’s world, casting him in a dual role that strives to be magnetic and alluring, as well as commanding and heroic. Unfortunately, it’s disappointing to see Coogler’s bold vision ultimately succumb to genre conventions, resulting in moments of awe that feel fleeting rather than transformative.
The film’s cast, a varied ensemble of prominent talents, underscores its expansive narrative. “Sinners” begins with a brief scene of a battered and frantic Sammie, clutching the broken neck of his guitar, stumbling into his father’s white church in a desperate quest for redemption. The story then jumps back 24 hours to the arrival of Smoke and Stack in town. From there, we watch as they recruit local performers and staff: Delta Slim (played with slippery charm by Delroy Lindo), a bluesman battling alcoholism, provides the music; Annie (Wunmi Mosaku), a Hoodoo practitioner, handles the cooking; Grace (Li Jun Li) and Bo Chow (Yao) tend the bar; and Cornbread (Omar Benson Miller) takes on the role of bouncer. Other characters, such as Stack’s former lover Mary (Hailee Steinfeld), who is often mistaken for white, and Pearline (Jayme Lawson), a local girl capturing Sammie’s heart, also enter the mix. The gradual buildup of characters and their backstories delays the introduction of the juke joint until nearly an hour into the film.
Coogler deliberately takes his time to fully immerse viewers in the world of the film, both narratively and visually. He frequently employs intricate single-take shots, enhanced by whip pans to seamlessly transition between locations, such as moving from Bo Chow’s shop on one side of the street to Grace Chow’s on the other. Coogler lingers on shots, inviting audiences to admire the intricate details of Smoke and Stack’s dazzling suits or notice the sweat glistening under the Southern heat. Proudly filmed in 65mm with IMAX cameras, Coogler aimed to leverage the format’s grandeur and rich visual detail. While this choice yields moments of striking, textured beauty, the shallow focus often blurs the background, creating a disconnect between the characters and the environment that is central to their lives. Why set a story in the South if the sprawling cotton fields, bowed trees, and vibrant life surrounding the characters remain visually distant? Similarly, the high contrast and deep shadows of Coogler’s cinematography, though fitting for the horror tone, obscure Jordan’s face during key emotional moments. Even some of the editing feels slightly off节奏, as if Coogler is scrambling to keep the film cohesive before it unravels.
The film’s themes, much like its structure, are varied and interconnected, reflecting Coogler’s broader career concerns: African folklore, America’s racial legacy, fractured Black families, the pursuit of Black freedom, the significance of Black-owned property, the role of ancestors and kinship, and the unifying force of music. Sammie serves as the focal point for many of these ideas. As the son of a preacher and a gifted blues guitarist, he embodies a rare artistic ability to bridge generations and diasporic experiences through his music. In one of the film’s most electrifying moments, Sammie delivers a passionate performance at the juke joint, his music transforming into a kaleidoscopic vision of African drummers, an Afrofuturist electric guitarist, and even Chinese dancers. Coogler’s camera swirls dynamically through this explosion of color and sound, creating a vibrant tapestry that hints at the exhilarating creative heights he could reach—if only he didn’t have to pivot back to addressing the vampire element of the story.
The film’s climactic frenzy is a gloriously gory sequence triggered by Sammie’s otherworldly music. Three white vampires, singing Irish folk songs, are drawn to the juke joint by Sammie’s extraordinary talent and approach the venue seeking entry. Though initially turned away by Smoke and Stack, their eventual intrusion feels like Coogler issuing a cautionary tale about the threat of whiteness infiltrating spaces created for people of color. The repercussions of this transgression unfold in a brutal and graphic display, as Ludwig Göransson’s twangy score shifts into menacing metal tones and the aspect ratio widens to capture every drop of spilled blood. This mashup of “Queen of the Damned” and “From Dusk Till Dawn” delivers ample spectacle but introduces few fresh twists to vampire lore, particularly in relation to the story’s Southern backdrop.
Even if Coogler struggles to find a satisfying conclusion for his film, it’s hard not to be captivated by the sheer ambition of his vision, driven as it is by clear intent. Still, one can’t help but question whose story this truly is—Smoke and Stack’s or Sammie’s? The final three scenes, including mid- and post-credit sequences, feel more like obligatory checkboxes than cohesive storytelling. Jordan, as the star, gets a climactic moment where he channels Rambo-like intensity. There’s also an explanatory scene to wrap up Sammie’s arc, and another added to leave the audience with a sense of closure. This lack of focus in the ending dilutes the emotional weight of earlier efforts, leaving the film feeling somewhat unhinged. Yet, in an industry often hesitant to empower directors—especially Black filmmakers like Coogler—to take bold creative risks, making a movie that feels overly ambitious is a flaw that’s easier to forgive.