Sinners, Vampires, and the Fight for the Future of Culture
Ryan Coogler’s bold new film is a parable for creatives, capitalism, and the soul of American music.
There’s been a strangely synchronous sentiment on the cultural airwaves of late—a bit of ambient chatter about something difficult to name. Despite all the fresh forms of media and expression that define our era, many are identifying—rightly or wrongly—a creeping cultural stagnation in the arts.
Consider W. David Marx’s recent piece “The Age of The Double Sellout,” or Spencer Kornhaber’s recent essay in the Atlantic, titled after its central question: “Is This The Worst-Ever Era of American Pop Culture?”
An optimist himself, Kornhaber’s essay profiles a number of noted cultural pessimists, who argue that, basically, financial pressures, societal stagnation, and algorithmic flattening are leading us into a cultural rut.
Then again…we all kind of know what he’s talking about, right?
There are the endless reboots of old IP. The sequel-prequel-sequel churn of mainstream cinema. The algorithm-driven resurgence of thirty-year-old pop songs. The broader turn toward nostalgic pastiche instead of bold imaginings of the future.
To some degree, this makes sense. We turn to nostalgia—as the Romans did during their imperial decline—when the future feels unstable.
As (plot twist) it does right now. Not to mention that today’s economy is ever more precarious for artists and creatives. The incentive to create from vision rather than market demand is undercut by the pressure for financial stability.
Which is why Black Panther's Ryan Coogler’s brilliant Southern Gothic vampire-a-thon Sinners—in its layers, inventiveness, and fearless creative process—feels like a taut and bloody piece of cultural commentary made exactly for this moment.
First off: go see this film. It’s fiery, thought-provoking, and an absolute blast. Michael B. Jordan gives two commanding performances, as do Miles Caton and Hailee Steinfeld.
(Spoilers incoming—we’ll keep them light.)
The story is set in 1932, Clarksdale, Mississippi, at the height of Jim Crow. Two brothers, Smoke and Stack, are World War I veterans turned successful Prohibition-era gangsters who return home to Clarksdale from Chicago to open a juke joint—a Black-owned music venue under constant threat from white society.
Enter: a trio of hillbilly vampire bluegrass musicians, who want in. Not for the drinks or the music—but to turn everyone into vampires.
The film’s emphasis on music is as poignant as it is provocative. American music is deeply rooted in Black creativity, which has historically been co-opted and commodified—filtered into rock and roll without consent or compensation. All this while Black communities endured systemic violence.
Negotiation becomes a central theme. The brothers—Smoke and Stack—insist on fair deals, on getting what they’re worth. That emphasis resonates beyond the screen: Coogler himself structured the film’s production to retain creative rights and establish a profit model that benefits his family long-term. Which is, all-things-Hollywood-considered, quite a revolutionary act of artistic and financial sovereignty.
The film’s villains—those bloodsucking vampires—mirror the extractive habits of cultural appropriation…and the homogenizing drive of consumerist society. “We want your music and your stories,” these vampires say, in a scorching one-to-one commentary. The vampires offer no real reward—only eternal, undead hunger. In an especially prescient twist, the vampires speak of “knowing each other’s minds,” echoing the hive-mind logic of algorithms flattening creative expression into homogenized, purchasable content.
They cannot tolerate the distinctiveness of the juke joint’s music, its vision, its soul.
They want it all.
And yet, the reality of Sinners resists the vampire’s metaphorical core. Coogler’s brilliance lies in threading the needle—pursuing just compensation without compromising his vision. The film’s embrace of traditional African spirituality and its iconic scene in which eras of Black music coexist in a timeless space, reclaims the retrospective mood of the moment. It transforms nostalgia into a launchpad for imagining a future in which cultural expression isn’t vampirized into bland sterility, but retains its fire and form.
Sinners is an affirmative rejection of algorithmic flattening. It’s a defiant reminder that art can remain visionary—and still demand its worth.
From its fearless themes to its explosive creativity to the story of its production, Sinners offers a glimmer of hope: that maybe, we’re at the bleeding edge of a new cultural moment—one where wild human vision still has room to flourish in an increasingly homogenized world.
But still: don’t forget to pack some garlic.
CONVICTS
YES!!!!!!!!