Defined In Isolation: Ryan Coogler on “Sinners” | Interviews

One of the great joys when watching a Ryan Coogler project is seeing how he’ll remix seemingly unrelated stories, themes, and genres into a wholly original creation. Proximity Media, the production company he formed with his wife Zinzi and friend Sev, helps bring audiences closer to often overlooked subjects. In that way, Coogler is like a sommelier, as he and his team take the neglected histories and stories they’re passionate about getting visibility and pair them with a genre. It’s always exciting to see what he puts together in conversation, and “Sinners,” his period supernatural horror gangster film, is his greatest distillation of his gifts for making music out of the disparate. It’s a love letter to the power of Blues music, baptized in genre thrills. 

Unfolding like a soulful Blues tune, with its rapturous crescendos and discordant breaks, “Sinners” follows twin brothers, Smoke and Stack (both played with delightful range by Michael B. Jordan), who’ve left their time working in Capone-run Chicago to open a juke joint in Mississippi. While the film hints at the turns it will take to genre (Jack O’Connell, playing the film’s vampiric antagonist, gets a chilling introduction sequence sandwiched between scenes of the twins getting the juke joint ready), Coogler luxuriates in getting to know the community that has come together to support this community venture. From meeting Sammie (Miles Caton), a preacher’s son and the twins’ cousin, to grocery store owners Grace (Li Jun Li) and Bo (Yao), to hoodoo enchanter (and Smoke’s lover) Annie (Wunmi Mosaku), there’s a melodic unfolding to meeting this coterie of characters. It’s all table setting before the night takes a turn for the vampiric and bellicose. 

For Coogler, the scope, twists, and turns of the “Sinners” were all a part of his curation process. “I wanted the movie to feel like music and to have an aggressively dynamic range. To me, “Sinners” is a song in and of itself,” he shared.

RogerEbert.com spoke with Coogler at two separate points, once in downtown Chicago and again just after “Sinners” screened in IMAX with Chicago Blues icon Buddy Guy and composer Ludwig Göransson in attendance; this piece combines those interviews into one fluid conversation. Coogler spoke about creating sympathy for the devil, how choosing to remain or migrate creates culture, and crafting the film to invite audiences to uncover more of their ancestral histories.  

This conversation has been edited and condensed for clarity. This interview contains mild spoilers for “Sinners.”

You’ve cited how one of the inspirations for this story was the passing of your Uncle James, who loved Blues music, and how whenever you’d play that music, it’s as if he were in the room with you. What made you want to pair that story–and the story of the origin of Blues as a whole–with vampire lore? 

It’s interesting because, for me, it’s all one thing. Our industry is the way it is, man, but in a perfect world, there wouldn’t be information that leaks online, and you get into a rhythm of hearing about things before they’re done. All of these elements mashed up together does sound crazy initially, but only if you don’t know the culture that gave birth to the Blues. When you see the context, it’s not that crazy. I thought that if I did my job right when writing the screenplay, it wouldn’t feel like those elements were disparate. 

You’ve shared those stories about how Blues musicians like Tommy and Robert Johnson, on record, said that they sold their souls to the devil to play guitar music the way they did. 

Exactly. There’s also this metaphor for artistic sacrifice, for how an oppressive system can dehumanize people and how people experiencing that dehumanization can rage against it through art. That rage develops so that they can affirm their humanity.

I like how the music is so beautifully distracting; it hides that Stack is getting attacked by Mary or that Smoke and Bo oversee a beating of a fellow patron. Can you speak more to how you depicted music as this celebration, but also the danger of distraction that such spectacles cause? 

It’s funny, bro. We got this phrase where I’m from where we say something went from sugar to shit. That is to say, something goes from being the best to the worst time ever. It often happens within the party context. You’ll be at a party and find out something bad happened to somebody while you were having a good time. Our experiences in that space are not the same; you can be having a great time, but for someone a few feet away from you, that’s the worst day of their life. You don’t know because parties can disorient and cause sensory overload. That section of the film is about the idea that there’s a supernatural danger within your walls, while the music is loud and people are distracted. 

A lot happens in the back room of the juke joint. It’s almost its own world within the world. Upstairs is also its own world. Not everyone is welcome in the back room just like not everyone gets access upstairs or on stage. There are rooms for cooking, gambling, and dancing; even within this open space, there’s still celebration. 

I worked a lot with the Production Designer, Hannah Beachler, about the movement within spaces. Also, if you watched Dolly Li’s documentary on the Chinese community that lived in the Mississippi Delta, it’ll tell you that in Mississippi, it’s a road comprised of three lines. As long as you stayed in your lane and didn’t cross, whether it was Chinese crossing over to the White side or vice versa, things were okay. That revelation stuck with me, that people in the South had to stay in their place, and how places and spaces get defined in isolation. 

That’s what makes that sequence where the ancestors, past, present, and future all come together so powerful, because those lanes get erased. It made me think of that subway sequence in “Fruitvale Station” where for a moment, people put their grievances and differences aside and started dancing. 

(Laughs) I hadn’t thought about that. 

I’d love to hear about that sequence’s origins and the role that the one-take sequence has played in your filmography, especially since you deploy them so masterfully and intentionally in “Creed” and “Black Panther.” 

As I researched the movie, I realized just how much Delta Blues music contributed to global culture. It went viral, and popular music still has its roots to this day. I realized that many of these characters, whom you hopefully grow to love and know throughout the first part of this film–without spoiling too much–most meet a supernaturally violent fate. I wanted the midpoint to balance that out and give them not just hope but a cosmic win. 

It is very Book of Revelation-esque, talking about a great multitude from every tribe being gathered together. It also made me think of Tupac’s song “I Wonder If Heaven Got A Ghetto.” 

Totally; it’s echoing some of that. Regarding those long takes, I think it’s a universal experience to be at a live performance, and when you’re with the right performer and crowd, it transcends spacetime. That long take felt like the best way to show that, through film language, that sense of transcendence is rooted in what’s ordinary. 

This conversation is making me realize that, as much as this film is a horror period film, it’s also just a party movie. We’re speaking right now in Chicago, and you never show the city in the film, but it haunts Smoke and Stack like a specter. They left Chicago to fight the devil they know–or at least think they know–in Mississippi. Can you talk about depicting Chicago in that way in the film?

I wanted the film to have a firmly rooted sense of place, and with the exception of the last scene, to only be based in the Delta where the music started. I wanted the twins’ homecoming to feel like they were astronauts, that for many, Chicago is this place that you only talk about but few, if any, have been, so it’s a big deal that the twins were there. Chicago and the Mississippi have that close relationship because of Highway 61. People migrated to Chicago, where the sound got electrified and took off. Because of Prohibition, there was a thoroughfare for organized crime at the time. There was a lot of money on the table to be made. 

Being war vets, Smoke and Stack had business acumen and the capability for organized violence; Chicago could be a place where they could take their talents. But Chicago is so different from the Delta. Unlike Chicago, the Delta could be an escape for something, and they could get away with something up there. 

I don’t know, though, man. I’ve been in the Bay Area, specifically Oakland, for a long time, and I’ve had times when I’ve left and come back. It’s always been interesting to see how it’s changed each time. Over time, it has become a different place, whether because people die or move away. We’re not sharecroppers where I’m from, but I’ve seen industries rise and fall. Right now, tech dominates that landscape, and I’ve seen how that amount of money concentrated in a few hands can change the landscape of a place. 

I wanted to play with the idea that when the twins come back, they’re alarmed by how bad it’s gotten… that some of these plantations are so massive that they’re printing out currency ( scrips). The twins have this blind spot where they don’t calculate when they’re coming up with this idea for the business, that for many of the people they may be trying to serve, they’re coming with that form of payment. 

African Americans’ initial migration to the United States was forced. The slavery system actively kept us dehumanized and also profited off of that. The system changed and turned into a feudal system, effectively slavery by another name. Oppression could be prolonged with tricky bookkeeping practices…it makes those oppressed long for other places. There’s that Isabel Wilkerson book, “The Warmth of Other Suns,” and if you’re being subjected like that you start thinking “I got to get the fuck out of here somehow.” That’s juxtaposed with the fact that a place has been home for so many generations. 

The push and pull of that concept is what makes the culture. The twins are arguably irredeemable, but they want better things for Sammy. Grace wants better things for Lisa, and Sammy’s father wants better for him. There’s this human drive to want youth to have it better and go further.

For the In Proximity podcast, you mentioned that the key to a great villain is to give the hero and the antagonist the same motivation, but make their methods different. Looking at a character like Remmick, the “devil” character, you find a way to imbue a sense of sympathy for him, particularly through showing he has a deep love for music, just like our main characters. Can you speak more about the decision to craft not only sympathy but also a culture for the devil?

The first line uttered about Remmick by Chayton (Nathaniel Arcand), the Choctaw leader who is pursuing him, is “He is not what he seems.” I tried to lean into the idea that Remmick appears to be this thirtysomething-year-old white guy with a North Carolina accent. Still, he is a centuries-old vampire from Ireland who was bitten when he was thirty or so. 

Remmick’s survived for a longtime and I like that he sees the bullshit that is American racism. Rather than the KKK, he identifies with what’s going on in the juke joint, that he wants to be a part of it, and he wants all of them to be a part of him. He has this sales pitch that would be attractive to them…ironically, they all think he’s the devil, but he’s something else. Vampirism is about sacrifice and what’s given up. You can get all this power, but the sacrifice is that you give up the ability for your soul to go on to the afterlife. You’re stuck in your body, and that’s a terrifying moorage. 

I was fascinated by this question: What’s the Faustian deal around vampirism? I love that Remmick is part of a culture that wasn’t considered white until recently. He’s not the Klan… he doesn’t understand that. 

Your collaborators, from cinematographer Autumn Durald Arkapaw to Mississippi Choctaw cultural and language consultant Jay Wesley, cited that you allow them to experiment with their craft within your vision. I imagine it’s difficult to relinquish control with any production, but particularly with one as personal as “Sinners,” so I’d love to hear about the role of trust in your collaborative process.

I’ve been making movies for global audiences for some time now, and I know the films need that. It can’t be just me.  It is a collaborative medium for a reason. As long as the people understand my intention, vision, and reason for doing something, they can open up and bring their full selves to the project. That’s what it’s about: I want everybody involved to bring their full selves to work, reach back to their traditions, and think about their ancestors and loved ones who passed. I hope they know their loved ones will be so proud of them for their actions. “Sinners” was made with that spirit. 

Back to Jack, his father was an Irish immigrant to England, and Jack told me how speaking in that particular accent that he used in the film was important. Autumn is from Louisiana, and she had touchpoints in the film’s narrative that reminded her of stories she heard about her family. While filming in Louisiana, she tapped in with her family and heard more stories. So it can be this communal effort. 

Everybody had homework to do.

If we do that right on the cast and crew side, and honestly, the audience feels that, and then they’ll be inspired to do the same thing. That’s why the film is in theaters now…it’s not just entertainment for entertainment’s sake, it’s participatory.