By Jocelyn Noveck
AP National Writer
Michael B. Jordan is Stack, easy to smile, enigmatic to be around. Jordan is also Smoke, his more somber twin brother. The characters are the leads in the most creatively ambitious, culturally layered, artistically bold twin-led cinematic outing yet — if this sentence feels like a lot, get ready for the movie! — with Jordan on double duty in “Sinners.”
And while the Jordan-Jordan pairing is front and center and full of charisma, Jordan himself would probably agree the most important pairing here is the one between him and Ryan Coogler. The supremely talented writer-director turns once again to Jordan — star of all four of his previous films — for his first completely original movie. Both men are firing on all cylinders.
So what exactly is “Sinners,” shot on large-format film (including IMAX 65 mm and Ultra Panavision 70) befitting the size of its vision, about? Depends which layer you’re looking at.
The outer layer is a story of two brothers coming home to Mississippi in 1932 to launch a juke joint after spending time on the German front in World War I and then learning from Al Capone in gangland Chicago. Peel away, and it’s a story about music, especially the transporting power of the blues. It’s also about love: love that’s lost, love that’s found, love that’s impossible. And it’s about the tenuousness of life in the Jim Crow South.
And then … it turns into a full-on, gore-spewing, guts-spilling vampire film, one of the scarier ones you’ll see in a very long time.
It’s soon clear the only thing small about this film is the timeline — one day, unless you want to count the afterlife, which is fair. How Coogler pulls everything off at once — and makes it cohere, mostly — is a sight to see.
And even more, to feel. With a crowd you don’t know, as Coogler intends it. At my screening there was frequent laughter, both joyous and nervous, some screams and not a few jumps, including one where I felt my own self leaving my seat, pens and notepad tumbling. Coogler grew up loving the jumpy moments in movies like “Jurassic Park,” and wanted to recreate the feeling.
We begin our 24 hours in Clarksdale, Mississippi, with skinny Preacher Boy, aka Sammie (exciting 19-year-old newcomer Miles Caton), bloody and barely alive, staggering into a church. His father, the pastor, urges him to drop the twisted vestige of a guitar he carries. We see lightning-quick flashbacks to scenes of horror — way too quick to settle in our brains. Coogler will take his time. You got somewhere you need to be?
We then rewind, to one day earlier.
Twin brothers Smoke and Stack — Jordan and Jordan, who frequently share the screen, seamlessly — have arrived with a truckful of Irish beer from Chicago. Handing wads of cash to a white owner for an old mill and its land, the brothers tell the man they’ll “kill any of your Klan buddies” if they come around.
“The Klan don’t exist no more,” the oily character replies.
The plan is to open that same night. The brothers separate to rally staff, supplies and food. They also need music. Young cousin Sammie turns out to have a soulful voice and prodigious talent on the blues guitar. They pick up a harmonica and piano player (the wonderful Delroy Lindo) by promising all the Irish beer he wants.
We also meet the love interests. Stack is the slicker of the two brothers, much quicker to smile, if not happier, with a red brimmed hat and a few gold-rimmed teeth. He’s soon approached by his ex, Mary (Hailee Steinfeld, poignant), the young white woman he loved and left. She’s angry. It won’t be ’til later that we learn he was only trying to keep her safe.
As for Smoke, more somber in a blue cap, he reunites with a soulful medicine woman, with whom he’s shared past grief. He convinces Annie — played by Wunmi Mosaku with a serene grace — to come cook at the joint.
The place opens. The beer’s flowing and the dance floor hopping. Sammie and Pearline (Jayme Lawson), a married woman who’s caught his fancy, hook up. It’s the best night of his young life.
And then come the vampires.
Remmick (Jack O’Connell), a spindly and scruffy villain, first shows up at a farm couple’s home, their Klan hood visible in the back. A red-eyed group now numbering three, the vampires head to the juke joint for the bloody final act.
It’s a doozy, and the less said the better. Well — we WILL say that perhaps only Coogler would think of a lusty group of vampires singing old Irish folk songs. In any case, the climactic confrontation is what we’re waiting for, and pays off.
But please don’t leave once the credits start rolling; Coogler has more gifts up his sleeve. His very long, ever-growing sleeve.
“Sinners,” a Warner Bros. Pictures release, has been rated R by the Motion Picture Association “for strong bloody violence, sexual content and language.” Running time: 137 minutes. Three and a half stars out of four.