Blockbuster Breakdown: SINNERS

By all measures, SINNERS was a smash. 

It grossed about a quarter of a billion dollars and boasts a 97% rating on Rotten Tomatoes. Numbers aside, it was the most fun I’ve had at the movies in some time. It left me staggering out of the theater, slack-jawed and grinning, like a kid climbing off the Tilt-a-Whirl after three too many snow cones. 

And so, with the sugar-high subsided, I’ve returned to break down this Blockbuster through the lens of the Hero’s Two Journeys–  

To see how it aligns with the Michael Hauge approach to storytelling, how it deviates, and what we can learn from Ryan Coogler’s hit film. 

Who’s the hero of the story?

This isn’t clear cut. 

Identical twins SMOKE and STACK, played by Michael B. Jordan (and Michael B. Jordan) drive the plot, but the story begins and ends with their little cousin, SAMMIE, a young man who works as a sharecropper in Mississippi and possesses an incredible talent for the blues. 

To get to the bottom of this question, I turn back to Michael, who often says: 

If you’re having trouble identifying the hero of the story, look for the first person who wants something. 

That would be Sammie. 

During the setup, seven minutes into the film, Sammie steps into the church where his father works as a pastor. He lays eyes on his guitar, which leans upright in the corner, beckoning. Father wants his son to help prepare the sermon for tomorrow, Sunday, but Sammie wants something else: 

I been workin’ all week, Pop. I want to be free of all this for a day. 

That’s it. That’s the want. 

And because his is the first want we’re exposed to, we latch on to him, like ducklings to whatever first takes them under their wing. 

Now, as Michael preaches, a desire such as freedom isn’t enough to compel a story forward until it becomes tangible– something we can measure, hold, and picture on screen. 

That’s where Smoke and Stack come in. 

Riding in the backseat of their automobile, Sammie asks his cousins, a pair of WWI veterans who have just returned from a 7-year-stint working with Al Capone up north: 

So tell me about Chicago. I heard they ain’t got Jim Crow up there. Black man can go where he wants. 

To which Smoke replies:

Chicago ain’t shit but Mississippi with tall buildings instead of plantations. And that’s why we came back home. Figured we might as well deal with the Devil we know. 

In so many words, his cousins have just told him: 

If you’re going to find freedom, you’ll have to find it right here where you stand.  

In the next scene, Smoke and Stack echo their cousin’s desire for freedom: 

Look at that sky. That’s a mighty fine day to be free, ain’t it?

And then in their next breath, they bring that lofty aspiration down to earth.  

Our own juke joint. For us, by us. Just like we always wanted. 

Now, it’s Smoke’s and Stack’s mission that’s driving the story forward. 

They endeavor to open the club on that very day, hitting GO on the ticking clock. 

They recruit for the club: musicians, suppliers, a bouncer and a bartender. 

They turn away the antagonist, Remmick, when he shows up at their door. 

But Samuel is not lost in all this. He opens the story, closes it, and stands (and sings) at the center of the Point of No Return, ushering in the entire second half of the film. 

So, what I see is a hybrid hero:

Smoke and Stack carry the Outer Journey: to open the juke joint → to stay alive, and keep their dream alive, when it comes under attack. 

Sammie carries the Inner Journey: to decide what freedom means to him. 

If the Twins are the treble, then Sammie is the bass. 

Taken all together, SINNERS is a story about three Black men trying to carve out their own little corner of the world. It’s a simple tale – one that could cynically be written off as nothing more than a vampire-slasher with a drop-dead gorgeous soundtrack – but it’s this unique layering of the Hero’s Two Journeys that make it feel so dynamic, human, and alive. 

On Sammie’s Inner Journey

To find our hero, we can look for the first character who wants something. We can also look for the first character who must make a decision. 

Following the prologue, Sammie appears in bloody tatters, the neck of his guitar in hand. He stumbles into the church where his father wraps him in an embrace, then demands:

I want you to promise right now. Drop the guitar, Samuel. 

Sammie shakes as he flashes back to the trauma he’s just endured. We feel him at war with himself, willing his hand to let go of its instrument while his hand grips it tighter. Then the scene cuts away–

One day earlier, leaving the question hanging over him, and us, for the entire film: 

Will Sammie drop the guitar and give himself over to God? 

This is Sammie’s Inner Journey. He must decide whether the object of his desire, freedom, is to be found:

In the Divine or the Devil (embodied by his father, the pastor, and by Remmick, the vampire)

Or– 

Right here on earth, in the joy of a juke joint, in the sound of strings plucked on a guitar. 

But before we arrive at Sammie's conclusion, I want to hold space for the moment when that question simply hangs, unanswered, 

The Point of No Return

The Point of No Return: 

Sammie takes the stage at the club and unleashes every ounce of his musical talent. The result is magic. As prophesied in the opening lines of the film, his music pierces the veil between life– 

He, along with everybody else in that joint, has never felt so alive, so free. 

And death– 

He, along with everybody else in that joint, is now in grave danger as the vampires sense Sammie’s song and descend upon them. 

Piercing the veil between past and future– 

The tribal drums of Black ancestors and hip-hop beats of Black descendants share the space with Sammie’s present-day blues. 

The scene poses that central question again, is freedom here on earth, or in the divine? But with the confidence of one who understands they need not give an answer, rather, the question alone is enough.  

It’s that feeling of weightlessness on a rollercoaster, when the chains have stopped rattling but you’ve yet to take the plunge. 

It’s the thesis of the film, not explained, but felt. 

It’s the scene I’ll remember most when I look back on the film. 

But of course, this feeling of weightlessness can’t last forever. The vampires will always come knocking, and Sammie must ultimately answer the question.

The Aftermath

After he’s been through literal hell on earth, we return to the church where Sammie shakes in his father’s arms, clutching his guitar, forced to choose between music and God. 

Next thing we know, he’s in the driver’s seat of Smoke and Stack’s automobile, the neck of his guitar laying across his chest like a seatbelt, with intercuts of old man Sammie, 60 years in the future, tearing it up on stage– 

Gracing himself, and the audience, with that precious feeling of weightlessness– 

A touch of Heaven, Hell and earth all at once, alive in a lick of the blues. 

What do you think?

I’ll stop myself here, but there is oh-so-much more to discuss. Every thread I pulled at felt like it deserved its own thesis. So, Michael and I would love to hear your thoughts on the film - simply reply to this email if you feel so inclined,

And if you’ve yet to see SINNERS, it’s available now on streaming. Strap in, you’re in for a hell of a ride.