Following in the Footsteps of Sinners

I generally don’t write reviews. We live in a world where too many people give their opinions about everything they love and, more often, hate. Each personal preference gathers a standing army behind it until minor disagreements become full-blown culture wars. Also, as a creative energy miser, I hoard as much mental space as I can for my fiction and this blog. But I recently watched a movie worth pointing out—not for its actors or visual effects, though both were outstanding.

The movie is called Sinners, a vampire story set in the deep South during the 1930s. Twin brothers, played by Michael B. Jordan, open a juke joint in an abandoned mill outside a small town that has inched away from slavery. Plantations are still around but now pay their impoverished workers with fake money. The Klan has come and gone, at least that’s the story told when it’s brought up. Life hasn’t changed much in the 60 or so years since emancipation. Then, the vampires arrive.

On a blog about writing, I’m sure you’ve guessed that I’m going to focus on the script. Ryan Coogler wrote and directed Sinners, adding to a growing filmography that solidifies him as one of the best creative minds working today. I could spend an entire post talking about any of his other films, but this one sticks out.

Sinners isn’t a quotable movie. Most aren’t these days. Sometime in the early 2000s, films became more about the visual and less about the words. It shows with every inflated budget and financially undervalued writer. Now, when we talk about well-written movies, we’re not applauding specific lines but the weight behind them, the way they make us feel. Sinners is no different, so why does its script stand out?

It’s no secret I’ve become heavily invested in plot structure. A fervent disciple of Jessica Brody’s Save the Cat! Writes a Novel, I believe learning to organize a story is as important as learning to organize a sentence. Watching Sinners, I noticed something near the midpoint, right around the time the first vampire shows up. The plot is a near-perfect example of story structure.

A Sign of Things to Come

Prologues have become such a hot-button issue among writers, a word in their defense is likely to discredit me for half the community. For the most part, I agree they are often misused, as if having that word in place of Chapter 1 gives a work gravity. As a plot device, they’ve lost their magic, because they lost their meaning.

Though I’m sure there are multiple correct reasons to use a prologue, Sinners uses it in an effective way writers should strive for when providing a prelude to their novel. Again, giving away nothing—this is, after all, the first scene—the movie opens on the inside of a small church where a black congregation has gathered to worship. The door opens, and a young man enters, clutching the blood-stained neck of a broken guitar. He marches down the aisle as horrific scenes flash on the screen, presumably of his traumatic memories. Twisted and demonic faces with glowing eyes writhe in his mind as the preacher begs him to drop the guitar neck.

The scene lasts only a few minutes, but it’s all the movie needed to dangle its hook. We assume we’re watching the end of the movie, a moment that will make more sense once we have context. A kind of deal is made, giving us faith that all our questions will eventually be answered. Who is the young man? What happened to his guitar? Is that his blood or someone else’s? What were those terrible visions? How does the preacher factor into the story?

Depending on your writing style, this could be a 1- to 2-page scene. Without the need for context, the details can and should be sparse. It doesn’t always have to be a scene from the end. It doesn’t even have to be a scene from the novel. But it should give the reader insight into what they’re about to read and entice them to keep going.

Let’s Back Up a Bit

After a title card informs us the actual story occurs the day before, the official movie begins. I’m not going to give a scene-by-scene description of the events leading up to the inevitable conflict. Instead, I want to point out that Sinners has a big cast. The actual main character can be debated, whether it’s the blood-drenched young man from the prologue or the twin gangsters played by Michael B. Jordan, the marquee star of the movie.

As the twins and guitar player travel around town, arranging the night’s juke joint, we meet the other characters who will factor into the plot, each with a background and storyline for the wider movie. You get the feeling these people have entire stories in them we’ll never learn, because we don’t need to. Sinners uses this Act I real estate with expert efficiency. There are no wasted lines or scenes. Each person has their justified place in the narrative as they approach the fateful old mill where the conflict is destined to occur.

All the work the first act puts into establishing setting and character pays off in its fast pace once the roller coaster car crests the conflict. Little if any time is used to remind the audience of who a character is and why they matter. The momentum builds steadily through the meat of the story toward the inevitable scene at the church.

In the End

I’ve successfully avoided spoiling the movie, given you’ve heard of it and have at least seen the trailer. This part will be tricky, because I can’t really say who is in the scene or what happens. But I’ll try, because Sinners uses its epilogue in one of the best ways I can recall seeing.

The movie comes to a satisfying enough conclusion. Everything is wrapped up, the whole thing ending as it began, with a bloody guitar player entering a church. As the credits roll, so does an additional scene—immediately telling the audience there’s one more thing they need to see. Fragments of the scene are interspersed with the scrolling cast list, the screen going dark before the true epilogue begins.

Anyone who stopped watching after the bookend church scene could walk away satisfied, but this scene gives a glimpse of a distant future, a coda for a handful of characters. We see them interact under different circumstances, getting a sense of all the story in the gap of time we didn’t see. The moment provides new context, a glimpse into how these characters perceive the night the vampires came.

This is what an epilogue should do. If it contains the plot’s resolution or is critical to making sense of the story, it’s being used wrong. If it does nothing more than provide an extra scene without any real connection to the previous events, it’s being used wrong. As Ryan Coogler did with Sinners, an epilogue should matter to the story, but not be integral to it. It should be inconsequential but also relevant.

That’s all for now. If you’re a horror fan or a fellow structure junkie, watch Sinners. If you disagree with my take, feel free to let me know.

One More Thing

As I’ve passed the halfway mark on the final edition of The Road Cain Walks (which I’ll talk about here at some point), I’ve decided to post the completed chapters serially on Substack. I’ll drop a new one every two weeks, the first 13 for free. With them, I’m also writing monthly deep dives into some background aspect of the novel: its settings, characters, and scenes. If you’re interested, check it out.

And, as always, thank you for your time and attention!