Sinners, Vampires, and Vultures: The Soul of the Blues in a World That Feeds on It

There are films that entertain, and then there are films that scratch at the walls of your soul. Sinners, the latest offering drenched in the blood of Southern gothic and the sweat of Mississippi blues, is not just a vampire flick. It’s a parable. A protest. A prayer whispered through a cracked church window.

I grew up in the 60s. I saw racism firsthand, not in textbooks or documentaries, but in the sideways glances, the segregated schools, how my neighbors were denied of even being recognized for existing, and the fear that pulsed through our communities like a second heartbeat. I know what it looks like when a culture is stripped bare and left to bleed—when the vultures don’t wait until you’re gone, but peck at you while you’re still breathing.

Let’s start where it hurts—with Sammie, a young blues prodigy carrying a guitar heavier than it looks. That instrument is a character in its own right: part crucifix, part shotgun, part ancestral altar. Every time Sammie plays, he bleeds a little. And the world listens.

But who is listening? And more importantly—who is feeding?

The Vampires Are Real

In Sinners, the vampires are not just monsters of myth. They are metaphors made flesh. These pale predators don’t just drink blood. They drink culture. They feast on Black genius, gorge themselves on pain turned into poetry, and dance to rhythms stolen from church pews and cotton fields.

Remmick, the white vampire leader, is not interested in understanding the blues. He wants to own it. To bottle it up and sell it. To remove its soul and sell the sound. Ultimately, to heal him and those around him. And isn’t that what we’ve seen, time and again? I watched it happen. You probably did too. The brilliance of Black artistry siphoned into systems that only ever gave crumbs in return.

Vultures in the Sky, Vultures on the Ground

And what of the vultures?

They appear again and again in the film: circling in the distance, perched on steeples, watching. Waiting. At first glance, they are ominous—heralds of death. But linger in their shadow a little longer, and you’ll realize: they’re also witnesses.

Vultures don’t kill. They clean up the mess. They are nature’s auditors. They see what the living refuse to acknowledge. In Sinners, their presence speaks to the spiritual cost of silence. Of complicity. Of letting the soul rot while the song plays on.

Maybe the vultures are angels in disguise. Maybe they are the ancestors. Or maybe they are just there to remind us: something is dying here, and no one seems to notice.

Blues and the Church: One Voice, Two Tongues

Sammie’s father is a preacher. And like many before him, he sees blues as the devil’s soundtrack. He believes in sanctified music—not swamp-born laments. But this division between sacred and secular is a false one. Sinners dares to say what many fear: that the blues is gospel, too. Just told in a different key.

As someone who knows the sting of religious shame, I see it clearly. The church in Sinners offers refuge, but it also builds walls. It claims to heal while asking us to hide. But the blues doesn’t hide—it hollers. It tells the truth, even when the truth is inconvenient. Even when it costs you everything.

Who Are the Real Sinners?

The film’s title begs the question: Who’s truly damned?
- Sammie, for playing what he loves?
- His father, for trying to save him the only way he knows?
- The vampires, for their consumption?
- The townsfolk, for pretending not to see?

Maybe the real sin isn’t playing the blues. Maybe it’s silence. Maybe it’s standing by while vultures circle, and calling it the natural order.

Final Chord

*Sinners* is a mirror disguised as a monster movie. It is a story soaked in rhythm and revelation. It calls out the systems that praise Black culture while punishing Black people. It asks us what we’re feeding, what we’re guarding, and what we’re willing to die for.

In a world full of vampires, vultures might just be the heroes. And the blues? It’s not a sin. It’s a sacrament.

I hope my understanding is truth. I know I felt pain for the suffering I saw.