Why I Can’t Stop Seeing “Sinners”
Yes, a Film Called “Sinners” is Holy
No spoilers here. But listen. A phenomenon is happening to my brain—maybe yours too—watching the new film “Sinners.” It may be one of the reasons why many people who’ve seen it, including me, immediately want to see it again.
I think the film is healing.
Not in the abstract sense, but a real physical one.
Watching one scene in particular—the scene, which will be studied in film schools until the world ends—I felt like I did walking into St. Mark’s Basilica in Venice. Friends who had been there before said they immediately started crying. And I did too. Stepping into the cool and golden dome, I felt goosebumps and then it was instinctive, uncontrollable, instant: tears.
The movie is about more than itself, as you are about more than yourself.
I cried at “Sinners” too. You know when. What is it about that scene? I’m not going to spoil it or ruin it by talking about it or picking it apart. But the story, the characters, the imagery, the music, and the meaning combine in a way that make it more than a movie. And that scene is maybe when you know. If you have a calling in any sense—to make art, to help people, to teach, to practice medicine, to cook, to build homes, anything—it will reach out to you.
The movie is about more than itself, as you are about more than yourself.
Everyone’s talking about the scene, but the whole of the film is perfect. Not a line out of place, not an image. I’m particular about dialogue. I have to be, as a storyteller. Very little surprises me for the same reason. Narrative is my job, so of course I’m going to see most plots coming. “Sinners” surprised me.
Like some of the most important and lasting stories, the story is simple. Familiar, even. But I didn’t see the beauty coming. And the beauty is so sublime, I think the neural pathways of my brain changed. I think they healed a little bit. I think they’re still healing.
Art can do that.
I’ve felt that way a couple times, though not to the magnitude of “Sinners.” Hearing S. G. Goodman sing “Which Side Are You On?” in the cold dark night at Red Rocks, witnessing one of the first performances of the play “Front” by Robert Caisley when I was a teenager.
https://www.instagram.com/s.g.goodman/reel/Cx8UnFLOYE3/
During “Sinners,” I had several revelations. Not about my own art, which would have been nice—the draft of my next novel is due to my editor in a week, after all—but about my life. Problems I had been turning over in my mind, with friends, with therapists even, suddenly clicked. The revelations came so strong, I knew they were true. They were right.
I could see things more clearly, see the whole picture after seeing this one.
I’ve never taken drugs. A friend who did a lot joked that I shouldn’t, because I have visions in real life already when it comes to storytelling. (It was a joke but I think she was serious.) But I have other friends who swear LSD changed their brains for the better. A joke made about “Sinners” is that Ryan Coogler and Autumn Durald Arkapaw put crack in it. Maybe it’s psychedelics.
It’s something that heals wounds. It’s something that reaches into you, shakes you, and puts you back together again better for having experienced it.
https://www.threads.com/@omarbensonmiller/post/DI1ytVQzyYF/media
All I know for sure is if you don’t see “Sinners” in the theater you will regret it, like I regret not seeing Chappell Roan last spring right before she got big (I had just moved to the area and didn’t know anyone). Like my dad’s old boss probably regretted giving him front row tickets to the Beatles because the arena was too packed. Like I regret not being alive to see Jackson C. Frank in the 60s.
Believe what you’ve heard about “Sinners.” Believe the good word. If you have a calling, it calls to you. And it’ll find those old wounds.
A Tiny Spell
Look to The New York Times this week for my first appearance on the Modern Love page. I have a Tiny Love Story posted online and in print in the Sunday Styles section.