'Sinners' Symbols You Probably Missed
An Analysis of Voodoo, Christianity, and Asian Hate.
Walking into the movie theater on a matinee Tuesday, I was immediately wrapped in a cloud of cocoa butter and the sweet, familiar scent of Miss Jessie’s hair products. The audience was giving Family Reunion meets First Sunday—a sea of melanin, locs, twist-outs, and aunties in bangles. I knew I was in for a ride.
Like most culturally stamped Black films, this one had the lineup. You know the type: the cast that'll have us in the barbershop like, “You seen that new movie with… what’s his name? Yeah! That Jordan man. Mhm.” Say what you want, but we will reference a whole movie based on vibes and familiar faces alone. And I love that for us.
Now, I’ll keep it a buck—this wasn’t a planned outing. I hadn’t seen a single trailer. No press run, no hype tweets, no nothing. I pulled up off pure FOMO and vibes. But the way that movie had me locked in by the first five minutes? Yeah, worth it.
It opens with Sammie sprinting into a church, sweaty and frantic, which gets flipped on its head when we cut to Annie, barefoot and centered in her practice—burning herbs, mixing elixirs, speaking with spirits. Voodoo? Yeah, but let me stop you right there. Not the Hollywood kind. We’re talking real voodoo: the ancestral kind rooted in poetry, plant medicine, drums, and memory. Calling on your people, not cursing your enemies. The film does the work of reclaiming what’s been demonized—and it's about time. Annie’s space, though rural and rugged, represents tradition. She doesn’t even want U.S. dollars—she’s trading goods like it’s pre-capitalism. And of course, here comes the “modern” world to interrupt, tempt, and convert. Ain’t that always how it goes?
As the story unfolded, I thought, Is this a Jordan Peele joint? Because, baby, the social commentary was loud. Christianity. The Great Migration. Respectability politics. It was all in there. But what really caught me off guard was the commentary on Asians and their role in Black neighborhoods. We know the layout of beauty supply stores, fried chicken spots, and gas stations. The film called out how little freedom Black folks had post-slavery, that space was and continues to be quickly bought up by newly arrived immigrants. And then boom—Lisa and her mama running an upscale store in a white neighborhood? The symbolism! The “model minority” label got challenged, too. Grace, portrayed as sweet and soft-spoken, breaks this stereotype as her selfishness leads to the demise of the entire cast. Her death said what needed to be said— STFU!
Now let’s talk Smoke and Stack—two Northern, ex-military brothers from Chicago. They’re giving “respectability meets survival.” You can tell they’ve been told their whole lives to “dress nice, talk proper, get a good job.” And sure, they’ve made it out of the South and into the middle class, but at what cost? The military gave them structure and a paycheck, but it’s still a system.
And when Stack hits Sammie with “Chicago ain’t nothing but Mississippi with skyscrapers,” whew. That line right there? It shook something. ‘Cause how many times have we chased the illusion of progress, only to find the same chains, just shinier?
And then comes the final act.
Sinners doesn’t just wrap things up—it blows the roof off. It pits White Christianity against ancestral spirituality like it’s Sunday service vs. drum circle. And spoiler alert: it don’t pick sides. The movie calls out the right-wing push to “go to church and stop being sinful,” while also side-eying the left’s obsession with stripping all spirit from the struggle in favor of “logic” and secularism. Meanwhile, the juke joint? That’s the real church. That’s where spirits moved, confessions spilled, and healing happened—through rhythm, not revival.
Then the film hits us with the big question: What really happens to Black brilliance when it rises too fast? Do our artists, musicians, and prophets get consumed by fame? Do they die? Or do they… transform? Are there people who walk this earth, half-human, half-spirit, who can see both worlds at once? Sammie might be one of them.
There are hints—just hints—of Illuminati and elite circles that prey on Black creativity. But instead of diving into conspiracy, the movie invites us to consider: What if the real horror is systems (church, industry, media) that rob us of communion with the divine? What if being “saved” was never about pews or politics, but about reconnecting with where you come from?
In the end, Sinners isn’t just a horror flick. It’s a mirror. It’s a warning. And it’s a celebration. Not all spirits rest in peace—and honestly? Some of them aren’t supposed to.