“Sinners wasn’t all that. It was okay.” That was my honest assessment, as a Black man deeply invested in our culture and a dedicated film buff. The response – the immediate “nobody asked,” the childish “L plus ratio,” the galling accusation that my critical eye was what “white ppl want from us” – laid bare a challenge we must confront: the often-toxic defensiveness that stifles the very nuanced critique essential for our artistic evolution. This defensiveness, perhaps born from a necessary history of presenting a united front against external scrutiny and negative portrayals, now risks hindering our internal growth and the very excellence we seek.
My perspective isn’t about tearing down, it’s about demanding the same rigorous engagement we offer any other artistic expression. We rightly celebrate the brilliance of works like Get Out, a film that resonated across audiences and critics alike, a true testament to its power. “Sinners,” for many — including myself and other discerning Black voices — simply didn’t reach that level of universal impact or lasting resonance. While “Sinners” masterfully crafted its early-1930s Jim Crow Mississippi setting, making the world feel very real with different and subtle moves at play, the introduction of the horde of vampires shifted the focus from this grounded reality to a more conventional supernatural threat. Unlike “Get Out”, where the horror of the Armitage family was a potent metaphor for the insidious nature of racism and the violation of Black bodies and culture, the vampires in “Sinners”, despite the intriguing “Rocky Road to Dublin” connection and the dangerous temptation of assimilation, didn’t consistently operate on that same symbolic level for me.
The scale of the vampire threat, with their rapid spread and combined skills, felt somewhat detached from the specific historical and cultural context that was so compelling initially. While the costume designs and the characters of the “twins” were highlights, the narrative questions I had like the unfulfilled potential of the fast car and the inconsistent threat level of the vampires contributed to a sense of a world not fully realized in its internal logic. “Get Out” excelled in creating a tightly woven narrative where every element — from the seemingly innocuous interactions to the shocking revelations — served to amplify its central themes. In contrast, “Sinners”, while brimming with potential in its initial setup and unique elements like the musical vampires, ultimately felt like it juggled too many disparate elements without achieving the same cohesive and resonant impact. The shift from the nuanced exploration of Jim Crow south to a fight against a somewhat inconsistently defined supernatural enemy diluted the metaphorical potential and prevented it from reaching the same level of universal resonance and lasting cultural conversation sparked by “Get Out.”
The desire to uplift our artists and narratives is a powerful and understandable impulse, especially within a world that often marginalizes our voices. However, when this impulse curdles into a demand for uncritical praise — where even a simple “it was okay” is met with “atrocious take” and “terrible take” — we risk creating an echo chamber where growth withers. We don’t need permission from external sources to engage in complex discussions about our own art. The power of films like “Get Out” lay not just in their positive representation, but in their artistic merit and the conversations they sparked, even uncomfortable ones. This isn’t about blindly cheering; it’s about building something stronger through honest evaluation, across all forms of our creative expression, from film to music to literature. It’s a process that ultimately benefits the artists themselves by providing the crucial feedback necessary for innovation and more impactful work.
The dismissal of my perspective, the condescending suggestion to “save it for the next CAMS or Africana studies paper,” the implication that nuanced analysis is unwelcome in casual Black spaces — this is an anti-intellectual barrier we must dismantle. It stifles the very dialogue that can push our artists and storytellers to greater heights. As someone whose Blackness intersects with other aspects of my identity, I recognize the importance of diverse viewpoints, even when they diverge from the majority. The group’s silence after my attempts to explain felt like a collective turning away from uncomfortable truths, a demand to fall in line.
Solidarity within our community shouldn’t equate to intellectual conformity. True strength lies not in a unified, uncritical voice but in the vibrant and diverse perspectives engaging honestly with our creations. Stifling these diverse opinions, fearing that any internal critique weakens us, ultimately limits our creative potential. To use a terrible example, just as a single instrument playing the same note endlessly offers little richness, a chorus of unwavering praise, devoid of critical harmony, will ultimately sound flat. The path forward isn’t through enforced agreement, but through cultivating the courage to engage honestly and respectfully with our art. We need to build spaces within our community – dedicated online forums, regular community discussions, even intentional moments within casual conversations — where critical assessment isn’t seen as betrayal, but as a vital component of growth. This means fostering a culture of intellectual resilience, where we can hold our creations to high standards without fearing accusations of internal sabotage or external alignment.
The solution, as I see it, lies in fostering courageous conversations — in person, in our digital spaces, wherever we gather. We must learn to listen to differing viewpoints, to unpack the reasoning behind them, even when they challenge our own. We must move beyond the immediate defensiveness and embrace the potential for deeper understanding and collective growth that comes from honest engagement. By choosing dialogue over dismissal, and critical thought over reflexive praise, we can cultivate a fertile ground for Black artistry to flourish, creating works that resonate even more deeply and powerfully with the world. Let us move forward, not with a fragile unity built on silence, but with a robust solidarity forged in honest and courageous conversation. Only then can we truly honor the richness and complexity of Black artistic expression, allowing it to evolve and reach its full potential, unburdened by the stifling weight of forced conformity and the fear of a little honest “okay.” In the end, our collective passion for Black art shouldn’t inadvertently limit its potential. Real solidarity empowers growth through honest engagement, through the courage to have those sometimes tough conversations, even the ones that begin with a mild “it was okay.” By breaking down the barriers to internal critique, we create the space for our artists to push boundaries, explore complexities and ultimately craft works free from the constraints of enforced agreement.