From increasingly overbearing Eat the Rich satires to a never-ending, post-Get Out wave of social commentary-infused horror, it seems like there’s no end in sight to what the New Yorker recently dubbed cinema’s “plague of literalism.” For genre movies in particular, each satirical target is laid on as thick as the gallons of blood splatter––impossible to misinterpret or get lost beneath the gore, a factor which makes them less interesting to unpack despite the way filmmakers put their ambitious allegories front and center. It may result in immediate critical acclaim––as was the case with The Substance––but no director’s idea can continue to linger in the consciousness when it’s dispensed so plainly, no additional food for thought beyond what meets the eye.

My fear was that Sinners, director Ryan Coogler’s return to original filmmaking after two great franchise films––and one disappointing, disjointed...