History, horror, music, and richly textured filmmaking combine in Ryan Coogler’s dazzling new film, “Sinners.” The racist history of the Delta South and the solidarity of the Black communities to ensure their survival are explored through some of the most inventive storytelling in decades. The soulful power of The Blues and the real-life terrors of a clan of people trying to wipe the Black race from the planet take artful shape in this profound and distinctive work. Coogler and company have crafted a unique cinematic experience that sets itself apart from the carbon copy Hollywood fare that clutters the cinemas of today, as the director’s first foray into genre filmmaking beams with a plethora of character, music and folklore in a film that breathes life and explodes with the sounds and culture of the 1930s-era Mississippi Delta.

As the trailers informed you, “Sinners” is a horror film. Thanks to Coogler’s ambitious and well-researched screenplay, it is much more than that. After a prologue that teases the terrors to come, the film builds character and a sense of place. Working for a second time with cinematographer Autumn Durald Arkapaw (this time shooting on IMAX/65mm), Coogler creates a jaw-dropping visual style that chronicles the racial strife and constant struggles found in that part of the country during a time when the entire nation seemed at war with itself.

Arkapaw’s camera floats by lands of cotton that seem to go on forever, populated by the sharecroppers who picked those fields. These shots capture the beauty of the landscapes while framing the harsh reality of the men and women who worked themselves to death only to live in an inescapable poverty designed by the white powers that be. The spectacular cinematography will take your breath away. Each shot is carefully designed to be a visual troubadour, fleshing out the story’s potent subtext with every masterfully designed shot.

Twin brothers Smoke and Stack (Michael B. Jordan in dual roles that rank among his finest work to date) return to their hometown of Clarksdale, Mississippi. Former soldiers in WWI, the two men made their way to Chicago and did their time as gunmen for the Chicago mob. Bringing the money they saved (and maybe some stolen liquor) with them, the brothers want to open a juke joint. Purchasing an old smokehouse from a White man who, when asked if he is Klan, says the organization no longer exists. As with any Jim Crow White man who refers to Black men as “boys,” perhaps his deal isn’t as cut and dried as it seems.

Jordan is stunning in his dual roles, delivering a classic leading man performance and a Method-style becoming of two separate characters. Identical twins down to their southern drawls and facial hair, the actor makes each one their own personality. Stack is flashier and more approachable, while Smoke has a harder edge. Jordan embodies (twice over) the screenplay’s power, pain, violence, and sexual heat in a role that should see an Oscar nomination come calling.

As the Smokestack Twins head into town for supplies, food, and musicians for their joint’s opening night, Coogler’s screenplay blossoms with character. The brothers reconnect with old friends, and old flames and confrontthe personal pain they left behind.

The brothers immediately grab their cousin Sammy (Miles Caton), the son of a preacher who wants to be a Bluesman. Sammy is a masterful guitar player with a voice wise beyond his young years. Making his film debut, Caton proves himself to be a major find. He can act, sing, and play The Blues like the ghost of Robert Johnson. A big movie career awaits this talented young man.

Delroy Lindo enters the film as Delta Slim, an old Bluesman now down on his luck. Lindo immediately brings a natural gravitas to the performance. Stealing every moment he is on screen, Lindo delivers another fine turn in a career full of tremendous character work.

The brothers come face to face with the hearts they shattered when leaving for war: Mary (Hailee Steinfeld) and Annie (the cinematic treasure that is Wunmi Musaku). The presence of each woman will open old wounds. For Mary and Stack, their uncoupling is born of male ego and perhaps a regret for Stack letting himself fall in love with a White woman. Annie and Smoke share a pain that has crippled their souls, but nothing has changed their hearts. In one of the film’s best scenes, the two share sad memories and a bit of well-earned kindness. The darker emotions open up to the attraction they once shared. Burning with need and pure heat, the two give in to their carnal desires in a moment that is as erotically charged as it is moving.

The screenplay is consequential, and the care with which Coogler designs each role (big or small) is integral to the film’s epic quality. The writing and filmmaking are on a grand scale.

Smoke and Stack are strong-willed men not to be challenged, as both see their futures clearly. This juke joint will succeed and they will bring money to their community.

Enter a strange man named Remmick (Jack O’Connell), whose presence takes the film into a full-on world of horror. Bloody and burnt, he shows up at the doorstep of a white couple, seeking safety from a supposed attack. As he begs to be invited in, his eyes turn to an otherworldly glow, and his fangs are revealed; it is clear that “Sinners” will become a vampire movie in its final act. With the juke joint in full swing, Remmick and his ever-growing group of fellow undead descend upon the crowded establishment to kill everyone inside.

Comparisons to the Robert Rodriguez/Quentin Tarantino classic, “From Dusk Till Dawn” are likely. Coogler cited the film as an influence, but tries hard to make it fresh. It is in this crossover into a vicious horror movie where the director finds his footing somewhat uneven. While there are some thrilling vampire attack moments, playing his cinematic cards too close to the structure of Rodriguez and Tarantino’s finale makes the screenplay’s last act feel like a near-carbon copy remake, save for the subtext.

The depth of character seen in the strong first hour and forty minutes gives way to uneven moments of comical levity and an unfortunate telegraphing of who will die next.

Remmick may sing a good song or two (leading his fellow vampires in an incredibly choreographed dance sequence), but he isn’t that interesting of a villain, and O’Connell doesn’t seem invested in making anything memorable out of his character. The actor seems to be letting the makeup and vampire aura do the work for him.

What does work is how Coogler pulls the rug out from under all who think they have a lock on the symbolic nature of the vampires. When Remmick and the White couple first arrive at the juke joint, they are three. They want to get in more than anything and lay waste to everyone. This is the White oppression of the time furiously trying to erase the Black communities. As Remmick’s horde grows, it becomes more culturally diverse, yet all bow to the power of Remmick, a comment on the continuing facade of unity from White oppressors who still seek to be the dominant power. It is here where Coogler’s vampire finale works very well.

As a whole, “Sinners” is a vivid cinematic experience with a potent dramatic weight. The entire first half is a bold mixture of John Steinbeck and Walter Hill. The Southern characters are richly drawn, while the story’s violent overtones run through the town’s collective fates. Ludwig Göransson’s fantastic guitar-driven Blues score invokes the great work of Ry Cooder and his legendary score for Hill’s 1986 film, “Crossroads.”

Coogler populates his film with history and truth, giving it all a genre sheen. While the wrap-up can’t sustain the supreme focus shown in the first half (and there are too many endings), the picture contains some of the most breathtaking sequences you are likely to see this year. There is real emotion to the direction, to the design of the screenplay and to the entire project.

Ryan Coogler is one of the best filmmakers working today. “Sinners” is one hell of a movie.