JofiElias

Many have praised Sinners for its ambition: a nostalgic musical, a socio-political allegory, a family drama, and a horror film all rolled into one. And to be fair, each of these components has merit in isolation. But good ingredients alone do not make a good dish. Sinners, sadly, is a stew in which the flavours clash rather than complement each other, leaving us with something confused and unsatisfying.

Technically, there's much to admire. The direction is often stylish, the soundtrack evocative, and the cast more than competent. The problem lies elsewhere - in the film's failure to weave its many threads into a coherent whole. The tone shifts so frequently and so abruptly that the viewer is left grasping for any kind of narrative or emotional throughline.

The racial allegory, overt and clearly intended, carries weight in places, but is constantly undermined by tonal detours that feel like they belong to a different film entirely. As a result, its political bite is blunted - never quite sharp enough to disturb, never quite precise enough to provoke. Similarly, the more intimate dramatic arcs are sketched out but never explored with depth. Traumas are hinted at, tensions emerge, but there is little room to breathe or reflect.

And the most frustrating part is this: Sinners didn't need to be so overcomplicated. It could have worked - perhaps even beautifully - as a pure love letter to the Blues: without the clutter, without the melodramatic overtones, without psychological shorthand, without horror tropes or sudden bursts of action. The music alone could have told the story. That soulful, enduring spirit of the Blues - evolving, surviving, adapting - could have stood at the centre. A kind of racial "genius loci", resisting decay, resisting assimilation. But instead, that core is buried beneath a pile-up of competing ideas.

Some critics have described the film as a "rich mosaic", a "layered experience", even a "multi-sensory journey". Perhaps. But a mosaic still needs a pattern. Here, the impression is less of complexity than of accumulation - of gestures and symbols laid on top of one another without structure or direction.

Sinners wants to be many things at once - and in that sense, yes, it's bold. But its lack of a guiding vision makes it exhausting. It feels like a film that wants to say everything, but never decides how. In the end, what lingers is not a chorus of resonant voices, but the dull aftertaste of missed potential - a promising set of ingredients, spoiled by the absence of a steady hand in the kitchen.

It may not be a perfect film, but Fantastic Four: First Steps delivers something that has long felt impossible: a faithful, heartfelt translation of the Lee/Kirby era of Marvel Comics onto the big screen - without irony, without condescension, and without unnecessary modern filters.

Director Matt Shakman makes a bold choice by setting the film in a stylized 1960s alternate Earth. It's a stroke of genius that pays off: the production design is rich and immersive, evoking the spirit of Silver Age comics through colors, sounds, and aesthetics. Everything from costumes to architecture contributes to a consistent and charming retro-futuristic atmosphere.

The storytelling is tight and smart. Instead of dwelling on yet another detailed origin story, the film cleverly condenses it into a faux documentary that plays during the opening credits - a witty and efficient solution. What follows is a brisk two hours of adventure, character dynamics, and emotional momentum. The tone strikes a rare balance: sincere without being naive, fantastical without being absurd, light-hearted but never trivial.

The characters are vividly drawn, with Sue Storm standing out as the film's emotional core. Vanessa Kirby brings depth and strength to the role, while Pedro Pascal's Reed Richards is charismatic and believable, offering a fresh but respectful take on the character. Johnny Storm gets plenty of screen time and energy, but it's Ben Grimm who surprises the most - the melancholic undertone and subtle cultural references (especially to Jewish-American identity) add a layer of richness rarely seen in superhero films.

Even the humor is well-calibrated: present, but never overwhelming. And while Mole Man's appearance is brief, it's a memorable and well-executed nod to classic fans.

This isn't science fiction, fantasy, or action-thriller pretending to be a superhero movie. It is a superhero movie - unapologetically so - made with honesty, clarity, and love for its source material. It resists both the urge to over-intellectualize and the temptation of ideological posturing. Instead, it honors the legacy of characters that defined generations of fans.

In a time when the MCU often feels bloated and self-referential, Fantastic Four: First Steps offers a refreshing reminder of what made these stories resonate in the first place. Here's hoping it marks a new beginning, not just for Marvel's First Family, but for the entire cinematic universe.