In “Sinners,” his bloody new historical blockbuster, writer-director Ryan Coogler feels unleashed in a way he hasn’t been before — and that’s a good thing. Free from the shackles of proving himself, respectability politics and four- quadrant appeal, the “Black Panther,” “Creed” and “Fruitvale Station” filmmaker delightedly revels in what he’s allowed to do within this hyper-sexy, hyper-violent, R-rated vampire movie.

The characters in “Sinners” are as advertised: flawed in a deeply human kind of way. They’ve made mistakes, hurt others, defied social norms, and are grieving, traumatized, horny and driven by money. And that’s just the twin brothers, Smoke and Stack, played in a dual performance by Michael B. Jordan. It’s 1932, and after seven years learning the gangland trade from Irish and Italian mobsters in Chicago, these World War I veterans have rolled back into their Mississippi hometown ready to raise hell with their latest venture, a juke joint stocked with stolen booze.

Smoke and Stack reconnect with friends, family and former flames before everyone convenes at the old sawmill they’ve secured for their party. As the sun slips below a low horizon, strange dangers emerge in the dusk, heralded by flocking vultures and warnings from Choctaw trackers, though the group of revelers can’t hear anything above the sound of blues music and stomping feet.

“Sinners” is a period piece about the Jim Crow South, and it’s also a darn good vampire movie, because Coogler understands that the best vampire movies embrace their metaphorical nature, whether it’s using the monster to manifest fears of addiction, illness, invasion or otherwise. But Coogler’s vampire metaphor is entirely original and deeply cutting, using the monster myth to address the foundation of systemic racism and exploitation upon which this country was built, a system that drains the life and labor (and culture and music) from the enslaved Africans who became Black Americans.

Music provides the connecting thread for Coogler’s argument about the sprawling web of oppressive colonization, in which indigenous cultures are ransacked, pillaged and repurposed. Beautiful music might emerge from this vampiric relationship, but that doesn’t erase the violence behind it. “Sinners” is a rich text to unpack, stuffed with surprising and unexpected cultural histories.

With regard to the music of the film itself, the collaboration with longtime creative partner, composer Ludwig Göransson, soars in “Sinners.” Coogler’s filmmaking thrums with energy, keeping time with Göransson’s blues-based score, which references everything from African percussion to Irish hymns. His work with cinematographer Autumn Durald Arkapaw and editor Michael P. Shawver creates an intoxicating tempo, pairing long takes with sharp cuts.

If there’s any criticism that can be levied, it’s that Coogler doesn’t bother with subtlety, and there are moments that feel a bit indulgent or overwrought. Coogler often gets weird with it, and the moments of surrealism and camp in “Sinners” are what mark the film as a project from a filmmaker with a singular point of view, one that hasn’t been neutered or sanded down.

Truthfully, Jordan is not the star of “Sinners,” Coogler is. Jordan — part of a large, appealing ensemble cast that includes Delroy Lindo, Hailee Steinfeld, Jack O’Connell, Lola Kirke, Jayme Lawson and Wunmi Mosaku — is merely the vessel for Coogler’s ideas and experimentation.

Coogler has delivered one of the best blockbusters of the year, and that it has a heart and brain behind all the blood-drenched thrills just makes it that much more satisfying.

MPA rating: R (for strong bloody violence, sexual content and language)

Running time: 2:17

How to watch: In theaters