“Sarah’s Oil” opens not with a gunfight or a gusher, but with a girl standing on a patch of Oklahoma dirt that almost no one else believes is worth a second look. The film, inspired by the true story of Sarah Rector, takes that unremarkable allotment and spins it into a quietly stirring tale of faith, grit, and the hard work of staying honest when money finally shows up. The result is a warm, earnest historical drama that turns a little‑known slice of Black American history into a family‑friendly parable about integrity and resilience—familiar in shape, but often genuinely uplifting.
At its core, “Sarah’s Oil” is a story about a child who thinks like an adult before the adults around her are ready for it. Eleven‑year‑old Sarah suspects there is oil beneath the land she’s been assigned and becomes determined to prove it. The movie follows her bid to get an oil company to drill on her terms, then to keep hold of the wealth that follows when the land lives up to her hunch. As powerful interests circle and racist laws close in, the film keeps asking the same pointed question: when the money comes, will you bend your principles—or stand your ground?
Those questions are framed explicitly through the lens of faith. Church services, hymns, family prayers, and quiet spiritual counsel are woven into the fabric of the movie, not just tacked on at the end. Sarah’s most important choices are presented as acts of belief as much as acts of bravery. The script leans hard into themes of perseverance and honest dealing, contrasting quick, shady gains with the slow, sometimes painful work of doing business the right way. When characters talk about “selling your soul,” the line lands less as cliché and more as the governing rule of the story.
What keeps “Sarah’s Oil” from feeling like a sermon in period dress is its cast, led by a breakout performance from Naya Desir‑Johnson. As Sarah, she balances flinty determination with a kid’s open curiosity, switching seamlessly from stubborn negotiation to a moment of doubt or hurt that reminds you she’s still a child shouldering an adult’s burden. Zachary Levi, as Bert, a charming but compromised oilman, gives her a worthy foil. Their relationship grows from wary skepticism into a kind of moral tug‑of‑war, with Sarah’s uncompromising sense of right and wrong forcing him to take a hard look at his own compromises. Around them, the actors playing Sarah’s parents build a portrait of a Black family that is loving, protective, and fully human, refusing to let racism be the only thing that defines their lives.
Visually and stylistically, director Cyrus Nowrasteh chooses a classic, almost old‑Hollywood approach. The cinematography favors clean lines and sun‑drenched vistas over grit; the period detail is rich enough to convince without calling attention to itself. A lush, emotive score tells you exactly how to feel at every turn, rarely opting for subtlety when a swell of strings will do. The pacing is gentle, even leisurely, which makes the story easy to follow for younger viewers but occasionally tests older ones’ patience. Conflicts tend to resolve neatly, and the script sometimes smooths over the sharper edges of history in favor of a cleaner moral arc.
Still, there’s a certain courage in how frankly the film addresses the dangers surrounding its young heroine. “Sarah’s Oil” does not look away from racism, legal exploitation, or the threat of violence; it simply filters them through a family‑audience lens. Menacing moments are implied rather than shown in graphic detail, and the camera is careful not to dwell on suffering. There are splashes of mild profanity and a few suggestive references to an adult character’s romantic past, which likely push the movie out of range for very young children but make it a comfortable fit for older kids, teens, and mixed‑age groups.
As a piece of cinema, “Sarah’s Oil” will not satisfy viewers craving a raw, unvarnished historical exposé. The narrative is too tidy, the speeches sometimes a bit too polished, and the complexities of land allotment, oil law, and racial terror are simplified for clarity and age‑appropriateness. But as an introduction to Sarah Rector’s story and an example of how faith‑based filmmaking can center Black history without resorting to tropes or savior narratives, it quietly breaks some important ground.
In the end, the film’s greatest achievement is its heroine. “Sarah’s Oil” offers a Black girl at the center of the frame, neither sidekick nor symbol, who learns the value of her own worth and refuses to let the powerful buy her off. For families, church communities, and anyone interested in tales where justice and faith are every bit as important as the fortune in the ground, this is a story that goes down easy—even if its message is more robust than its occasionally uneven storytelling.
