Sarah’s Oil 2025 Movie Review
The film Sarah’s Oil (2025), directed by Cyrus Nowrasteh and inspired by the true story of Sarah Rector, is a stirring blend of historical biography, faith-driven uplift and socio-economic drama. It tells the remarkable journey of an eleven-year-old African-American girl in early 20th-century Oklahoma who goes from a seemingly worthless land allotment to becoming one of the nation’s first African-American female millionaires, through an oil discovery no one else believed possible. The film is anchored in themes of identity, faith, family, racial injustice and the often unseen realm of American history; it seeks to shed light on a story rarely told, and it succeeds in many respects, while also facing limitations inherent in its approach.
From the outset, “Sarah’s Oil” sets its emotional tone by establishing Sarah’s humble origins. Born in Indian Territory (which would become Oklahoma) in 1902, to African-American and Creek Indian ancestry, Sarah is allotted land under the Dawes Act that others dismiss as barren, worthless. The screenplay, co-written by Nowrasteh and his wife Betsy Giffen Nowrasteh, adapts from the book Searching for Sarah Rector: The Richest Black Girl in America by Tonya Bolden. As the narrative unfolds, young Sarah (portrayed by Naya Desir‑Johnson) holds onto an intuitive belief that something lies beneath the land and when oil is discovered, everything changes. That pivot—from invisibility to sudden wealth—is presented not simply as good fortune, but as the fruit of faith, perseverance and choosing to believe in what the world has written off.
One of the most compelling aspects of the film is its willingness to place Sarah’s race and gender at the center of the story. The fact that a Black girl in the Jim Crow era could become a millionaire, and that her fortune could become a target of predatory interests (“oil sharks” seeking to exploit her) gives the film a rich set of conflicts beyond the economic. The filmmakers use this context to explore how Sarah must lean on her family (for instance her mother Rose, played by Sonequa Martin‑Green), her community and a handful of honest wildcatters to retain control of her land and legacy. In doing so, the film implicitly asks questions of ownership, agency and how marginalized people can safeguard the fruits of their faith and toil in an economy rigged against them.
Visually and tonally, the film does a commendable job. Although full critical reviews are still pending (for example the Metacritic page lists no critic reviews as yet) the production values suggest a polished historical-period piece: the setting in Oklahoma, the rugged land, the oil rigs and early 1900s milieu are decently evoked. The emphasis on faith is explicit yet not overbearing: the film does not shy away from its spiritual framing, but tries to balance it with the economic and racial realities of its time. For example, several interviews describe the filmmakers’ intention to highlight Sarah’s faith in what others dismissed as worthless land. The choice to present this story as a faith-filled drama perhaps narrows the audience somewhat, but it also gives it a strong moral core and a clear narrative compass.
Desir-Johnson delivers a naturally earnest performance as Sarah: though young, her portrayal captures both the innocence and the determination of a girl who refuses to accept that she is powerless. Zachary Levi, as Bert Smith, and Sonequa Martin-Green, as Rose, offer credible support performances: Levi, though more often associated with lighter fare, brings a grounded quality, and Martin-Green anchors the family dynamic with warmth and subtle strength. That said, since the film is still new, full audience reaction is yet to accumulate: as of now, IMDb lists zero user reviews for the film.
Where the film excels is in that it gives voice to a historical figure many viewers will not know. Sarah Rector’s story is astonishing on its own: the film’s promotional materials note that by age 11 she was one of the richest children in America, thanks to a land allotment that oil companies struck. As such, the film fills a gap in popular culture and historical awareness, especially about Black women’s economic agency in early 20th-century America. It invites viewers to reflect on what being wealthy means—especially wealth gained through land, inheritance, exploitation, and subsequent legal battles—and how this story intersects with race, child-hood, innocence, enterprise and exploitation.
Another strong suit is that the film does not cleanly paint every character or corporation as villainous; rather it dramatizes tensions between protective guardianship, predatory interests and legal guardianship systems that historically targeted minors, especially those of color. The narrative allows for complexity: Sarah is not simply a lucky child, nor is she simply victim; she is an actor in her own story, albeit a young one. That nuance makes the film more thoughtful than a simple “rags-to-riches” procedural.
However, the film is by no means flawless. One of its limitations stems from the inherent difficulty of balancing the genre elements: biography, historical drama, faith film, social commentary. At times, the film leans so heavily into its faith themes that it risks simplifying socioeconomic or racial tensions. Some viewers may find that the narrative, while compelling, does not fully interrogate the deeper systemic injustices—such as how land allotments were part of a broader dispossession of Native Americans, or how Black and Indigenous people often lacked equal protections under law—favoring instead an inspirational arc of individual faith and triumph. Indeed, while the origin of Sarah’s land receives attention, the film could do more to explore the structural history of land allotment in Indian Territory and its lasting consequences.
Similarly, because the film focuses closely on Sarah herself (and rightly so), some of the supporting characters and subplots do not receive as much development as they might have in a more sprawling historical epic. For instance, the internal family dynamics beyond faith and loyalty, or the mechanics of the legal battles she faced later in life, may feel compressed for the sake of narrative pacing. Given the runtime of approximately 104 minutes according to the there is inherently less space to explore every tangent in depth.
On a thematic level, the film’s inspirational tone—though uplifting—may lead to a somewhat safe conclusion. The story of Sarah Rector is extraordinary, but in choosing to forefront hope, faith and positive outcomes, the film at times downplays lingering ambiguity: what happened to Sarah’s fortune long term, how her wealth changed her identity, and how her community responded to her newfound status. These questions are touched on, but not always deeply probed. One might wish for a stronger sense of the aftermath: of the wealth’s impact, of Sarah’s adult life, or of how her story resonates in present-day conversations about race, wealth and inheritance. While the promotional article notes that she lived until 1967 and invested wisely, the film may not linger on those later years.
From a filmmaking perspective, the pacing remains steady, though the film occasionally slows when moving from the inciting oil discovery to subsequent legal and corporate threats. Some viewers might feel a shift in tone: the early portion of the film—Sarah’s hope, the land, the discovery—is emotionally rich; when the film pivots to guardianship and oil exploitation matters, the dramatic urgency intensifies, but the stakes feel more drawn-out, as legal manoeuvres replace the youthful wonder of discovery. That shift may impact engagement for some viewers seeking a continuous narrative momentum.
In terms of audience appeal, Sarah’s Oil clearly positions itself as a family-friendly drama (it is rated PG), and its themes of faith, history and empowerment give it strong appeal among church-going audiences, history-buffs, and those interested in untold stories of Black achievement. It not only entertains, it aims to educate. That said, audiences looking for gritty realism, deep psychological character studies or full-blown revisionist history may find it somewhat conventional in structure and tone.
One of the film’s triumphant accomplishments is its ability to make Sarah’s age matter in a way that feels genuine. The filmmakers do not treat Sarah as a fully mature businessperson but as a child whose worldview shifts dramatically. Her youth is balanced with agency: she makes yes/no decisions, relies on family and community, learns from mentors, and ultimately stakes her claim. This transforms what could have been a distant historical figure into someone relatable: a child of faith who says “yes” when everyone else says “no.” The film invites viewers to rediscover wonder and trust even in barren places.
The cinematography and production design underscore this theme: the barren land, the oil rig in the Oklahoma terrain, the contrast between emptiness and hidden potential are framed with care. Without being flashy, the visuals respect the time period, and the costume design, sets and locations feel authentic rather than stylised. In a way, that grounding helps the film avoid becoming a caricature of faith cinema; instead it retains a rugged realism, which aids its emotional pull.
The supporting cast adds texture: for example, the inclusion of independent wildcat oil drillers gives the story an element of frontier-industrial drama. The characters of “oil sharks” and the legal guardianship machinations function as real antagonists, showing how Sarah’s victory wasn’t purely a stroke of luck, but required vigilance, protection and moral clarity. In particular, the interplay between Sarah’s family and external forces gestures to the broader truth that wealth—especially sudden wealth—brings both blessings and burdens.
Though full critical consensus is still forthcoming, the early promotional reception suggests that the film will resonate strongly with audiences seeking hopeful historical drama. For instance, one faith-oriented media outlet described it as “more than a movie, it is a divine invitation to believe again, to teach our children their history, and to champion their vision.”
That kind of language suggests the film has a clear mission beyond entertainment: to inspire, to reveal, to uplift.
In sum, “Sarah’s Oil” is an ambitious and heartening film that shines a light on a remarkable but little-known chapter of American history. It offers strong performances, a meaningful moral core and a narrative that balances faith and fact. While it may not fully satisfy viewers seeking exhaustive historical critique or complex psychological drama, it succeeds wonderfully as a family-friendly, hope-filled historical biography with a unique protagonist. For those willing to engage its faith-driven tone and its message of believing in unseen potential, this film is not just watchable—it’s worth watching.
Ultimately, the story of Sarah Rector is one that invites reflection: on how value is assigned (or dismissed) by society, on how children can hold tremendous potential, on how race and legacy intersect in America, and how faith—whether religious or simply trust in one’s vision—can lead to extraordinary outcomes. By bringing this story to the screen, the filmmakers have done more than entertain—they’ve invited us to reconsider whose stories are told, whose wealth is chronicled, and how hidden gems of history can change how we see ourselves and our world.
