There is something haunting about black skin in the Southern sun. Careful now...This is not a movie review, rather, this is a celebration of brilliant and haunting cinematography that highlights pigmented skin in all of its glory. Black. Asian. Native American. Creole.
Ryan Coogler’s Sinners, a period piece and horror movie hybrid, is set in 1930s Mississippi. The film does not romanticize the past, rather, it reveals it—unflinchingly. Loss, hardship, escape, the prodigal sons return home. Skin in the scenes are not airbrushed, but alive with emotions-of joy, pain, anguish, fear. The film immerses us in a time where skin was more than skin: it was currency, it was danger, it was inheritance. You were defined by your skin color and it could bring you everything or reduce to nothing. But beyond the horror-themed and racially charged violence, what lingers is the texture of humanity that unfolds on every character’s face. The way skin holds onto memory, grief, and faith when language falls short. Anti-aging creams, vampires, the need to live forever... Who hasn't dreamt of being staying young forever, ageless. However, Coogler's movie is far from fantasy rather it touches on the most human themes; love, friendships, broken dreams, redemption, aspiration, persistence.
At Angèle Ammal, we speak often about skin not as surface, but as story. In the Missississipi fields, skin, both young and old, pulsing as it picks cotton all day in the harsh and brutal sun. Alternative, skin cool, shimmer, glow in a sweat-filled juke joint with the blues and bootleg liquor flowing all round. The juke joint's visitors have nothing to give as the plantations owner's give them more credit than coins. Coogler's Sinners weaves a story of struggle and sensuality written in whispers, in blood, in the silence between church bells and cotton fields. There's love to be found and rediscovered after years of exile with the SmokeStack twins, played by Michael B.Jordan. Longing in between.
In Sinners, black skin is never just a backdrop—it’s a battleground. The priviledged vs the defiant. The cinematography allows us to see what history often flattens: the diversity of brown skin tones under candlelight, in sweat, in prayer. We watch as the camera hovers over women with carefully coiffed for Sunday Sermons's, men heading to the juke joint with the dust of labor still on their forearms and children walking bare feet and free from the herbalist store. Defiant yet desperate for relief. Escape. Small rituals. Sacred gestures. Even in poverty, even in pain, there is pride. And this pride matters. Because when the world tells you that your skin is a curse, every act of care becomes a quiet rebellion.
The 1930s South was a time of double consciousness, as W.E.B. Du Bois described it—of knowing how you see yourself and how the world sees you. Coogler visualizes this tension masterfully: the way Michael B. Jordan character's is dashingly handsome and dapper. In both characters, Michael B. Jordan's smile is intoxicating with a hint of mischief. The audience is caught in between his biceps and shea butter glossed brown skin. In Sinners, skin doesn’t lie. It testifies.
It testifies to the sun’s cruelty, to racialized labor, to the beauty rituals carried from African traditions to Southern kitchens. It reminds us that skincare—especially for black communities—has always been more than aesthetics. It’s been armor, affirmation, and archive. Testaments to traditions passed down with time. At Angèle Ammal, our work is informed by this history. We formulate not to erase but to restore. To soothe where generational trauma lingers in inflammation. To celebrate melanin in all its hues—not as trend, but as truth. The story of Sinners is not only about guilt or grace—it’s about the physicality of Soul. The spirit is trapped while the body is alive and lives on as undead. It's about what it means to inhabit a body that has always been politicized, owned, fetishized. And about the quiet defiance of claiming beauty in a world that has tried to strip it away.
So we watch Sinners not as an escape, but as a mirror. A reminder that our skin holds lineages. A reminder that care is cultural. A reminder that beauty is not always soft—but it is always sacred. Complexions with history passed from generations to generations and rooted in culture. In Coogler's Sinners, beneath the delta dusk in a forgotten town, we saw the world in a single frame—and it looked like us. It was filled with soul, joy and color with a foreshadowing of a deadly threat. A threat that can and surely will be overcome.