Six Moons Later: The Movie That Wouldn’t Let Me Go
From the screen to my spirit—how one film brought me home to myself, leaving me rewired and wildly inspired.
Disclaimers: SPOILERS AHEAD! Proceed with caution! This post is layered with feels, film reflections, and full-on Sinners spoilers—so if you haven’t seen the movie yet, proceed with caution (or come back after your watch party 👀). I’m not a film critic, historian, or professional cultural analyst—just a deeply moved creative unpacking the impact this story had on my spirit, artistry, and sense of self. This is one part love letter, one part emotional journal, and all parts real. Take what resonates, and let the rest stir something in you when the time’s right.
Full Circle Moments:
My Sinners’ Diaries: The right eyes finding my work at the right time—there's no feeling quite like it. From Proximity Media to the Ft. Lauderdale theater that gave me that transcendent IMAX experience...this journey keeps unfolding in the most beautiful ways. Grateful doesn't even cover it! This is your sign to pour your heart out with great intention and watch it reach exactly where it needs to go. ✨
Dated: June 10, 2025
Writing Playlists: 🎬✍🏾✨
My Sinners’ Diaries: These scores were the background noise and emotional blueprint of this piece. 🎬✨
I’ll be unpacking scenes that might seem obvious to some and others that might only make sense through my lens. But that’s the beauty of personal storytelling—what feels intimate can often be the very thing that resonates the most.
So, let’s get into it. The moments that hit like a gut punch, the songs that scored my healing, and the characters that quietly walked with me. This isn’t just about a film, but in fact the way art finds you when you didn’t even know you needed to be found.
The Ril Talk
I’ve been drafting this blog for eight weeks—trying to capture every feeling, every shift, and shape it into something that takes no more than 20 minutes or so of your time. Even when I wanted to write about something else, I couldn’t. My mind had tunnel vision. These words had to come out.
So here we are. This isn’t just a review. It’s a reflection. And I hope, as you read, you feel something real.
This is my take on what I believe is already a new cult classic: Sinners.
The wildest part about Sinners is how different everyone’s connection to it is—and yet, the same. Every time I talk to someone about this film, we end up tracing it back to something tender—a childhood memory, a moment in early adulthood—whatever the instance, it is always some feeling we never had language for until now.
This film isn’t just telling a story—it’s unlocking memories, healing timelines, and spotlighting a part of history many of us never got to fully understand. And what’s even more beautiful is the way it reminds us—especially as Black people—of our deep, undeniable interconnectedness. Our stories may not look the same, but the roots run close. And I love that for us.
Since starting this blog earlier this year, I’ve been in the thick of what I can only describe as a rebirth. I’ve been shedding old beliefs, expired connections, and roles I never asked to play. At the same time, I’ve been stepping into the most honest version of myself yet. Every lesson, every conversation, every turning point has shaped who I am in this very moment.
Sammie’s journey in Sinners struck a nerve in me. It was his clarity, his conviction, and his unshakable belief in a dream, even when no one else could see it, that did it for me. That kind of full on self-trust is rare! Watching it unfold on screen reminded me of the season I’m in now: honoring my voice, reclaiming my joy, and moving like my dreams are non-negotiable. Because they aren’t!
I’m falling back in love with parts of myself I loved before the world told me to be different. In my 30s, unlearning what was never mine to hold—watching old conditioning fall away like dead skin. My inner child has been waiting for me to come home.
Six Watches. Six Moons. One Movie.
You’d think I was on the promo team the way I’ve been talking about this movie. At this point, people probably assume I’m getting a check, a producer credit, or at the very least, custom Sinners merch for how hard I’ve been pushing it into conversation. Nope. It’s just that impactful!
If you know me, you know I don't do horror, and I barely touch suspense. Blood? Gore? Supernatural anything? Absolutely not. And yet…I went to the theater six times for this movie.
Six!
Twice in Dolby Digital. Once in standard IMAX. A two-hour drive to Tennessee for the 1.43:1 IMAX screening. A solo matinee to hard reset my expectations. For my final watch, I had to endure a painful 10+ hour drive to Florida for the full on 70mm IMAX experience. I’m not necessarily complaining, but emphasizing the level of extremes I went through to see it how it was intended to be viewed. From April 18th to May 18th, this movie had me in a chokehold, and if I’m being honest, I was holding back just as tightly!
I’ve never done this for any other film. Ever! There’s a short list of movies I’ve gone back to theaters for more than once, so short that I could count them on one hand and still have fingers to spare. I’ve seen a lot of movies in my lifetime across many genres, studios, and eras. Some made me laugh, some made me cry, a few even made me sit in silence after the credits rolled, but rarely and I mean rarely, have I felt pulled to go back. Not for the visuals. Not for the plot. But for something deeper.
Each watch had a purpose, a reason, and a moment that I needed to revisit. Whether it was watching alone to listen more closely, going back to catch what I missed the first time, or chasing a format that would leave me mesmerized—I had to experience every version that I could, every sound, and every detail when I was called to. Each screening felt like a new layer of understanding, not just of the movie, but also of myself.
I traveled across three states and logged over 25+ hours of travel time just to sit in these theaters for a two-hour film. Each theater seat I sat in, I left a little part of myself behind…and somehow, found something new in return. I got goosebumps, a lump in my throat, and chills that showed up like clockwork every time, no matter how much I tried to brace myself.
I even started to really prioritize my seating, making the decision in upgrading my tickets to skip lines ensuring it was an entire experience, because it was. This wasn’t just “going to the movies” for me. For a few weeks, it became a small ritual that is now just a moment in time I pray I never forget!
I originally planned to make this blog about my moviegoing experience alone, but somewhere around that final showing, something shifted. I realized this wasn’t just about how I watched it, but rather about why I kept returning. And the answer is…”I can’t explain it fully. Not yet. Maybe not ever.”
If you haven’t seen it, I highly recommend it, not once, but at least twice!!! It’s good for the culture! Like really good! The kind of good that leads you down rabbit holes of think pieces on Substack, Instagram deep dives, and YouTube breakdowns at 2 a.m. The kind of good that makes you want to text your friends “Did you catch that one line???” The press run alone deserves awards, and if this cast and crew don’t get every ounce of the recognition they deserve—WE RIDE AT DAWN!
I said what I said.
You should follow me on SPILL where I’m the most active in the social media world. Come catch some glimpses of my everyday life.
The Ones Who Reflected Me Back To Myself
Art has this sneaky way of becoming a mirror when you least expect it, showing you not just who you are, but who you've been, and who you're brave enough to become. What I found in the particular characters below were fragments of my own story, reflected back in ways that made me stop, think, and finally understand pieces of myself I'd been carrying in silence.
Sammie — Adolescence, projection, strong faith in oneself
Here's a young man being told "no, you shouldn't do that," but he keeps going anyway, living his life to the fullest and succeeding at it. That's me looking back at all the years I was conditioned to believe that chasing what was placed in my heart would be rebellious or disrespectful. I thought I didn't have a choice to say no to other people's expectations, but I’ve always had that choice. I just couldn't see it or know how to say no. Now, I don't give a damn, respectfully. I've given up too many years trying to do it someone else's way. I'm deliberately doing it my way now. Sammie’s journey reminded me that being impressionable doesn't mean you can't have discernment.
Annie — The strong friend who accepts her fate
Annie carried the weight of losing a child, a grief that teaches you about letting go in the most brutal way possible. I've never experienced that specific kind of heartbreak, but I have lost love, or what I felt like was love, because I never got to fully experience it the way I imagined to. There's something about loving so deeply and then having to release it so abruptly that changes how you hold onto things as life continues on. When she said "No misery’s worth complaining about," it wasn't resignation, it was wisdom earned through surviving the unsurvivable. She chose her peace over prolonging her pain, and that's the mark of someone who knows what battles are worth fighting.
Grief is an unpredictable and untimely beast. Sixteen years ago, I lost my Great Granny, the woman who practically raised me, right as I was entering high school. It might sound selfish, but if I'd had her for just one more year, who knows what path I would have taken. I lost my best friend and had to learn how to navigate life in a completely different way than I'd ever known. Thinking back on my life, that's where my confidence in myself started to shift—where I started looking to other people for validation, and for years to come I'm finally unlearning that I don't need no damn validation from anybody but myself.
End the end, I compare myself to Annie’s death, but not in me literally dying. In order to move on and be happy in this life, certain parts of me are ready to be purged so I can move on and experience more while I’m still given the opportunity and time to do so. Sometimes you have to let pieces of yourself go to make room for who you're becoming. Annie showed me that accepting your fate doesn't mean giving up. It means loving yourself enough to stop holding onto what's already gone.
Mary — Love that demands honesty
Mary and Annie are both women who knew exactly where they stood with their men, knew what was best for them, but just wanted to hear the words. They wanted these men to be real, honest, and love them boldly, even if it hurt. For Mary, that looked like possible death under Jim Crow. For Annie, that looked like experiencing deep pain for someone she'd already lost a child with.
Again, I may not have faced these exact circumstances, but I know the ache of unspoken words, of unrequited love, of waiting on someone to finally see you. Whether it's men who rejected or denied me, or even family and friends who couldn't show up the way I needed, there's something universal about loving people who can't or won't love you back with the same intensity. Mary taught me that sometimes the bravest thing you can do is ask for honesty, even when you already know the answer might break your heart.
Remmick — Slick delivery, sinister intentions
Remmick may be the antagonist, but he wasn't heartless. There was something magnetic about his smooth charm, and I'd be lying if I said it didn't stir something familiar in me. I've always had an impressionable mind when it comes to men like this—the ones who walk into a room and command attention without trying. Past versions of myself have fallen for that exact cocktail: the velvet voice with the dangerous accent, the knowledge that feels like power, the charisma that makes you forget to ask the right questions. Even when every instinct screams that it's wrong, there's something intoxicating about being seen by someone who seems to see everything. *Facade. Red flag. Get out of there girl!*
Here's the thing about Remmick: He stood on business, twisted as it was. He came to the Juke Joint essentially for one person, with his own warped sense of justice, and I genuinely don't believe he would have harmed anyone else if they'd just turned over Sammie. He had his reasons, dark as they were, and in his mind, he was settling a score. That didn’t make him right, but instead made him relatable—and sometimes the most dangerous beings are the ones who believe their own justifications.
The Parallelism, The Music, & My Love For Ludwig Görannson
If I wasn’t sure before, I knew this movie had me in a chokehold the day I went to see another film. I had already seen Sinners two—maybe three—times. I walked into the theater, took a quick break in the ladies room before Thunderbolts*, and as I stepped back into the hallway…I heard Sammie’s voice.
The opening lines of I Lied to You floated out like a siren’s call—pulling me in, disarming me, haunting me in the best way. Sammie didn’t just sing, he summoned. Like a male siren, with a Southern ache in his throat and scripture in his lungs. (And yes, I’ve decided male sirens exist, because Mile’s Caton’s voice is otherworldly!)
I didn’t realize how long Ludwig Göransson had been shaping the soundscape of my life until fairly recently. During a rewatch of New Girl—yes, New Girl—I happened to catch his name in the credits midway through my binge. That’s when it clicked. I’d been hearing him long before I knew I was listening.
He’s a Swedish musician and composer, but don’t let the passport fool you. His music speaks every emotional language. His sound doesn’t just accompany the moment, it expands it—wrapping itself around each beat, bending genres with ease, leaving vibrations that stay with you long after the scene ends.
His work lives everywhere:
Black Panther. Wakanda Forever. Creed I & II. Venom. Oppenheimer. Tenet. Turning Red.
Each project tells a different story and lives in a different world, but the emotional weight he brings to them all is unmistakable.
You can hear it even across genre and generation. Listen to the Black Panther Original Score—tracks like Wakanda, Phambili, or Glory to Blast—then flip to Rocky Road to Dublin on the Sinners Original Motion Picture Soundtrack, or even If I Fight, You Fight (Training Montage), Conlan Fight, and End Credits (Creed) from the Creed Original Motion Picture Score. These pieces were released years apart, with completely different intentions and cultural landscapes. His style is bold, cinematic, and emotionally immersive. It blends orchestral tradition with modern grit, weaving African drums, classical strings, soulful guitar work, synths, and hip-hop percussion into sonic worlds that feel triumphant, ancestral, and alive. Yet the signature—the textures, the tension, the pulse—is undeniably his. His work doesn’t just support the story; it shapes how you remember it.
In Sinners, the score doesn’t just accompany the scenes—it inhabits them. The music doesn’t sit behind the dialogue. It becomes part of the storytelling. Sometimes it leads. Sometimes it mourns. Sometimes it speaks when the characters can’t.
By my second watch, I was already nodding along to the beats, instinctively moving with the rhythm of scenes I hadn’t fully understood the first time. I knew them now and I felt them deep. The parallelism between visuals and score is masterful.
There are five scenes that leave me undone every single time:
The opening scene, Sammie dragging himself toward his family’s church, barely upright, clutching his guitar neck like a lifeline—scored by Filídh, Fire Keepers, and Griots.
The match strike between Annie and Smoke, set to Why You Here / Before The Sun Went Down—a moment filled with silence, charged glances, and unspoken truths. Their eyes said everything the words in that scene didn’t.
The dirt road scene with Stack, Sammie, and Delta Slim, Slim’s story of his friend’s lynching plays out over the low rumble of tires, with layered audio that rests heavy on the silence. There’s no dramatic music, just painful memories, followed by a low, mournful hum that feels like the beginning of a Negro spiritual, pulled straight from the grief of the moment. That haunting note was improvised by actor, Delroy Lindo.
The dice game gone left, the man getting sliced and thrown out mid-party while Pearline howls Pale, Pale Moon like she’s summoning her ancestors.
Smoke’s final rampage, set to Grand Closin’, every shot echoing with ancestral rage—each shot a reckoning. It wasn’t just revenge, it was a promise kept: to eliminate every man who brought the spirit of the KKK onto his land.
It’s about the synchronicity of it all. The fact that Ryan Coogler brought Ludwig on set so he could feel the weight of the story in real time might be the decision I appreciate most from his direction.
Ryan Coogler & Ludwig Göransson — Photographer UnknownAnd Then There Was James Blake. . .one of my all-time favorite musicians. Hearing his work woven throughout this film felt like a gift I didn't know I needed.
The tenderness. The ache. The way songs like Séance, Flames of Fortune, and Dangerous from the soundtrack crawl under your skin and stay there. I learned the lyrics to Séance in two days like I was studying scripture.
What really broke me open was a live performance of Séance that he posted in a private fan group I’m a part of. Watching him pour that much emotion into such a vulnerable song—just for us—was unreal! Afterward, I left him this little message shown in my screenshot in the group, and HE ACTUALLY LIKED IT! The moment still feels surreal. He responds to fans here and there, but never did I expect him to see my message as fast as they were going.
And it wasn’t even our first encounter—I’ve had a couple in-person moments with him over the years. But this one felt aligned and very intimate, like something had come full circle.
This film has become one of my comfort movies, and not just for the story—it’s the sound. I can wake up from sleep and hear pieces of the score in my head like muscle memory. It’s been a long time since I’ve been this captivated by an original score. Not since Robert Glasper’s The Photograph, and if you know me, you know The Photograph is in my personal canon.
The way Sinners weaves blues, Irish folk, grunge, African rhythms, and even Zaouli dance traditions into one cohesive world is a study in sound. A spiritual frequency. A coded language.
You can feel the research behind it—the care, the history, the reverence. From the instrumentation to the vocal choices, everything feels intentional. This was studied, sourced, and spiritually guided. This is the kind of soundtrack you know came from reading, listening, digging, and asking the right questions, and the kind of score that doesn’t just represent culture, but honors it.
The Dynamic Duo: Ryan Coogler & Michael B. Jordan
There’s something undeniable about the synergy between Ryan Coogler and Michael B. Jordan. In my eyes, they’ve yet to miss. The only project of theirs I haven’t brought myself to watch is Fruitvale Station, and that’s only because I know my heart. I’ll get to it when I’m ready. But in everything else they’ve created together, you can see not only the evolution of their individual crafts, but the deep trust and creative brotherhood that’s grown between them.
Ryan has a gift. Not just as a filmmaker, but as a builder—of worlds, of people, of legacy. He doesn’t just cast talent; he sees potential, even when it hasn’t been fully realized yet. He brings people in, treats them like family, and sets them up to shine in rare, unforgettable ways. The man is a class act! That intentionality reminds me of my days producing fashion shows back in college. I didn’t always choose the students who wanted to be models, I chose the ones who didn’t know they needed a moment. The ones who were waiting to be seen, and when I see Ryan’s casting, his storytelling, the way he makes space for overlooked voices, I recognize that rare ability to amplify others.
As I said in a recent blog about Tyler, The Creator—an idea starts with one person and expands when they’re unafraid to share it with the world. Sinners is a powerful example of that. Over $300 million in global box office success in just four weeks. A Black-led original story, helmed by a Black director, pushed past industry expectations and gave us something that felt personal, haunting, spiritual, and freeing. It triggered reflection. It pulled people in. It woke something up.
Ryan Coogler & Michael B. Jordan — Photographed by Dana Scruggs
Now let’s give Michael B. Jordan his flowers shall we. . .
The commitment it took to play both Stack and Smoke is something you have to look into. Across interviews and behind-the-scenes footage, you can see just how far he stretched to embody these two very different men. I’m not even sure he fully realizes how well he portrayed them. While there’s been conversation around the Southern Mississippi accents, there’s no denying the emotional range he delivered.
Stack was vibrant and animated, always smiling, always performing in some way. He was the dreamer and the visionary, moving through the world with a kind of charisma that demanded attention. Smoke, by contrast, was more reserved—serious, grounded, quietly observant. He was the leader and the protector, speaking volumes even in silence.
There was a subtle difference in everything from posture to presence, right down to a small beauty mark beneath Smoke’s left eye—a quiet detail that set them apart visually, even when they were in the same frame. Something that has stuck with me most: Smoke only smiled twice throughout the entire film. Just two times. Meanwhile, Stack carried a permanent grin, even when he was holding something back.
A Black Story That Gave Us More Than Grief
What makes this film so impactful is how rooted it is in Black culture—Southern, spiritual, artistic—but without erasing the stories of others who’ve also been marginalized, erased, or overlooked. Ryan Coogler and his team told a very Black story, but they told it with care. Native American references. Irish folklore. African traditions. Asian presence. All included, all respected. And in a cinematic world that often treats stories like these as footnotes, Sinners made them feel essential.
That kind of representation matters—not just for visibility, but for truth, for healing, for history. And to see it told as thoughtfully as it was made the entire experience that much more profound.
So often when we talk about Black life in film, we're handed trauma with no room to breathe. But this was different. This film honored the depth of our joy, the power of our connection, the community we lose, find, and sometimes have to rebuild from scratch. It didn't exploit Black suffering for cinematic weight. It gave each main character some form of peace, a chance at softness that they'd been denied too long.
The Juke Joint revival wasn't just beautiful cinematography. It was a reminder of what it looks like when people remember who you are and show up. The Smokestack Twins had made their mark, and when it counted, their community came through, and not because they were perfect, but because they mattered. I've been rebuilding my own sense of community since my car accident in 2022, learning to show up with more intention and discernment. Sinners reminded me that restoration isn't fiction, but that it's absolutely possible.
Legacy is built moment by moment, in how we treat people and the energy we leave behind.
This film became a companion to my self-discovery, showing me that choosing yourself isn't selfish, and sometimes the most profound growth happens when you stop asking permission to be who you've always been.
Where This Leaves Me
I'll be celebrating the completion of this 8-week journey the same way it began—watching Sinners—but this time, from the comfort of my own bed.
If you haven’t already, take a moment to explore the Sinners Instagram, where you’ll find a wealth of behind-the-scenes footage, interviews, and production insights. The depth of intention behind every frame becomes even more evident. Trust me, there’s so much to learn even beyond that page. Click on the other accounts that are collaborators on those posts. I invite you to go deep.
Now that it's streaming, I know I'll be rewinding scenes, catching details I missed each new watch, committing more lines to memory. Thanks for taking this ride with me.
Here's to the films and other creative mediums in general that find us exactly when we need them, and to the courage to let them change us.
Quick recap of my Tennessee and Florida Trips.
As always, thank you so much for taking the time to read! 🧡
Until next time,
Your Beauty Experience Coach,
Found this helpful? Don’t keep it to yourself—share it with your beauty pro friends or your community! Let’s keep the conversation going drop a comment below or slide into my DMs—I’d love to hear your thoughts! ♥️💭✨
