Hollywood, 1923. Picture this: a mansion bursting at the seams with jazz, drugs, and dancing—pure chaos, the kind that could only happen in Tinseltown. And in the middle of it all, like a firecracker waiting to explode, is Nellie LaRoy.

“Get out of my way,” she shouts, kicking off her heels and leaping onto a table. “This is my night, my party, my Hollywood!” The crowd roars. Champagne rains from the ceiling. A trumpet blares somewhere in the background.

Nellie wasn’t just crashing the party—she was the party. But what she didn’t know was that Hollywood’s own party was about to take a wild, chaotic turn. Because in this town, nothing stays the same for long.

The rise of joy: when movies learned to speak and shine

The roaring twenties were a time of endless parties, glittering champagne, and for Nellie, reinvention—or at least, it was supposed to be. As color splashed across screens in 1922 and sound began filling theaters in 1927, Hollywood transformed almost overnight. But not everyone in Tinseltown could keep up with the times.

“Oh, those were dazzling years,” Nellie says, a bittersweet smile playing on her lips. “Color brought life to the screen, and sound… oh, the sound! It was like the movies had finally found their voice. But darling, not all voices were meant to be heard.”

The advent of color painted joy and optimism into every frame. Suddenly, emotions could leap off the screen in vibrant hues, making joy brighter, sadness deeper, and surprise even more electrifying. Then came sound, with its orchestras, dialogue, and the magic of hearing an actor’s voice for the first time. Fear grew sharper; laughter more infectious. But for Nellie, sound was no blessing—it was the beginning of the end.

“You have no idea how hard it was, doll,” she admits. “One day, I’m a queen of the silent screen, dancing, pouting, stealing every scene. The next? Directors are screaming about microphones and lines to memorize. The magic was gone. And me? My voice just didn’t fit.”

The data, much like the world Nellie lived in, tells a brutal story. Joy surged as sound and color transformed the cinematic experience, but Nellie’s star dimmed. Directors wanted precision, not the raw, untamed energy she had built her career on.

“Oh, I tried to adapt,” Nellie insists, her voice breaking for just a moment. “But the rules had changed. They weren’t looking for wild hearts anymore—they wanted polish, grace, and a voice that could carry a melody. I was too much, darling. Too raw, too loud, too… me.”

She pauses, glancing wistfully at the graphs that capture the emotional evolution of the era. “Sound brought audiences closer to characters, but it pushed me away. The rise of joy, fear, and surprise in movies? It came at the cost of stars like me.”

Those dazzling changes of the twenties made Nellie pause and think back to an earlier time, before color and sound, when World War I cast its shadow over the silver screen and reshaped cinema in ways no one could have foreseen.

A shadow of war: how WW1 reshaped anger and disgust

Nellie is transported back to 1914—a time before her Hollywood reign. The world was at war, and cinema, still in its silent infancy, mirrored the chaos of a planet torn apart.

The bar graph paints the picture loud and clear—anger and disgust took the spotlight, shifting dramatically between the two eras. “See that?” Nellie points with a wink. “Those two emotions, darling, they tell the real story of how the war reshaped cinema. Anger surged, disgust softened, and filmmakers knew exactly how to reflect the world’s turmoil on screen.”

1. The decline of disgust: Audiences had seen enough horror on the battlefields. When they turned to movies, they didn’t want grotesque reminders—they wanted hope, beauty, and escape. Filmmakers adjusted, dialing back disgust and turning their focus to more uplifting themes.

2. The rise of anger: But anger? Anger rose like wildfire. The war stirred deep frustration, loss, and a sense of injustice. Movies mirrored this surge, channeling collective rage into bold narratives filled with conflict, rebellion, and defiance. Anger became the emotional heartbeat of wartime cinema, as shown in the visualizations, where its mean score climbs dramatically.

“That’s the thing about movies,” Nellie says, her voice soft but knowing. “They don’t just tell stories—they carry the world’s scars. After the war, everything changed. Fear grew sharper, hope dimmed, and cinema reflected it all.”

She twirls, her laughter echoing. “And just when we thought we’d seen it all, history had more twists. Each upheaval, like 9/11, left its own mark…”

The diverging faces of sadness after 9/11

It’s the early 2000s, and Hollywood is teetering on the edge of a cliff. Then it happens: 9/11. The world is shattered. Nellie, now a legendary veteran of the silver screen, watches the news in stunned silence, the glitter of her golden years dimmed by the chaos unfolding on her TV.

“Everything changed,” she says, pacing her lush LA mansion, cigarette in hand. “You could feel it. The city, the people, it was like the party was over, and the hangover hit all at once.”

But Hollywood? Hollywood adapts. And emotions, as always, lead the charge.

“Sadness became… complicated,” Nellie muses, plopping onto a velvet couch, a drink in hand. “Two faces, honey. Two wildly different masks.”

1. Family/Animation: “For the kiddos, sadness was out! No one wanted tear-streaked faces in the popcorn line. These movies became shiny, happy beacons of hope. Like a big ol’ hug when the world needed it most. Optimism everywhere—rainbows, singing animals, you name it.”

2. Romance: “But romance? Oh, darling, it was a sobfest. Love stories weren’t just about boy-meets-girl anymore. They were about loss, about longing, about holding on to something—anything—when the ground beneath you crumbled. Romance films leaned into grief like never before. Catharsis, baby. Pure, unfiltered catharsis.”

Nellie stares at the graph, her lips pressing into a thoughtful line. “Sadness in romance surges? That’s the world grieving, trying to make sense of love and loss. And family films pulling back on the heavy stuff? Classic Hollywood, always trying to protect the kids from reality. Clever, I’ll give them that.”

She exhales slowly, her gaze distant. “But reinvention… it’s not for everyone. Not for me. Sound took over, and suddenly, my world fell silent.” Nellie shrugs, a wistful smile forming. “Hollywood moved on. It always does.”

She stands, brushing invisible dust off her dress. “But that’s the thing about movies—they carry on, telling new stories for new times. Even if some of us get left behind.”

Conclusion: a chaotic, glittering reflection

“Movies are more than just stories,” she says. “They’re mirrors. They show us who we are, what we fear, and what we dream of. And me? I’ve danced through every emotion, every era. From silent screens to Technicolor dreams, from heartbreak to hope.”

She laughs, a spark of excitement in her eyes. “Here’s to the next chapter. I’m ready for it!”

In the shadows, Indiana Jones tips his hat. “The adventure’s far from over.” And with that, Hollywood’s ready for the next great story.