When La La Land came out in 2016, I wasn’t supposed to love it. Secondary school was a place where musicals were either something you’d grown out of or were embarrassed to admit you still enjoyed. Singing along to Disney films was no longer cool. So, when I was dragged along by my grandparents to see it, I went with a mixture of scepticism and mild embarrassment, expecting to roll my eyes constantly and spend the next 128 minutes bored. But, almost immediately the bright colours and catchy music drew me in, and instead I found myself completely caught up in a film that made the world feel bigger and brighter than it ever had done before.
The opening number set the tone perfectly – bringing together chaos, joy and energy in a continuous shot that somehow made choreographed dance on car roofs along a gridlocked LA freeway feel real. And even though it couldn’t possibly be, the lyrics still rang true to an ambitious teen. The characters’ big dreams and persistent hope felt strangely relatable, even if I didn’t fully understand the adult struggles behind them.
And then came the ending, which at the time I felt completely unable to explain. The montage of what could have been, the dreams, the compromises, the missed moments, hit me hard. I didn’t fully grasp the themes of choice, sacrifice, or bittersweet endings, and yet I felt their longing mixed with contentment and disappointment. La La Land taught me that emotions don’t have to be simple, neat or easy to explain – they’re complicated, and it’s okay to not be able to explain them.
La La Land taught me that emotions don’t have to be simple, neat or easy to explain – they’re complicated, and it’s okay to not be able to explain them.
Looking back, La La Land did more than just give me permission to fall in love with musicals again. It reshaped how I experienced stories and emotions from that point onwards, giving me a space to feel intensely. At a time where life felt confusing and overwhelming (as it frequently does for anyone on the cusp of growing up) the film reminded me that joy, ambition and heartbreak could all coexist, but that ultimately, everything happens for a reason. In 2016, for a girl bridging the gap between childhood and adolescence, this proved an important lesson: it’s okay to care, it’s okay to dream big, and it’s okay to love something, even if your school friends tell you it’s “embarrassing”.
