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Between 1919 and 1931, a defeated Germany conjured a cinema of painted shadows and psychological dread — and when its makers fled Hitler, they carried that darkness into Hollywood horror and film noir.

Between a nickel peep-show and a dusty California suburb, an entire art form was invented, industrialized, monopolized, and set free. This is how the movies came to Hollywood.

In the decade after 1917, a handful of Soviet filmmakers decided that cinema's true power lived not in the shot but between shots — and rebuilt the medium around the splice.

Between 1913 and 1927, a nickel novelty became an art form. The feature film arrived, the movie star was invented, and cinema learned to tell sweeping stories without recording a single word.

Between the two world wars, French filmmakers first made the camera dream, then taught it to grieve — inventing a cinema of subjective vision and doomed working-class romance whose shadow still falls across noir, neorealism, and the New Wave.

In 1927, a single Al Jolson number turned Hollywood upside down. Within seven years, sound had ended careers overnight and five studios had built the most powerful movie machine the world had yet seen.

Out of the rubble of a defeated nation came a handful of films that threw away the studio, the star, and the plot — and quietly rewired what movies could be about.

Between the arrival of sound and the iron grip of the Production Code, Depression-era Hollywood flirted, killed, and cracked wise on screen with a frankness it would not recover for a generation.

In the decade after the war, the studios of Tokyo and Kyoto produced the greatest sustained run of masterpieces in any national cinema — and taught the world that Japanese film existed.

Between 1934 and 1945, the Hollywood studio system ran like a factory of dreams — perfecting genres, minting stars, and crowning 1939 as the greatest year cinema has ever known — all at a human cost hidden behind the glamour.

Between 1958 and 1968, a handful of Paris film critics grabbed cameras and tore up the rulebook — jump cuts, street shooting, and pure movie-love that rewired cinema forever.

Between 1956 and 1963, a generation of British filmmakers dragged the camera out of the drawing room and into the factories and terraced streets of the industrial North, inventing a cinema of working-class life that still shapes how we film reality.

Between 1947 and 1954, two blows — an antitrust ruling and a political witch hunt — cracked the foundations of a Hollywood factory that had looked invincible only a year before.

For six intoxicating years, filmmakers in a communist state made cinema that was playful, absurd, and quietly seditious. Then the tanks came, and a generation was silenced almost overnight.

In the 1950s a glowing box in the living room emptied America's movie palaces. Hollywood answered with everything the small screen couldn't do — and dismantled its own factory in the process.

In 1962, twenty-six young Germans declared the old cinema dead. Out of that rupture came Fassbinder, Herzog, Wenders and Schlöndorff — and a generation's reckoning with the country their fathers built.

Between 1967 and 1980, a generation raised on European cinema and film school seized control of the American movie — and made the most director-driven decade the medium has ever known.

In the arid backlands and crowded favelas of Brazil, a generation of filmmakers turned poverty itself into a cinematic language — and dared a dictatorship to look away.

In the summers of 1975 and 1977, two young directors rewired Hollywood's business model, turning the single film into the franchise that still runs the industry.

For two decades of borrowed time, Hong Kong's filmmakers turned the countdown to the 1997 handover into the most kinetic and ravishing popular cinema on earth — from John Woo's bullet ballets to Wong Kar-wai's bruised romances.

In 1995 two Danish provocateurs handed cinema a list of ten commandments and dared it to obey. The prank became a movement — and the movement rewired how films could look, sound, and tell the truth.

After decades of dictatorship and censorship, South Korea's filmmakers built a cinema that fused arthouse gravity with genre delirium — and, in 2020, walked off with Hollywood's highest prize.