Six minutes. That is all it took for Damien Chazelle to convince us that a modern jazz musical could actually work in a world obsessed with superheroes and gritty reboots. When you think about La La Land Another Day of Sun, you probably think about that primary-colored yellow dress, the sweltering heat of a Los Angeles traffic jam, and a camera that moves like it’s caffeinated. It’s a massive feat of technical wizardry. Honestly, it shouldn't have worked. Shooting on a closed-off ramp of the 105/110 freeway interchange in 110-degree heat sounds like a logistical nightmare because it absolutely was one.
The sequence serves as a manifesto. It tells the audience exactly what they’re in for: a film that pays homage to the Golden Age of Hollywood while acknowledging the grinding reality of modern-day "making it." Most people see it as a happy song. If you actually listen to the lyrics, though, it’s kinda dark. It’s about leaving everything behind—parents, lovers, hometowns—for a "technicolor world" that might never love you back.
The Logistics of a Freeway Masterpiece
The production of La La Land Another Day of Sun is a story of sheer stubbornness. Chazelle and choreographer Mandy Moore (not the singer, the dancer) spent months prepping in a parking lot. They used office chairs to represent cars. They filmed rehearsals on iPhones. You’ve gotta appreciate the scrappiness of a big-budget movie starting out like a high school theater project.
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When they finally got onto the Judge Harry Pregerson Interchange, they only had a 48-hour window. The sun was a literal enemy. To keep the lighting consistent, they could only shoot during specific windows of the day. If a cloud moved in, they stopped. If a dancer slipped on a car hood, they reset the whole thing. The final product looks like one continuous shot, but it’s actually three long takes stitched together. You can spot the "invisible" cuts if you look closely at the pans across the asphalt or the quick whip-pans toward the sky.
The dancers weren't just background extras; they were elite performers who had to nail their marks while jumping on car roofs that were reinforced so they wouldn't cave in. Imagine the heat radiating off that metal. It’s basically a miracle no one ended up in the ER with heatstroke.
Why the Music Hits Different
Justin Hurwitz, the composer, is the unsung hero here. He wrote a melody that feels like it’s been around for fifty years, yet it’s undeniably fresh. The song starts with a solitary, tinny radio sound and swells into a full orchestral explosion. This transition is vital. It bridges the gap between the mundane reality of traffic and the internal world of the dreamers.
Technically, the song is in E-flat major. It’s bright. It’s bouncy. But it uses a lot of "blue notes" and jazz-inspired syncopation that prevents it from feeling like a sugary Disney tune. It has grit. It has momentum. The piano riff is relentless, mimicking the heartbeat of someone who just arrived in town with nothing but a suitcase and a dream.
The Subtext You Might Have Missed
Look at the lyrics. "I left a man at a Greyhound station west of Santa Fe." That’s the first line. We are literally starting a "happy" musical with a breakup and abandonment. The song is an anthem for the delusional. It celebrates the "Day of Sun" not because things are perfect, but because the sun is the only thing that stays consistent when your auditions are failing and your bank account is empty.
Character Archetypes in the Crowd
The sequence doesn't just feature Mia and Sebastian. In fact, they aren't even the focus. They are stuck in their cars, brooding, while the rest of the world dances around them.
- The "Climber": People literally jumping onto trucks to see the horizon.
- The "Striver": The girl in the yellow dress who initiates the dance.
- The "Dreamer": The skateboarders and parkour artists using the urban landscape as a playground.
This sets up the central conflict of the film. Are you going to be part of the joyous, collective dream, or are you going to be like Seb and Mia—isolated in your own bubble, refusing to join the dance until it's on your terms?
Technical Brilliance and the "One-Take" Illusion
Linus Sandgren, the cinematographer who won an Oscar for this, used a Panavision camera on a specialized crane. The camera had to weave between cars, rise above the freeway, and then dive back down into the action. It’s a ballet of machinery.
One of the biggest challenges was the sound. You can't record live vocals on a windy freeway with 100 people stomping on Toyotas. The actors had to lip-sync to a track, but the foley artists—the people who make sound effects—had to work overtime. Every footstep on a car roof, every door slam, and every rustle of a skirt had to be layered in later to make it feel visceral.
Breaking Down the Color Palette
Notice the colors. They are saturated, almost hyper-real. This is a nod to CinemaScope and Technicolor films like The Umbrellas of Cherbourg or Singin' in the Rain. By using these primary colors in a gray, smoggy Los Angeles setting, Chazelle is telling us that the "magic" of Hollywood isn't a place—it's a perspective. If you see the world through the lens of La La Land Another Day of Sun, even a traffic jam is beautiful.
Why It Still Matters Today
In an era of CGI-heavy openings, this was a breath of fresh air. It was real people, in a real place, doing real stunts. It proved that audiences still have an appetite for sincerity. Sure, the movie has its critics—mostly people who think the jazz talk is pretentious or that the ending is too sad—but you cannot deny the craft of the opening.
It captured a specific feeling of "L.A. optimism" that is increasingly rare. It’s the idea that today might suck, and you might be stuck in neutral, but the "another day of sun" is coming tomorrow. That’s a universal sentiment, whether you're an aspiring actor in Hollywood or someone working a 9-to-5 in Scranton.
Actionable Takeaways for Cinephiles and Creators
If you’re a filmmaker or just someone who loves analyzing movies, there are a few things you can learn from this sequence to sharpen your eye.
- Look for the "Invisible" Cuts: Watch the sequence again and try to find where the camera pans quickly. Those are the stitch points. Learning to see them helps you understand how long-form choreography is actually constructed.
- Analyze the Counterpoint: Listen to the lyrics while ignoring the upbeat music. It changes the entire meaning of the scene. This is a great exercise in understanding how directors use "audio-visual dissonance" to create depth.
- The Rule of Three: Notice how the sequence builds. It starts with one person, expands to a small group, and finally involves the entire freeway. This "expansion" technique is used to build energy and stop the audience from getting bored with a single long shot.
- Reinforce Your "Set": If you’re ever filming something where people are standing on cars, remember that real car roofs are surprisingly flimsy. The production had to reinforce every single car used in that scene with plywood and internal bracing.
La La Land Another Day of Sun remains a benchmark because it dared to be earnest. It took a gamble on a genre people thought was dead and opened it with a sequence that was physically demanding and emotionally complex. It’s not just a song about sun; it’s a song about the grit required to survive under it.
Next time you’re stuck in traffic, put the track on. It won't make the cars move faster, but it might make the gray asphalt look a little more like a stage. Check out the behind-the-scenes rehearsal footage on YouTube to see the "parking lot" version—it’s honestly just as impressive as the final film. Observe how the dancers maintain their energy without the costumes or the freeway backdrop. That is where the real craft lives.