For decades, television treated mental illness like a twist, a joke, or a temporary crisis conveniently resolved before the credits rolled. Then something shifted. Writers stopped glossing over the mess and started showing the parts of mental health that are slow, uncomfortable, and often painfully human.

Fame can feel like a dream until its spotlight widens and exposes pressures no one mentioned. Some performers reached heights they once imagined, only to find the attention reshaped their lives in unsettling ways.

Some films grab attention for reasons no one expects, especially when a performer on the sidelines suddenly becomes the person audiences can’t stop watching.

Christine McVie’s departure from Fleetwood Mac in 1998 didn’t feel like just another band shake-up. It hit like a soft heartbreak—the kind that sneaks up on you years later when a familiar song plays on the radio. She wasn’t the flashiest member, nor the most mythologized, but she was the band’s heartbeat. And when she walked away, many fans assumed the pulse had faded for good. They were wrong. This is the unlikely, long-delayed, thoroughly satisfying tale of one of rock’s gentlest comebacks.

By the 1960s, old-school Hollywood was running on fumes. The star system was wobbling, TV was stealing eyeballs, censorship rules were cracking and a wave of international filmmakers were basically sending Hollywood a memo that said: “Catch up or get left behind”. Out of that chaos came what we now call modern Hollywood—the era of director-driven blockbusters, gritty antiheroes, experimental editing, genre mash-ups and audiences who expected more than comforting happy endings. These 21 films don’t just define the 1960s; they helped build the cinematic world we still live in today.

Some tales are so unsettling that no camera can fully capture their terror. On the page, fear slowly seeps word by word into your mind, where it can’t be edited or cut away.