The Day a Wave of Molasses Killed 21 People in Boston
A real project made in Narva, shown end to end: the video exactly as it came out, what went in, the script, every scene of the plan and what it cost. No manual editing.
- Length
- 3:28
- Scenes
- 39
- Credits
- 56
- Rendered in
- 6 min 48 s
What went in
“The Great Molasses Flood of Boston, 1919”
- Started from
- A topic
- Format
- Long video · 3:28
- Niche
- History
- Tone
- Dramatic and cinematic
- Style
- Dark documentary
- Visuals
- Real footage + AI
- Voice
- Matt - Natural, like a friend telling a story
- Language
- English
- Captions
- Karaoke fill
- Music
- Epic cinematic
What it cost
$5.41 on Starter ($29 for 300 credits a month) - $1.56 per finished minute. $3.71 on Pro, the lowest price per credit.
The plan shows this exact cost before anything renders. You are never charged more; a shorter final cut is refunded the difference and failed renders are refunded in full.
See plans39 scenes, directed by AI
The script is cut into scenes word for word; each one gets its own picture, motion graphic or real footage. This is the plan you review and can edit before rendering.
01 · 0:00
Map: placeBoston, January 15, 1919. Just after half past twelve, a steel tank splits open.
illustration02 · 0:08
AI imageWitnesses hear a roar like gunfire.
archive03 · 0:11
Photo: Wikimedia CommonsMore than two million gallons of molasses spill out as a wave.
illustration04 · 0:16
AI imageAnd 21 people won't survive the next few minutes.
illustration05 · 0:20
AI imageThe brown wall rises up to an estimated 7.5 meters, taller than a two-story house.
archive06 · 0:27
Big numberPhoto: Wikimedia CommonsIt tears through the North End at around 56 kilometers per hour.
archive07 · 0:32
Photo: Wikimedia CommonsIt bends the steel of the elevated railway. It shoves buildings off their foundations.
archive08 · 0:38
Photo: Wikimedia CommonsBut the January air turns the flood into a trap.
09 · 0:42
Photo: PixabayAs it cools, the molasses thickens like wet cement.
illustration10 · 0:46
AI imageIt grips the injured, and it grips the people trying to pull them out.
illustration11 · 0:51
AI imageAbout 150 are hurt.
illustration12 · 0:53
AI imageThe company would soon blame sabotage. Years later, a court ruling helped change how America builds.
illustration13 · 1:01
AI imageSo was this a freak accident, or a disaster someone saw coming?
illustration14 · 1:06
AI imageThe answer was painted right on its side.
illustration15 · 1:09
Chapter title1915. Four years before the flood, the tank went up fast.
illustration16 · 1:16
AI imageIt belonged to Purity Distilling, part of United States Industrial Alcohol.
illustration17 · 1:22
AI imageThey needed molasses for industrial alcohol, including for munitions.
illustration18 · 1:27
Name plateConstruction was overseen by Arthur Jell, the company treasurer. Jell had no engineering training.
illustration19 · 1:34
AI imageAs a test, he reportedly filled the tank with only a few inches of water.
20 · 1:39
Photo: PixabayThat's in a tank about 15 meters tall and 27 meters across. It proved almost nothing.
illustration21 · 1:47
AI imageAnd from day one, the tank leaked. The company didn't fix it.
illustration22 · 1:51
Checklist cardInstead, they painted the tank brown, so the leaks would blend right in.
illustration23 · 1:56
AI imageNeighborhood families came with buckets to collect the free molasses.
illustration24 · 2:00
AI imageThey had no idea they were scooping up evidence.
25 · 2:04
Footage: PixabayOn the day it burst, the temperature had jumped from bitter cold to about 5 degrees Celsius.
illustration26 · 2:10
AI imageA fresh shipment, possibly warmer, had been added days before.
illustration27 · 2:15
AI imageWould the company ever admit it?
illustration28 · 2:17
Chapter titleThe months after the flood. Rescuers searched for days.
illustration29 · 2:23
AI imageCleanup took weeks, and the harbor reportedly stayed brown for months.
illustration30 · 2:28
AI imageUnited States Industrial Alcohol had its explanation ready. Anarchists, it claimed, had bombed the tank.
illustration31 · 2:36
AI imageIf that stuck, nobody at the company would pay.
illustration32 · 2:40
AI imageBut survivors and families sued, and the case dragged on for years.
33 · 2:45
Document pageAround 1925, the court-appointed auditor, Hugh Ogden, gave his finding. There was no bomb.
illustration34 · 2:53
AI imageThe tank itself was unsafe, and the company was responsible.
illustration35 · 2:57
AI imageSo it wasn't a freak accident.
illustration36 · 3:00
AI imageThe warning had been dripping down the tank's sides for four years, and someone chose to paint over it.
illustration37 · 3:06
Big numberThe company paid about 628,000 dollars in settlements, roughly 10 million in today's money.
illustration38 · 3:14
AI imageIn the years that followed, Massachusetts began requiring engineers to sign off on plans, and other states moved the same way.
39 · 3:22
Footage: PixabayEvery building plan stamped by an engineer today carries a little of that brown paint's lesson.
The script, as narrated
The Tank on Commercial Street
Boston, January 15, 1919. Just after half past twelve, a steel tank splits open. Witnesses hear a roar like gunfire. More than two million gallons of molasses spill out as a wave. And 21 people won't survive the next few minutes.
The brown wall rises up to an estimated 7.5 meters, taller than a two-story house. It tears through the North End at around 56 kilometers per hour. It bends the steel of the elevated railway. It shoves buildings off their foundations.
But the January air turns the flood into a trap. As it cools, the molasses thickens like wet cement. It grips the injured, and it grips the people trying to pull them out. About 150 are hurt.
The company would soon blame sabotage. Years later, a court ruling helped change how America builds. So was this a freak accident, or a disaster someone saw coming?
The answer was painted right on its side.
The Brown Paint
1915. Four years before the flood, the tank went up fast. It belonged to Purity Distilling, part of United States Industrial Alcohol. They needed molasses for industrial alcohol, including for munitions.
Construction was overseen by Arthur Jell, the company treasurer. Jell had no engineering training. As a test, he reportedly filled the tank with only a few inches of water. That's in a tank about 15 meters tall and 27 meters across. It proved almost nothing.
And from day one, the tank leaked. The company didn't fix it. Instead, they painted the tank brown, so the leaks would blend right in.
Neighborhood families came with buckets to collect the free molasses. They had no idea they were scooping up evidence.
On the day it burst, the temperature had jumped from bitter cold to about 5 degrees Celsius. A fresh shipment, possibly warmer, had been added days before.
Would the company ever admit it?
The Anarchist Defense
The months after the flood. Rescuers searched for days. Cleanup took weeks, and the harbor reportedly stayed brown for months.
United States Industrial Alcohol had its explanation ready. Anarchists, it claimed, had bombed the tank. If that stuck, nobody at the company would pay.
But survivors and families sued, and the case dragged on for years.
Around 1925, the court-appointed auditor, Hugh Ogden, gave his finding. There was no bomb. The tank itself was unsafe, and the company was responsible.
So it wasn't a freak accident. The warning had been dripping down the tank's sides for four years, and someone chose to paint over it.
The company paid about 628,000 dollars in settlements, roughly 10 million in today's money. In the years that followed, Massachusetts began requiring engineers to sign off on plans, and other states moved the same way.
Every building plan stamped by an engineer today carries a little of that brown paint's lesson.