You survived the boxes, the paperwork, the paint swatches. Now tell Dreamz about the place — the crooked hallway you already love, the garden you have plans for — and get a short film that invites everyone over or simply says: we are home.
Date, address, and dress code delivered as a cinematic house tour tease — far more likely to be opened than a text thread announcement.
Ask for a comedy about the couch that would not fit up the stairs, with characters you approve from portraits before rendering.
Or go warm: a film about two people finding the place where the next chapter happens, scored and narrated like a proper short.
No filming your half-unpacked rooms. Dreamz generates every shot, voice, and music cue and hands you the finished cut.
Dreamz is also a Claude connector (MCP) — describe your film to Claude and the finished video comes back in the conversation. If Claude is already your workspace, your film studio now lives there too.
Tell Dreamz about the house warming video you want — story, mood, who's in it. The director agent writes the script and casts characters with you, in chat.
Scenes generate live on your dashboard — visuals, voices, music and editing handled for you, with the exact price quoted before anything is charged.
Watch the finished cut, request changes in plain words, then download it — everything you make is commercially yours.
You send a photo of the keys in your palm and the address in a follow-up message. Eleven people react with a heart. Four of them will actually turn up, and two of those will text on the day asking which floor. The problem is not that your friends do not care — it is that a text asking for a Saturday competes with every other text asking for a Saturday, and it has nothing to make it stand out except your name. A move is a genuine turning point, and it arrives packaged as the least memorable object in the phone. Meanwhile the thing you actually want to convey — that the hallway is crooked and you love it, that there is a lemon tree, that you spent a weekend arguing about a paint colour called Elephant's Breath — has no room in a text at all. A short film has room. It also has the one property a group text lacks: people watch it to the end, because it is moving and it is short, and by the end they know the date.
It is a chat. You describe the film you want; the chat asks the questions it needs answered — format and aspect ratio if you have not said, whether you want a comedy or something warm, and the practical details a party invitation lives or dies on. It quotes a price in chat, that quote is the exact charge, and nothing bills until you approve. Then it writes the screenplay and shows it to you before any frame renders. Read it. If the second scene spends too long on the boxes and not enough on the garden, say that in plain words and it rewrites. A paste-able brief: "60-second housewarming invitation, vertical 9:16 so it plays properly in a WhatsApp group. Dry comedy. Two of us and a rented van finally get a green velvet sofa up a Victorian staircase in Leeds after four failed attempts and one removed bannister. End on the sofa in place, both of us collapsed on it, and a title card: Saturday 4 October, 7pm, 14 Rothwell Road — bring nothing, we have too much stuff already." The finished film comes back in that same chat and is commercially yours.
Housewarming films fail when they hedge. Half the runtime is a sincere piano-scored tour of the new place, the other half is a gag about the sofa, and the two register as one film that cannot decide what it is. Pick a lane in the first line of your brief and let the script commit. Comedy works when the antagonist is the move itself: stairs, landlords, the paperwork, the neighbour who watched you struggle without offering to help. It gives you a villain and therefore a plot, which is more than most invitations manage. Warmth works when the film is about the decision rather than the logistics — two people choosing a place, standing in an empty room, imagining furniture. That version wants a slower cut and much less dialogue. Whichever you pick, note that comedy dates faster. If you intend to keep this and show it in five years, the warm version ages better. If you just need forty people to turn up on 4 October, the funny one gets the RSVPs.
A film that moves people and leaves them unsure of the date has failed at its only job. Three rules. First, the details belong on screen as text, not only in dialogue — people watch these muted on a train, and speech alone evaporates. Second, put them at the end, held long. A title card that flashes for eight frames is decoration; a card that sits for three full seconds is information. Ask for it explicitly in the brief and check that it survived into the screenplay. Third, repeat the date once in spoken dialogue as well, because the people who do have sound on will remember a line better than a card. Beyond that: choose vertical if the film is going into group chats and stories, and 16:9 only if it is going on a wedding-style site or being shown on a TV. And put the address in your brief exactly as you want it read — the script writes what you give it, so a typo in your message is a typo held on screen for three seconds.
You approve an exact quote in chat before any charge happens, and that quote is precisely what you pay. Short videos start at a few dollars — well under what you spent on moving tape.
Describe it — red brick, bay windows, the lemon tree out front — and Dreamz designs an original on-screen home to match. You will see the visual plan before the film renders.
Yes. Include the date, time, and address in your brief and the film delivers them on screen and in dialogue. Send the link and skip the paper invites.
Of course. The film is generated from your description, not from footage of the real house, so you can announce the move before you even have the keys.
You do, fully and commercially. Post it, print the QR code on fridge magnets, or reuse it when you finally host the second party.
Three to four weeks for a weekend party is the sweet spot — early enough to claim the date, late enough that nobody forgets. Under ten days and you are competing with plans already made. If you are announcing a move rather than inviting people, timing matters less; that film is a keepsake and works whenever you send it.
Before, if you want it to be funny — the chaos is the material and it disappears within a fortnight. After, if you want it to be warm, because you will describe the place more accurately once you have lived in it. The film is written from your description either way, so the only thing that changes is what you can honestly describe.
It can, but it usually shouldn't. An announcement goes to everyone including the colleague who is not invited to your kitchen, and it should end on the news. An invitation ends on a date and address you may not want broadcast. Two short films, each quoted separately in chat, keep those audiences apart cleanly.
Yes. Dreamz ships an official Claude connector (MCP): connect it once in Claude, then describe the video you want in any conversation — pricing quotes, drafts and the finished film are delivered right in the chat. The website and the Claude connector share the same account and pricing.
Describe the new place, premiere it to everyone you love.