A friend just signed the offer letter, or a teammate is working their final week before the next adventure. Describe them to Dreamz — where they have been, where they are headed, what the group will miss — and receive a directed film that works as both farewell and fanfare.
The script can close the chapter at the old job and open the new one in a single arc — last day at one desk, first scene at the next.
Collect the team's memories and inside jokes, paste them into chat, and the studio weaves everyone's contributions into one coherent, directed story.
You approve the departing colleague's character from portraits before rendering, so the person on screen reads instantly as them in every scene.
The exact quote lands in chat before any charge, so you know precisely what to collect from the team. Short films start at a few dollars.
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 new job 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.
The leaving card gets passed around a floor for a week and comes back full of handwriting that says "good luck!" forty times. The leaving drinks produce three good speeches and everyone forgets them by Friday. Neither format fails because people do not care — they fail because the moment is awkward. Somebody is leaving, which means the group is being slightly rejected, and nobody quite knows how to say we will miss you without also saying you are abandoning us. So everyone says good luck instead, which is safe and empty. A short film has an advantage here: it is made in advance, so nobody has to be brave in the moment, and it can hold contradictory things a speech cannot. It can be genuinely happy for them and openly annoyed that they are going. It can be funny about the specific ways they drove people mad and sincere about what happens now that the person who knew where everything was has gone. That combination is the actual feeling in the room, and almost nothing ever says it.
You do this in a chat, describing the film in ordinary sentences. It asks what it still needs — format and aspect ratio if unstated, plus who is leaving, where to, and what tone survives your group. Collect the team's stories first; the film is only as good as what people tell you. A brief that works: "Two minutes for Marcus, who is leaving our agency in Manchester after six years to join a client-side team in Berlin. Two truths about him: he never once made a deadline by more than an hour, and he never once missed one. He also kept a spreadsheet ranking every sandwich shop nearby and defended it like a thesis. Make the sandwich spreadsheet the spine, let the deadline thing be the second joke, and land it on the fact that the rest of us have no idea how he did it. Landscape, dry British humour, nothing weepy." The chat quotes a price, and that number is the exact charge — nothing bills until you approve. Then it writes a screenplay and shows it before a frame renders. If a contribution got cut or a joke has an edge you did not intend, say so in plain words and it rewrites. Approve, and the finished film arrives in the same chat, commercially yours.
Farewell films fail more often from too many inside jokes than from too few. It feels like generosity — everyone contributed a story, so every story goes in — and the result is ninety seconds of references that six people understand and everyone else watches politely. Worse, the person leaving does not get a film about themselves; they get a compilation of other people's memories of them, which is a different and lonelier thing. The fix is ruthless selection. Pick one or two bits that are load-bearing — the ones that actually characterize the person rather than just prove you were there — and build the film around those. Everything else can live in the card. A useful test when you read the screenplay: would the joke still work if their partner watched it and had never met anyone on your team? If yes, it is about Marcus. If it needs a footnote, it is about you. And if a bit is only funny because of a project that went badly, think about who else is in that story before you put it on a screen that will be forwarded to Berlin.
The last thirty seconds are where these films get sentimental and generic in the same breath — a montage of hopeful imagery and a line about how they are going to do amazing things. It means nothing, and it also quietly makes the film about a future you are not part of. Stronger endings stay in the past tense and the present, where you have standing. What they did here. What changes on Monday now that they are gone. What is still true whether or not the Berlin job works out. That last one is the move: an ending that does not depend on the new role succeeding is an ending that still plays in two years, including in the version where the new job is a disaster and they need to know somebody meant it. Practically, that also keeps you clear of promising outcomes on their behalf. If they want to show the film to new colleagues — and people do — an ending that is warm about who they are travels better than one that predicts what they will achieve.
Yes. Gather stories, catchphrases, and memories from colleagues and share them in chat — the script folds them into scenes rather than listing them as a scroll of names.
Yes. Write the lines you want delivered and the cast speaks them with native lip-synced voices, so the send-off is heard, not just read.
The price is quoted exactly upfront in chat — nothing is charged until you approve it — and short videos start at a few dollars — an easy split across a team card or a group collection.
None is needed. Dreamz generates original films from your description and does not edit uploaded footage. You approve their character from portraits before anything renders.
If they want to make an entrance, yes. The film is commercially theirs once you gift it, with no licensing strings attached.
Before, and screen it while they are still in the building. A film that arrives after someone has left lands in an inbox alongside their IT deprovisioning emails, and the point of the thing is the room watching it together. Working backwards, brief it at least a week out so you have time to read the screenplay and get a rewrite without racing the leaving drinks.
Then the film has to be honest by omission rather than by narration. Do not write around it with false cheer about their exciting next chapter if there is not one yet — everyone in the room knows, and the pretence is what stings. A film that is warm about the six years and silent about the circumstances is kind and truthful at once. Say the situation plainly when you brief, so the screenplay does not reach for the wrong ending.
Yes, and it is often the better film, because the story has an actual turn in it. Somebody leaving consulting to become a paramedic gives you a before and an after that mean something. Describe both halves in chat — what they were good at here, and what they are walking toward — and ask the screenplay to rhyme them rather than treating the old job as a mistake they escaped.
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 leaver and the next chapter — the exact quote arrives in chat before any charge.