Direct
a film
by words.
“A camera, a frame, a cut. The director has always been a person of language — negotiating with light through sentences. unreel just listens for the sentences.”
Say the scene.
Type or whisper. “A locksmith in Seoul refuses to open one specific door.” We break it into a beat sheet, then into shots — each one a 35mm-style frame, each one a five-second video, each one a candidate to keep or to redo.
Watch the cut land.
Shots appear on the timeline as the providers return them. Frames come back in under a minute. Clips follow shortly after. You see the film build itself in front of you, version by version, the way an assembly cut comes together in an edit bay.
Re-direct anything.
Hover a shot. Tell it what to change. The shot regenerates, the old version archives — nothing is lost, every version is replayable. The same instinct that drove a notes-pass on dailies, but at the speed of a sentence.
Cut. Send.
When the timeline is what you want, share the link. The film plays. Every shot, every re-direct, every version is sealed in an aiko receipt — a record of how the film came to be. Director’s log, by design.
Kling on fal for the cinematic takes. Kie.ai when the queue is long. Nano-banana for the still frames. Convex for the live cut.
Every provider is hot-swappable on a per-shot basis. The same prompt can roll on fal and kie and you keep the one that looks closer to the film you have in your head. There is no single “right” model — there is the take that matches the take in your mind.