RIDER FILMS
written & directed by
Second draft. The AI wrote the first one. We don’t talk about the first one.
A storytelling & film studio, working in AI smhadi@riderfilmsmedia.com
FADE INACT I
Two ads follow. We’d tell you what they’re selling, but that would ruin the endings — and around here, endings are the whole point.
INT. A LIVING ROOM — NIGHT
A man watches the football. His wife hunts a mosquito. The mosquito makes a series of increasingly bad decisions.
Client: Moskill. The brief said “show that it kills mosquitoes.” It does. Eventually. Via rolling pin.
INT. A THERAPIST’S OFFICE — LONDON
Nigel would like to talk about Tuesday. Nigel does not want to talk about Tuesday.
Client: Phitkü, a crystal deodorant. The ad is about a smell. There is no smell. That’s the point. Nigel needs a minute.
ACT II
We come from film, and we’ve spent years directing it for architects, interior designers and landscape designers. Buildings that exist. And now — buildings that don’t exist yet. If your project isn’t built, that’s no longer a scheduling problem.
EXT. A FLOOR PLAN — DAY
The client sends one 2D floor plan. We send back a film. Everything in between is reimagined — with AI, and with the old tools that still run the show: story, blocking, light, an afternoon that feels like a memory.
The drawing became a home; the home got an afternoon; the afternoon got a resident. Architects tend to go quiet at this part. And yes — we can film your building before it exists. No scaffolding.
Some of this is shot. Some of it is built. The camera changed; the eye didn’t.
ACT III
The very first thing we ever made. Made for no one in particular; it ended up somewhere after all.
INT. A THRIFT STORE — THE SHOE AISLE
Eric buys a pair of second-hand leather shoes for his sister’s wedding. The shoes have been waiting for him. The shoes have notes.
Our very first film. Nine minutes. One cruel man. One chance for a pair of shoes to say what they’ve been holding in for fifty years. You’re allowed to cry at a shoe. We won’t tell anyone.
Six juries let it in. One made it a quarter-finalist. We are insufferable about this.
Two kinds of clients walk in here. I write differently for each. I don’t mix them.
Architecture, interiors, landscape. I’ve filmed this world for years, and I still read floor plans the way other people read menus. Built or not built yet, your project can be a film. The goal is simple: people should feel the space before they ever stand in it.
Here I write concepts, and a concept has one job: break the pattern. You shouldn’t see the ending coming, and you shouldn’t be able to forget it. Sometimes it gets dark. Clients tolerate this because it works.
Either way, I write. I direct. The camera is whatever the story needs that week.
Then the credits roll, and one line is missing:
If you make beautiful things — buildings, furniture, products with feelings — write in. We’ll do the misdirection.
smhadi@riderfilmsmedia.com