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The Lab — films of our own

Two films made for no one but ourselves — where the craft stands now, and the piece that came before it.

Current standard

The Loan

The Loan — a four-part series. Five minutes, thirty-two seconds.

What this is

One person, carried across twenty-eight scenes and four parts, through a story that never happened.

A serialised film made to hold a single character across a run long enough to break most work — the same face, the same clothes, the same city, part after part. It is shot as though someone had filmed it themselves, on a phone and a pair of glasses, and it ends by saying plainly that none of it took place.

A generative film. No camera, no crew, no location — a person who does not exist, carried frame to frame through places that were never visited.

How it was made

One face, twenty-eight scenes

The difficulty in a series is never the first scene; it is the ninetieth. This one holds a single person across four parts without letting them drift into somebody else. This is how it came together.

The face, fixed first

Before a single scene exists, the character is built and held as a reference — front, turned, in profile. Every later scene is measured against it, and anything that drifts is made again.

The reference, front
The reference, front
The reference, turned
The reference, turned
The reference, in profile
The reference, in profile

Filmed as though someone had filmed it

Two points of view and no camera in either: a phone held at chest height, and a pair of glasses. The grammar is deliberately ordinary — the picture flat, the framing careless, the horizon never quite level — because that is what makes a built world read as an ordinary Tuesday.

Held at chest height
Held at chest height
Seen through the glasses
Seen through the glasses

Directed, part by part

Twenty-eight scenes, each written to its own seconds before anything was made, then brought back until it read true. Four parts, cut so that the last one turns the first three into something else.

Part one
Part one
Part three
Part three
Part four
Part four

Twenty-eight scenes across four parts — the same method a house's own story would be given.

The same method, for a house

Your people, or people we build for you.

A film like this can be cast with anyone. Someone invented and carried across a season, or the owner of the house themselves — the person a guest would meet at the door, put into a series of their own. Made in the short, upright shape a phone is held in, for the places your guests already spend their evenings.

Bespoke commissions remain available on request.

Earlier standard

Before this

Deep Water, the piece that preceded it, kept here exactly as it shipped.

Deep Water — a short film. Two minutes, twenty-eight seconds.

What this is

Every other film on this site began with a property's own photographs. This one began with two faces.

There was no brief and no client. It is a piece we made to test the edge of the work — to cast real people into a wholly built world and hold their exact likeness through every frame of it. The men you see are real; everything around them was made.

A generative film. No camera, no crew, no second location — the cast are real people, rendered into a world that does not exist.

Cast

The faces are real

Two people, carried frame to frame without drifting. It is the same craft that can place a founder, a chef, or the face of a house into a film of their own — recognisably themselves, in a world built to fit them.

Reference portrait of Eren Cetindamar, founder of Mahsus
Reference
Eren Cetindamar as he appears in the film
In the film

Eren Cetindamar

Founder

Reference portrait of Archie
Reference
Archie as he appears in the film
In the film

Archie

Friend of the studio

How it was made

Built, not filmed

Deep Water has no location, no set, and no crew. It is made the way the films here are made — the world built first, the real people brought into it, every frame directed by hand. This is how this one came together.

The world, built first

Each place in the film begins as an empty world, rendered true before anyone steps inside — a corridor, a sundeck, the water at dusk. None of it was photographed.

The corridor, built and empty
The corridor, built and empty
The sundeck, built and empty
The sundeck, built and empty
The pool at dusk, built and empty
The pool at dusk, built and empty

Then the people enter it

The two men are real; the world around them is not. Their exact likeness — carried, never invented — is placed into a place that was never there. The same corridor: empty, and then cast.

The mirrored corridor, built and empty
The world, empty
The same corridor with the two figures advancing through it
The world, cast

Directed, frame by frame

Every shot is composed, directed, and brought back until it reads true — the blocking, the wardrobe, the fall of light. Twenty shots, each held to the same standard, cut into a single film of two and a half minutes.

An early shot — the party on the sundeck
A later shot — the action at its height
The closing shot of the film

Twenty shots, cut into one film — the same craft a brand's own story would be given.

The same craft, for your house

Put your people into motion.

A founder's story. A chef at the pass. The face behind the name. If there is someone your guests should meet, we can place them in a film of their own.