
Twenty-Four Wishes per Second
MADRID · 2026
with Adriana Arratia, script and edit
Seedance, Grok Imagine, Nano Banana
DaVinci Resolve, hand-built LUTs
Photoshop, After Effects
posters and bookshelf, Josefa Toro
TWENTY-FOUR WISHES A SECOND
TWENTY-FOUR FRAMES. TWENTY-FOUR WISHES.
Cinema runs at twenty-four frames a second. The frames were never the hard part. The hard part is wanting to tell something.
Halfway through, the Tin Man tells her: forget wishes, tell your story. The line was in the script from the first draft and nobody paid it any attention. When we went looking for a title, we found it was already written inside the film. The thesis was there before we knew it was the thesis.
IN ITS DAY, THE NEW TOOL
THAT WAS GOING TO KILL CINEMA.
A sequence of drawings, a turning drum. Movement begins in the gaps between still images.
THEY DON'T MAKE FILMS.
EVERYTHING IN BETWEEN
IS THE WORK.



A room becomes somebody's room through what they keep in it. We chose the posters one by one, seventy percent of them films directed by women, and rebuilt the bookshelf as a real cinema bibliography, spine by spine.
Nobody will pause the film to read the shelves. But that is the difference between a room that belongs to someone and a set that was assembled.
A model does not understand “orbit around her”. It understands what has to leave the frame, and in what order, so we built the move in 3D first and handed it over as reference.
The title was animated by hand, letter by letter. Hierarchy, spacing and timing are not decisions a tool makes for you.
The space
A model can give you the shot.
It cannot give you the space.
In this outtake, faces distort and a character appears twice. We mapped the Red Room so characters and cameras stayed in the right place.
What worked was cutting the sequence first, as if the space were right, and then generating the shots that cut asked for. The other way round doesn't work.
YOU GIVE IT TO THE TEXT, AND THE TEXT
CARRIES EVERYTHING A DIRECTION WOULD.


Judy is the one who will not let go. She hugs Aaliyah goodbye and lifts the lighter from her pocket while she does it, smiles about it, and ends up flat on the yellow brick road lighting up with it. None of that is in the dialogue: it is in what her hands are doing.
So the note goes in before generating, and it is not “warm” or “sly”. It is where each of them is coming from, what they want from the other and what they are keeping to themselves. An emotion on its own is too broad; a relationship gives the movement something to respond to.

Aaliyah walks into the animation studio and the camera finds the floor first: rows of stools, and a chain on every ankle. She does not say anything about it. The next shot is her face working out what she is looking at.
Anger written as “angry” comes back as a scowl. What works is giving her something to receive: the shot before decides the performance, and the cut decides how long she has to let it land.
Sewn together
Each shot is generated on its own. We corrected the details by hand to keep the film consistent from one frame to the next.
THE CUT
THE FILM WAS FOUND IN THE EDIT, NOT IN THE SHOTS.
We replaced the opening wide shot with details of her room: the fan, posters, window, cereal and ashtray. The boss's voice arrives before his face, and hers comes last.
Sequences that added nothing were cut, keeping the film under ten minutes.
Three looks were graded by hand in DaVinci. Skin saturation at 0.15 made the Red Room feel lit, not filtered.
Olmo designed the sound. The edit decides when it enters: room tone and keys first, music only when needed. Credits and grain were finished by hand.
We also cut a line explaining the trick. It made the machine sound like the filmmaker. Leaving it unsaid gave the ending more room.
Continuity. The bag, the coffee maker, the clips, the reel. Sewing together a film generated in pieces that don't know each other.
Resolution. A good part of the film was generated at 720p, because that was what existed when we started. Then 1080 arrived and shots had to be redone. Upscaling saves nothing: when a frame holds a lot of information, a wide shot of a room full of things, the upscaler invents and comes out worse than the original.
Iteration. On one shot, three hundred bad versions before the good one. That is not a figure of speech. Multiply it by every shot in nine minutes and there is the time.
Wishes per Second


















