The Process
Most tribute videos are made by putting photographs in order and playing music underneath them. We sit with the raw material of a life and find the story inside it. That takes time — and it takes a conversation.
About five to six weeks, once we have everything we need.
Gathering takes as long as your family needs it to — there is no clock running on that part.
At a glance
For someone still here to tell it — a milestone birthday, an anniversary, a retirement, or simply before it is too late.
Made in the weeks after the service, when the house is quiet and there is room to gather what matters.
Stage by stage
Twenty minutes, by telephone or video. We ask who the film is about, what occasion it is for, and who else belongs in it. Nothing needs to be prepared beforehand — this call exists so that we both know whether this is the right film to make.
Half is paid at booking and half on delivery. The filming date and the delivery date go on the calendar together. Once that is done, the time is yours.
You receive a private link — no accounts, no applications, nothing to install. Behind it are a handful of gentle questions about the life we are telling. Anyone in the family can write, and anyone can add to what someone else has written. The same link is where photographs, home video, and voice recordings are uploaded.
There is no deadline here and no minimum. Write what you remember, when you remember it — this is not a form to be finished in one sitting.
An unhurried telephone call with the person the film is about — thirty to forty-five minutes, no camera, nothing to prepare. This is not the interview. It is how we find out which stories they light up telling, what they have been waiting for someone to ask, and what they would rather not discuss. Every question asked on filming day is written after this call.
This call is included in every film, and it is the single reason our films sound like the person rather than like a questionnaire. If the film is a surprise, this conversation happens with you instead, and the same care goes into it.
Half a day, in a place that means something — a kitchen table, a workshop, a front porch. We arrive early, work quietly, and take breaks whenever they are wanted. There is no set to walk onto and no performance required. Most people forget the camera is there within ten minutes.
The longest stretch of the work, and the part you will not see. Photographs are restored and colour-corrected, sound is cleaned and balanced, music is licensed, and the story is built. This is where a collection of material becomes a film, and it is the part that cannot be rushed without showing.
The finished cut goes to one person — whoever the family has named as the point of contact — along with time to sit with it. You send one set of notes, gathered from whoever you would like to consult, and we make those changes. One round of revisions is included in every film.
A film reviewed by seven relatives in a group message never quite gets finished. Naming a single person at booking protects the film, and spares everyone a negotiation.
The finished film arrives as a high-quality file you own outright, alongside a private page where it lives permanently — the film, the story, and a place for family to leave their own memories. That page never expires and never carries a renewal fee. If the film is being shown at a gathering, we prepare a screening version for the room it will play in.
Twenty minutes, whenever suits you. We ask about the person the film is for, what your family has kept, and what you hope the film does. Nothing needs to be prepared, and nothing is decided on the call itself.
Half is paid at booking and half on delivery. The same day, you receive a private link — no accounts, no applications, nothing to install. You can share it with anyone in the family, and everything anyone adds arrives in one place.
There is nothing you need to do right now. The link does not expire, nothing is lost by leaving it for a week, and no part of this asks you to make decisions while you are exhausted.
Photographs, home video, voicemails, recordings — straight from a phone or a computer, a few at a time or all at once. The whole family can contribute, and it is often the relative nobody expected who sends the thing the film ends up being built around.
When you add a photograph, tell us who is in it and roughly when. A single line is enough, and that one habit does more for the finished film than anything else you can do.
Behind the same link are a few gentle questions: the early years, the working years, what they loved, the people around them, what they believed. Anyone can answer, and anyone can add to what someone else has written. Nothing is compulsory, and a paragraph is as welcome as a page.
We would rather have four honest sentences from six different people than a polished essay from one. Where family members remember things differently, that is usually where the real person is.
The longest stretch of the work, and the part you will not see. Photographs are restored and colour-corrected, recordings are cleaned, music is licensed, and the story is built. This is where a collection of material becomes a film, and it is the part that cannot be rushed without showing.
The finished cut goes to one person — whoever your family has named as the point of contact — with time to sit with it before responding. You send one set of notes, gathered from whoever you would like to consult. One round of revisions is included in every film.
The film arrives as a high-quality file you own outright, and takes its place on the memorial page alongside the story and the memories left by others. That page never expires and never carries a renewal fee — not this year, not in twenty years.
Worth knowing
Every family worries they have not kept enough. Almost every family has more than they think.
A voicemail nobody could bring themselves to delete. A camcorder tape. A recorded toast, a sermon, a message left on an answering machine years ago. A few seconds of someone speaking is worth a hundred photographs, and it is the thing families most often forget they still have.
Every family has one — the story that comes out at every holiday, that everyone can recite, that someone always tells wrong on purpose. Write it down, even if it seems too small. It is very often where the film begins.
The ones in the drawer, out of focus, taken by accident. Kitchens, cars, work clothes, ordinary afternoons. Portraits tell us what someone looked like; these tell us what their life felt like.
When you upload a photograph, tell us who is in it and roughly when it was taken. A single line is enough. It is the difference between a photograph we can place in the story and one we can only use as decoration.
Our promises
We do not simulate anyone's voice, and we do not use artificial intelligence to recreate a person who has died — not their face, not their words, not their sound. What you hear is what was actually recorded.
Included with every film, and never a subscription. No renewal fees, no reminder emails, no year in which it quietly disappears.
It arrives as a file you own outright, to copy, share, and keep however you wish. Nothing is locked behind our doors.
If the material will not carry the film you are hoping for, you will hear it before you book rather than after. An honest conversation early is worth more than a disappointing film later.
Begin
Twenty minutes, no preparation, no obligation. Tell us a little about who the film is for and we will reach out within a day.