Seedance 2.5
Lock a face, a wardrobe, a world in place — up to 50 image, video and audio references.
bytedance/seedance-2.5/reference-to-video
Examples
representative generations · starting points to seed the playground
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0:10Cinematic fashion film, ONE continuous unbroken take, no cuts. Aggressive kinetic camerawork with speed ramps, real motion blur, the camera never stops moving. Location: an abandoned retro petrol station in flat open country — four dusty pink pumps, a small cream stucco kiosk, cracked concrete forecourt, blank pale sky. Bleached low-contrast pastel grade, hard diffuse daylight, fine 35mm grain. Subject: one woman, the same person throughout. Dark tousled hair, a cream linen collarless shirt, a single glossy ivory hoop earring as in reference 2, and long yellow rubber gloves. A frosted glass perfume flacon stands on the concrete in front of her; she holds the pink fuel nozzle from reference 1. The take: Open in extreme macro on her ear in profile, the ivory hoop filling the frame, pale sky soft behind it, a strand of hair moving in the wind. The camera begins a slow orbit around her head, then accelerates, swinging back and out to reveal her standing on the empty forecourt with the row of pink pumps behind her. The move keeps going, spiralling down her arm in one motion — shoulder, sleeve, yellow glove — decelerating hard onto the pink nozzle as she lowers it into the neck of the frosted flacon on the ground and squeezes the trigger. The camera holds its distance and sinks instead, dropping to concrete level and swinging into a slow low-angle orbit around the flacon, the bottle standing tall against the sky, her gloved hand and the nozzle above it, the four pink pumps and the cream kiosk sweeping past behind in a long arc. Clear liquid runs down the inside of the glass and the level climbs as the orbit travels. Halfway around, the nozzle lifts away and swings out of frame on its hose; the orbit continues and finishes with the full flacon alone in the centre of the frame, low and heroic against the blank white sky, a last drop sliding down its neck. Audio: wind across open concrete, the clunk of a fuel trigger, liquid running into glass, rubber glove squeak, a hose creaking and swinging, distant road hum.
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0:10Cinematic fashion film. ONE continuous unbroken take, no cuts. A single slow, deliberate camera move on a smooth gimbal — steady, unhurried, no whips, no speed ramps, no drone spins. Location: a low white plaster wall at the edge of a fine white sand dune, a few pale flowers growing at its base, clear sky. Soft high daylight, pastel low-contrast grade, gentle halation, fine 35mm grain. Subject: one woman throughout, the same face in both references. She wears the butter-yellow tailored suit with the pale blue shirt and sage tie from reference 1. A length of yellow silk lies in the sand beside her — the same silk that wraps her in reference 2. The take: Begin directly overhead, high above her lying in the sand, arms spread, eyes closed. The camera descends slowly and steadily, drifting a few degrees as it comes down, until it is low and close beside her. Wind moves a thin film of sand across the yellow wool. She opens her eyes. The same wind lifts the silk off the ground and it settles over her head and one shoulder as she sits up; her jacket slips down her arm and bares her skin. The camera rises with her, gliding in a slow half-circle as she stands against the white wall, the silk lifting and falling softly around her. The move continues without pause, easing in on her covered face. She lifts a hand and draws the silk down — off her eyes, past her nose, off her chin — and lets it fall to her shoulder. The camera settles into a close portrait as she turns her head into the light and looks directly into the lens, hair loose, silk still moving at the edge of frame. She holds the look, and breathes. Then the camera eases back and lifts, retreating in one long unhurried rise until she stands small at the foot of the white wall, silk in her hand, the shape of her body still pressed into the sand. Audio: steady dry wind, fine sand moving, silk shifting against skin, one quiet breath, nothing else.
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0:10Cinematic conceptual fashion film, ONE continuous unbroken take, no cuts. Aggressive kinetic camerawork with speed ramps, real motion blur, the camera never stops moving. Location: an empty red clay running track with crisp white lane lines. A long panel of deep crimson velvet is laid flat across the lanes like an altar cloth. A row of wooden matches stands upright in the velvet, evenly spaced, red tips up — one match in the middle is burnt black. Scarlet feathers and loose white pearls are scattered across the velvet around them. Three identical men in pistachio-green suits sit in a row on white plastic chairs facing it, hands on knees, motionless. Saturated red-and-green grade, hard clean overcast light, fine 35mm grain. The take: Open in extreme macro travelling fast along the row of matches at tip height, each red head snapping past the lens in blur, velvet fibres trembling beneath. The camera decelerates hard onto the single burnt black match, close enough to see the char, a last thread of smoke curling off it. Wind gusts across the track — the camera lifts and banks with it, sweeping low over the velvet as red feathers peel up off the cloth and tumble through the air, pearls rolling loose and scattering down the slope of the fabric onto the clay. The camera chases the pearls, dropping to ground level, racing alongside them as they run along a white lane line, then rises off them and swings around into a fast low orbit behind the three seated men, the whole red track wheeling past. Mid-orbit it snaps forward to a low hero angle in front of them. All three stare dead ahead. The middle man slowly turns his head and looks straight into the lens while the other two stay frozen. Still on the same unbroken move, he stands, steps over the scattered pearls to the velvet, and plucks the burnt black match out of the row. The camera tears vertically upward as he walks out of frame, ramping into a high top-down: the velvet with its gap-toothed row of matches, and directly beside it three white chairs with the middle one empty — the same row, the same missing piece. Audio: wind across an empty stadium, velvet muffle, dry feather rustle and flutter, pearls skittering and rolling on hard clay, plastic chair creak, footsteps on grit, distant crowd hum, low sub drone under the final climb.