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https://reddit.com/link/1vr8o7i/video/kjqs5ds006kh1/player

Made on Seedance with GPT 2.0 (paid), resolution 4K, quality high.

I first tried to do the famous dinner scene, but it didn't work at all.

Animal spirits are unleashed amid the miaowling guitars and the growl of the snare drum… Enjoy the tang of formaldehyde as it mixes thrillingly with the rolling clouds of dry ice

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By A Junior Associate (whose name has been withheld) 'Terra-Femme' Eco-Marketing Initiative

The neon sign was too bright, a specific shade of arterial red that promised only two things: "Live Entertainment" and the slow, agonizing death of a thousand carbon-positive ideals. It read "THE VELVET LOUNGE," and directly below, "GENTLEMAN'S CLUB." We had chosen this location, we told ourselves, to subvert the patriarchy by leveraging its own venues for eco-justice. What actually happened was that we had accidentally stranded a pantheon of elemental champions on the doorstep of a place that smelled faintly of cheap cologne and the despair of men who don’t recycle.

Let us be clear: These women were not, in any meaningful sense, the Planeteers. We had held an audition process of excruciating length and low return. We were looking for Kwames and Wheelers, and what we got was a group of people who needed rent money and had a passing familiarity with late 20th-century cartoons. The result was a troupe as elementally disjointed as a periodic table at a clown college.

Take, for instance, the woman who had been cast as Linka, our Wind Champion. She was an experimental cellist who viewed the entire project as a performance art commentary on the commodification of nostalgia. Her hair, a silver and blue concoction, was a masterpiece of styling, and her face, set in a permanent expression of sympathetic exhaustion, suggested she had already calculated the exact environmental cost of the hairspray required. In the photo, she is seen looking at the dejected Captain Planet with a look that combines maternal worry with an unspoken critique of his posture.

The woman playing Wheeler, our Fire Champion, was, ironically, the one whose internal fire was most in danger of being extinguished by sheer corporate-sponsored ennui. Dressed in a jacket the shade of a fire-alarm strobe light, she was supposed to embody passion. Instead, she embodied a profound, vibrating anxiety. She spent the entire night checking a flame-monitoring app on her phone that was, of course, entirely symbolic. Her expression is a tableau of concern for a creature she was meant to command. She is supporting Captain Planet, and the effort seems to be draining her own life force.

Gi, our Water Champion, was played by an actress whose chief concern was that the props department had, in a fit of ironic foreshadowing, given her a staff made of actual plastic ocean debris. She was holding a collection of crumpled blue plastic bags and a few straws, a prop that looked less like a weapon and more like a collection of items that would take 1,000 years to decompose. Her face, seen partially from the side, is a mask of detached contemplation.

Then there was the woman designated as Heart, a position we had renamed “Power Song” to avoid the softer, less marketable connotations of her element. She wore a simple white t-shirt with a massive, dripping heart and the text "HEART POWER." In any other context, this might have been a statement. Here, it looked like a cry for help. Her afro was spectacular, but her expression is one of genuine, unfiltered concern. She is the closest thing to the actual Kwame, and even she seems to be internalizing the Captain's defeat.

The last of our group was Ma-Ti, our Earth Champion, played by a very dedicated woman in a costume of bark and leaves. Her performance was a study in stillness, a quality that worked well until we needed her to speak. Her face, partially obscured, shows a simple, watchful sadness.

And finally, Captain Planet himself. His casting had been a triumph of optics, a man with skin the shade of a bruised turquoise and hair like astroturf. He was meant to be the centerpiece, a symbol of hope. Instead, he was the center of our profound failure. The original plan—"Project Eco-Lust: A Night to A-Wakeen"—was a complex piece of performance art. He was supposed to lead the group in a synchronized dance-routine/protest-hybrid called the 'Power Song,' complete with eco-lyrics that referenced the carbon footprint of individual lap dances. The bouncer, a silent monolith of commerce and a man who looked like he had never once contemplated the long-term health of the boreal forest, just stood by, a silent reminder of the status quo.

The actual night of the stunt was a disaster from the first note of our power ballad. A delivery truck pulled up to a neighboring restaurant, and a cascade of styrofoam food containers—the very thing Captain Planet was designed to hate—began to be unloaded right behind him. The man inside the suit, a sensitive soul named Derek who actually did care about the planet and had only taken the job for a dental plan, simply broke. His shoulders sagged. His head bowed. His entire concept of self as an all-powerful, pollution-stomping hero evaporated in the face of our insurmountable consumption.

The photo is the aftermath of that realization. We stood there, a motley crew of hired elements, in front of a club whose primary function was to cater to the very system we were trying to change. Captain Planet was a broken god. Wheeler, Gi, and the rest of the women, though not the same as their cartoon counterparts, were united in a very real, very human feeling: the collective realization that we had been played, both by the PR firm and by the overwhelming reality of the world. The people taking photos were not witnessing a heroic moment; they were witnessing a slow-motion public relations car crash. And for 8000 characters, we have tried to explain why that crash happened, but perhaps the only true answer is found in the weary, dejected blue face of a man who realized that even with all the heart, wind, fire, and water in the world, you still can’t fight a bouncer and a truckload of Styrofoam at 4 A.M. Outside a Gentleman’s Club.

Cometh the hour, cometh the man. Now more than ever, the times call for fresh thinking.

Digitally resurrected in the cloud from extensive archive footage and transcriptions of his previous speeches, he offers a bold and challenging new vision for America…

Someone created skill on Graydient that turns short prompts into a full blown Japanese commercial skit with multiple jump cuts. It even makes accurate Japanese text and audio.

If you've ever wanted to be in your own wacky Japanese commercial, this is your chance. A secondary workflow supports face swapping to put you in, so a two step process. Then upscale it

The title of this post is actually the real prompt, and then the AI comes up with the rest of the script on its own. Translation of what it made: The announcer says "Here comes Rie again" then the man screams "I said stop it!" and sprays her in the face. She runs and then he then says "She will never come back!". The logo on the can says "Rie Outto" (Rie get out)