One class, many instances, one rule.

The whole reel on one page: The Click, The Warm-Up, and the seven Commissions projected from the horn, with voice.

Fifteen screens from a yellow circle to a 25-team arena. Real p5.js, a step-through debugger, a puzzle on every screen, clips from Two Sallies.

Eleven small worlds, each one class and one rule: Kealakekua Bay, the seven small worlds of Growing Entanglements, and three METISIM clusters. Each has a game and a film.

A three-minute engraved film. The king rules the box through a parser, a citizen answers in a sentence the parser cannot use, and the citizens leave.

The same lineage turned around: Dobb never commands his world, he only reads it on paper tape. The personoids conclude that nothing is owed to their maker, and he agrees.

One camera and no cuts: from King Genius’s cave down through eleven nested frames to the Gozmos inside Mymosh’s head, and back out. A film about recursion.

A drug that makes everyone within fifty yards feel what you feel. The film becomes a grid of panels, and one feeling is copied from panel to panel until the city burns.

Trurl's machine makes anything beginning with N, until Klapaucius asks it for Nothing. Each thing it removes leaves a hole in the picture and a silence in the sound that stay to the end.

Dragons drawn as dots whose density is their probability, a counter that clicks faster as they become likely, and one dragon that will not fade because it is Trurl in a probability-proof skin.

A steel prince in a costume of mud and chalk. The frame splits into outside and inside: what the princess sees on the left, the bladders, bellows and whispered answers on the right, until the clay falls off and the two halves close.

The pirate Pugg wants every true fact. The film is printed on one long paper tape, and at the end it turns out to be the tape coming out of the Demon’s barrel and burying him.

Two kings, one wire, and an army that thinks. Every soldier is a node and every connection a line of ink, until two armies become two giants who smile at each other across the border. The longer version of the first section of the Two Sallies reel.

A horn that learns to speak. Each poem is projected from the horn as a small film, and each repair Trurl makes cleans up the picture and the voice. The longer version of the second and third sections of the Two Sallies reel.

Something ugly lands on the Steelypips’ machine and every weapon fails. Trurl has one notice delivered and signed for, builds an office around it in ink, and the thing shrinks to a damp spot.

A king who loves hide-and-seek gets a pair of horns that swap minds. Each body is an ink figure in its own costume and each mind is a mark over the head. When the horns strike, the marks and the voices change bodies, until the king ends up in a cuckoo clock.

Trurl builds a machine to cure a prince of love and turns every dial to its stop. The needles climb and the prince comes out unchanged, so Trurl changes the world instead: a bloodless war of parachuting babies that sinks the Emperor’s economy gauge until he agrees to the wedding.

Trurl chalks 2 + 2 = 4 on a slate, and his eight-storey thinking machine lights a 7 across its windows. Every repair brings back the same pair. Insulted, the machine counts its insults, skips seven, and chases its makers through a town and into a cave, until Trurl shouts four and a boulder breaks it.

Trurl sends Klapaucius a wish machine, and Klapaucius wishes for a Trurl. Both Trurls are drawn by the same routine and speak in the same voice, so the film never says which one was in the cellar.

King Krool smashes the brain of every beast he hunts, so Trurl and Klapaucius build one that is brain all the way through: a heap of small marks that grows a new head, splits in two, and gathers again. Then the program they wrote into it runs on its own, arrests the King, and starts making demands of its own.

After Lem’s introduction to an imaginary history of books written by machines. A reader at a desk can follow the first volume; by the third the page is marks no person can read, and the reader has shrunk.

From Lem’s text: Rambellais defines bitic literature, divides it into three phases, and explains how machines given freedom stopped writing for us.

From Lem’s text: machines that give old words new meanings, and Pseudodostoevsky’s The Girl, the novel Dostoevsky did not live to write.

From Lem’s text: machines that critique philosophy, the Cogito paradox in which machines doubt that people think, the Tachyversum, and a Lampoon nobody can summarise.

From Lem’s second edition: the fifth volume, where machines write about God. Mystical writing counted for its information, God as a wave between two infinities, and a frozen machine that never finishes.

An essay-film after Ewelina Woźniak-Czech: theory as a field of possibilities that coexist, ending on Lem’s books that do not exist, and on bitic literature, imagined in 1973 and now being written.

The first houses built from language were so perfect that nobody could live in them. An astronomer counts twelve windows outside and eleven in, and the Ministry founds a discipline to decide what buildings are for.

Four delegates define a door four ways, and four machines build them exactly. The Congress cannot leave its hall. The cleaner comes and goes by a plain door nobody defined.

A theorist with seven million houses to his name has never been inside one. The explanation the machine offers is another building. A builder simply opens a window, and the builders the machine makes ask for lunch.

A demolished street rebuilt perfectly from photographs, then corrected toward memory until a brother and sister need two kitchens. The archivist labels them SHOWN and REMEMBERED.

After Italo Calvino: a house burns with its four tenants, and only the index of a copybook survives. A computer counts nine trillion possible stories, rules throw most of them out, and the programmer works out that he has been set up.

A sequel from Watson Hartsoe's screenplay: Waldemar's machine forecasts a stockroom fire at 21:17 in the boarding house across the yard. He is told to observe and not go in. He goes in.

The copybook machine again, with flour sacks. Every deed now has a room, a light, a witness and something left behind. The film counts all 3.79 septillion consistent films exactly, stops one before the knifing, and keeps a grid of different best films instead of one winner.