We take props that were designed to look right for one shot — a ring that only had to glow, a watch that became a repulsor, a JARVIS that provides assistance — and engineer them into objects you can actually carry, charge and drop.
Every screen prop is a compromise. It is hollow, it is glued, it is painted to read correctly from one camera angle — and it falls apart the moment somebody picks it up. That is not a flaw. It was never asked to do anything else.
We start where the film stops. Each unit gets a real mechanism, a real power source and a real reason to leave the shelf — then it gets carried, dropped and recharged until the fiction is gone and only the function is left.
Every figure below is a design target, not a launch spec. Numbers move as prototypes fail.
On screen it only had to glow. Rebuilt as a ring with a real 60-lumen emitter and a four-night cell, so the light you point at something actually lights it.
Turned titanium blank, machined light channel, pogo-pin charge dock, polycarbonate diffuser pressed into the bezel.
Request a unitA wrist prop that has to actually deploy something. Cartridge-fed tether spool with an adjustable friction brake and a tool-free band — fires six metres of line you can wind back in.
Machined housing, four-stage spool with friction brake, sprung actuator, ballistic-nylon band with tool-free buckle.
Request a unitThe interface that lived on a film screen, built for a desk. A small holographic disc that floats your calendar, weather and a live clock above a machined bronze base.
Bronze base, glass dome over a rotating reflector array, single machined dial for brightness, silent thermal path.
Request a unitA repulsor that has to tell the time first. Three watts of focused light on a gesture-controlled emitter, with a magnetic quick-release so it comes off the band in one motion — and a real watch face when the light is off.
Machined housing with a diffused polycarbonate lens, magnetic quick-release, haptic click on every gesture.
Request a unitRewatch the scene, freeze the frames that matter, and write down what the object was doing on set versus what a real one would need to do.
Parametric models with real fasteners, real wall thicknesses and real clearances. If a part cannot be machined, the model is wrong — not the workshop.
Thermal, drop, water and drain tests on the actual prototype. A spec sheet has never once been the thing you put in your pocket.
Two weeks in a school bag, every day. If it becomes annoying, it goes back into CAD and the cycle starts again.
We build Offscreen between IB classes at Diocesan Boys' School. It started with a prop none of us could stop looking at: the ring that was never going to open anything, and the question of whether it could.
Design Technology gave us the CAD and the lathe access. The rest is late nights, bench tests, and a drawer of prints that were 0.3 mm too big.
Right now there is no shop, no factory and no investors. There are four objects that have to actually work before any one of them gets sold — and a log of every failure on the way there.
CAD, the lathe and the driver boards — the tolerances that decide whether a lid actually seals and the circuit that has to fit inside it.
Drivers, cells and firmware. The part of the prop that has to survive a school night, a drop and a recharge cycle.
Form, enclosures and destructive testing, on the bench until something fails and the drawing goes back a revision.
Every unit on this page started as someone pointing at a film and saying "I want that, but real." Tell us which one, why it matters to you, and what it would have to do to earn its place on your desk or wrist.
Nothing ships yet. Add your name to the list and you get the bench notes as each unit clears testing — plus the first chance at the small initial run.