A real project made in Narva, shown end to end: the video exactly as it came out, what went in, the script, every scene of the plan and what it cost. No manual editing.
“Victor Lustig, the con man who sold the Eiffel Tower to a scrap dealer - twice”
$5.03 on Starter ($29 for 300 credits a month) - $1.56 per finished minute. $3.45 on Pro, the lowest price per credit.
The plan shows this exact cost before anything renders. You are never charged more; a shorter final cut is refunded the difference and failed renders are refunded in full.
See plansThe script is cut into scenes word for word; each one gets its own picture, motion graphic or real footage. This is the plan you review and can edit before rendering.
Paris, 1925. A handful of scrap dealers file into a suite at the Hôtel de Crillon.
A government man shuts the door. The Eiffel Tower, he says, is coming down.
And one of them gets to buy it.
It sounds absurd. But he's got official letterhead, a title, and a warning. This is secret.
If Parisians find out, there'll be an uproar.
So nobody talks. They just bid. One dealer, André Poisson, wants it more than anyone.
Poisson buys metal for a living, though. So how does a pro fall for this?
Stranger still, the con man, Victor Lustig, would come back to Paris and try to sell it all over again.
It's often called the most famous con in history. And it starts with a newspaper.
Weeks earlier. Lustig, a con artist born in Austria-Hungary in 1890, is reading a Paris paper.
The tower's rusting, it says, and keeping it up costs a fortune.
It was built for the 1889 World's Fair. It was only meant to stand about 20 years.
So Lustig gets forged government letterhead.
He plays a ministry official, often described as a deputy director-general, and invites the dealers in.
Poisson's hooked... but he hesitates.
He's ambitious, insecure about his place in Paris business circles, and something feels off.
So Lustig plays his trump card. He hints he'd like a little something on the side.
A bribe.
That's what does it. To Poisson, only a real official would be that corrupt.
The doubt's gone. He pays.
Lustig leaves for Austria with the cash.
Reports of how much vary wildly, and no figure is certain.
Now he just has to wait for the police.
But they never come.
Months later. Lustig works out why it's so quiet. Poisson never went to the police.
He was too embarrassed to admit he'd been fooled.
That's the secret behind the whole con. The secrecy and the bribe made the lie believable.
The victim's shame kept it buried.
So Lustig comes back to Paris and runs the same play on a new group of dealers.
But this time, it cracks. The dealer he targets goes to the police.
Accounts differ on whether any money changed hands, and many say the second sale fell apart.
Either way, Lustig slips out before they can arrest him and heads for America.
So the tower was sold once for real money, and offered a second time to a second victim.
Shame made the first sale possible. That same silence let him dare a second.
His luck didn't last. In 1935 he was arrested for counterfeiting and ended up at Alcatraz.
He died in federal custody in 1947, in Springfield, Missouri.
The tower meant to last 20 years still stands. The man who sold it died a prisoner.
Paris, 1925. A handful of scrap dealers file into a suite at the Hôtel de Crillon. A government man shuts the door. The Eiffel Tower, he says, is coming down. And one of them gets to buy it.
It sounds absurd. But he's got official letterhead, a title, and a warning. This is secret. If Parisians find out, there'll be an uproar.
So nobody talks. They just bid. One dealer, André Poisson, wants it more than anyone.
Poisson buys metal for a living, though. So how does a pro fall for this? Stranger still, the con man, Victor Lustig, would come back to Paris and try to sell it all over again.
It's often called the most famous con in history. And it starts with a newspaper.
Weeks earlier. Lustig, a con artist born in Austria-Hungary in 1890, is reading a Paris paper. The tower's rusting, it says, and keeping it up costs a fortune. It was built for the 1889 World's Fair. It was only meant to stand about 20 years.
So Lustig gets forged government letterhead. He plays a ministry official, often described as a deputy director-general, and invites the dealers in.
Poisson's hooked... but he hesitates. He's ambitious, insecure about his place in Paris business circles, and something feels off.
So Lustig plays his trump card. He hints he'd like a little something on the side. A bribe.
That's what does it. To Poisson, only a real official would be that corrupt. The doubt's gone. He pays.
Lustig leaves for Austria with the cash. Reports of how much vary wildly, and no figure is certain. Now he just has to wait for the police.
But they never come.
Months later. Lustig works out why it's so quiet. Poisson never went to the police. He was too embarrassed to admit he'd been fooled.
That's the secret behind the whole con. The secrecy and the bribe made the lie believable. The victim's shame kept it buried. So Lustig comes back to Paris and runs the same play on a new group of dealers.
But this time, it cracks. The dealer he targets goes to the police. Accounts differ on whether any money changed hands, and many say the second sale fell apart. Either way, Lustig slips out before they can arrest him and heads for America.
So the tower was sold once for real money, and offered a second time to a second victim. Shame made the first sale possible. That same silence let him dare a second.
His luck didn't last. In 1935 he was arrested for counterfeiting and ended up at Alcatraz. He died in federal custody in 1947, in Springfield, Missouri.
The tower meant to last 20 years still stands. The man who sold it died a prisoner.