!!install!! - Filmyzilla Titli Movie

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Y Combinator SAFE templates now available on Clara

Press Release • 29 October, 2024

Y Combinator SAFE templates now available on Clara

Clara is excited to announce that Y Combinator SAFE (Simple Agreement for Future Equity) templates are now available to automate and sign on its platform, with cap table data being automatically updated in the process. This marks a major advancement for founders seeking quick and efficient ways to produce fundraising documentation and track equity dilution.

What is a SAFE?Created by San Francisco-based Y Combinator (YC) in 2013, these documents have become the market standard for early-stage fundraising, offering a simple and streamlined process for companies to raise initial capital. Clara now offers the standard YC SAFE forms on its platform for Cayman, Singapore and Delaware companies. The documents can be generated using Clara’s document generation workflows, signed on platform, shared with investors and with the company’s cap table automatically being updated with the key data points from each SAFE, ready to track and run scenario modelling—no extra data entry required.

Why do YC SAFE templates matter?While SAFEs are well-regarded for their simplicity and founder-friendly terms, navigating and customising them can still be a complex process. Clara's platform simplifies this, allowing founders to easily generate, customise, and share SAFE templates tailored to their needs. By providing this trusted YC resource directly to Clara, founders can focus on growing their businesses while Clara handles the complexities of legal documentation and cap-table updates.

“We’re thrilled to offer YC’s SAFEs on Clara,” said Patrick Rogers, co-founder and CEO at Clara. “This new feature is set to further empower startups by making their fundraising journey more convenient while significantly reducing cap table data tracking errors. Lawyers and investors are also going to love how it keeps the documentation and cap tables of their clients and portfolio companies error-free and standardised.”

For more information, visit Clara.

Years later, memory will not catalog a movie by how it was distributed so much as by what it taught. Titli taught patience in a world that moved by scrolls and clicks. It taught that films are not inert objects but social organisms that change shape as they move. Filmyzilla was one of the conduits of that change—often regrettable, sometimes generative—reminding the world that appetite for story will always find a route. The ethics of that route remain contested; the film’s feeling, however, persists.

In the end, Titli’s true distributor was attention. Whether it arrived on a pristine reel in a dark hall or through a jittery file at dawn, the film did its quiet work: it pressed us to look at our small violences, to trace the contours of shame, and to imagine a person capable of tenderness despite themselves. Filmyzilla only altered the terms of arrival. The core—what glows after the lights—was unchanged: a story, held long enough, becomes part of someone’s life.

Yet piracy’s story is not only one of loss. In towns where a single copy of Titli on Filmyzilla became a communal resource, screenings happened spontaneously. House walls became theaters; neighbours brought chappatis and tea; discussions spilled late into the night about masculinity and mercy. In some instances, the torrent catalysed chance encounters: a young cinematographer, watching the film on a cracked screen, decided to apprentice; an actor in a far-off town saw in Titli’s performances a language she wanted to learn. These are small resistances to the dominant ledger of rights and wrongs, proof that art’s circulation—however messy—can seed new creation.

For the filmmakers, seeing Titli pirated through Filmyzilla was a double-edged midnight. They had made a piece that needed eyes; here were eyes. But the economy that sustains cinema—the tiny budgets, the hope for critical recognition, the slim chance of theatrical longevity—felt violated. The craft of lighting, the risk of a long take, the investments of actors and technicians: all of it is accounted for in receipts and reckonings. When a film’s life is diverted into torrents and trackers, gratitude and grievance sit side-by-side, two quarrelsome relatives at the same table.

Titli’s aesthetic—raw, patient, unforgiving—made it resistant to facile reduction. Its life on Filmyzilla was a study in contradictions: circulation without permission, intimacy without embellishment, a film’s sanctity collided with the public’s hunger. The film did not become lesser because it was shared illicitly; nor did that sharing absolve the real harms of piracy. What remained, stubborn and luminous, was the work itself. Its images kept returning to people’s inner rooms like a stubborn guest: the brother’s crumpled anger, the sister’s steady hands, the small mercies that come too late.

They said cinema had no fixed address; it lived in the hush before the lights dimmed, in the chalky smell of ticket stubs, and in the thousand small settlements of a story’s heartbeat. When Titli arrived on screens and then in the whisper-networks that stitch the country together, it carried that transient life like a moth carries light—too fervent to tame, inevitable as dusk.