The epic action Hindi film Sholay turned 50 on August 15, 2025. Sholay’s impact on popular Indian cinema remains unsurpassed. What is it that makes its cultural imprint so enduring, even after five decades? Is it the story, script, cinematography, direction, characters, star-cast, songs or unforgettable dialogues? It is hard to pick any one – simply because each of those creative elements coalesced seamlessly into making the magic that is Sholay.
The skill of a filmmaker lies in the ability to create an experience that is more than the sum of its parts.
When Raanjhanaa, first released in 2013, returned to the theatres in August 2025, this time with an AI-generated altered ending, a heated debate erupted over the propriety and morality of using AI to modify an existing film, that too without the consent or participation of the director or actors.
Section 2(d)(v) of the Copyright Act, 1957 recognises the producer - not the director or scriptwriter - as the author of a film. In singling out the producer as the author of the film for the purpose of copyright, the law rewards him for being the bearer of the financial risk. He who pays the piper calls the tune, as it were. But in the process, if the rights of creative artists - both on and off screen - were to be subordinated or snuffed out, there would be little inspiration for creative genius.
While the producer is the ‘author’ of the film, the law does not disregard the individual identity of aesthetic elements. In Indian Performing Right Society v. EIM Pictures Association, Justice Krishna Iyer suggested that there can be co-existence of distinct rights in creative work. He remarked that although the music in a film becomes part of the film whose copyright rests with the producer, the composer is not barred from asserting his rights in the music when it is played independently, such as in a restaurant, radio station or airplane.
“Copyright in a cinema film exists in law, but Section 13(4) of the Act preserves the separate survival, in its individuality, of a copyright enjoyed by any ‘work’ not withstanding its confluence in a film…The artist enjoys his copyright in the musical work, the film producer is the master of his combination of artistic pieces and the two can happily co-exist and need not conflict.”
The question that the Raanjhanaa controversy raises is whether the vesting of copyright in the producer could entitle the producer to use technology to re-imagine a film in a way that trenches upon the rights of other artists. The director enjoys moral rights in her creation notwithstanding that she is not the ‘author’ under copyright law. Moral rights are distinct from copyright. Copyright law protects economic rights in a creative work, such as the right to reproduce or sell the work. Copyright law seeks to incentivise creativity by allowing creators to monetise their work. Moral rights, on the other hand, are non-economic rights that protect the work’s integrity against distortion or mutilation in a manner that harms the artist’s reputation. Moral rights exist independently of ownership of copyright and survive regardless of the assignment of economic rights in the work.
Section 38B of the Copyright Act, 1957 protects the actor’s moral rights. The actor is a ‘performer’ within the meaning of Section 2(qq) and is entitled to object to an altered performance, if it interferes with her image or reputation.
Moral rights may, in given cases, transcend the individual rights of an artist. Where creative works enjoy a stature associated with cultural heritage, moral rights acquire a higher cultural significance. In Amar Nath Sehgal v. Union of India, a landmark ruling on moral rights, the Delhi High Court upheld the artist’s right against mutilation of his work – a mural commissioned by the Government of India to adorn the Vigyan Bhavan. The Court ruled that the moral rights of the author under Section 57 of the Copyright Act not only protect his own rights, but assist in the protection of the work that had attained the status of a ‘national treasure’:
“Authorship is a matter of fact. It is history. Knowledge about authorship not only identifies the creator, it also identifies his contribution to national culture. It also makes possible to understand the course of cultural development in a country. Linked to each other, one flowing out from the other, right of integrity, ultimately contributes to the overall integrity of a cultural domain of a nation...Through the telescope of Section 57, it is possible to legally protect the cultural heritage of India through the moral rights of the artist.”
Following from this ruling, the alteration of a film that is culturally significant or qualifies as cinematic heritage may violate cultural rights that are inherent in the wider meaning of moral rights. Put simply, if one were to meddle with cinematic classics such as Pather Panchali, Mughal-e-Azam or Mother India, moral rights would step in to safeguard their integrity as cultural heritage. While remakes abound and thrive on the popularity of the original, whether or not the remake retains the essence of the original or violates the original creators' moral rights requires examination.
In addition to moral rights, actors enjoy publicity rights and personality rights. Publicity rights are positive rights that entail the right to monetise one’s name, image, likeness and fame. Personality rights, on the other hand, are negative rights that seek to protect the artist’s privacy, personhood and reputation. Personality rights, unlike publicity rights, are not for commercial gain. An actor’s choice of roles is often propelled by the build-up of a particular public persona. It is not uncommon for an actor to make a conscious choice to do or not to do a particular kind of role, and in the process, craft a screen image that is consistent with a chosen persona. Publicity rights and personality rights are two distinct rights that often get blurred and confused for one another.
The use of AI to alter a film could lead to infringement of both publicity rights as well as personality rights. When AI replaces an actor with a simulated version in a film, the actor loses out on paid work from the adaptation - a direct violation of her publicity rights. Her personality rights are violated by the unauthorised use of her image or likeness to project her on screen in the new or altered role. This violation is compounded if the altered role clashes with the persona the actor has consciously built.
The advent of AI and related technologies require the law to rethink ways in which artists may be protected both commercially and in less tangible ways. There is far more to artistic work than can be monetarily measured. There exists an inherent personal connection between the artist and her creation. An ecosystem where artists can flourish must transcend the treatment of art as mere physical property. Reducing art to a tradeable commodity risks draining it of its soul and social resonance.
In recent years, the law has evolved to recognise a range of rights within the sweep of Articles 19(1)(a) and 21 of the Constitution. The freedom of artistic expression, creative autonomy, assertions of personhood, dignity and the right to self-determination are facets of the most fundamental of rights under Chapter III of the Constitution. What sets human beings apart is the power of the human mind to imagine, to create and innovate. AI is compelling us to question what makes us human and whether human creativity can be eclipsed by algorithms. In the age of deep fakes, replication and the ghiblisation of originality, the law must find effective ways to balance the boggling benefits of technology with human creativity and genius.
Madhavi Goradia Divan is a Senior Advocate and the Author of "Facets of Media Law".
The author acknowledges the contributions made by Advocates Sameer Choudhary and Aandrita Deb.