<p>Everyone loves a happy ending. Raj catching hold of Simran’s hand in ‘<em>Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge</em>’. Bhuvan’s winning sixer in ‘<em>Lagaan</em>’. Anna staying indefinitely in Britain for William in ‘<em>Notting Hill’</em>. </p><p>These moments endure because they are final and untouchable. But imagine changing them with the click of an algorithm. Anna goes big in Hollywood while William sits alone in his bookstore. </p><p>Raj misses Simran’s hand. In ‘Lagaan’, the ball is caught, the match is lost and there is “Dugna Lagaan...”. It feels like harmless fun, but it rewires the story’s soul.</p>.<p class="bodytext">That is why the Tamil re-release of ‘Raanjhanaa’ (‘Ambikapathy’) earlier this month sparked such a storm. This time, an AI-generated happy ending replaced the original tragedy, with Kundan surviving. Yes, there were whistles in theatres and cheers from audiences, but not a single member of the creative team, including director Aanand L Rai, writer Himanshu Sharma and actor Dhanush, was consulted. Rai called it “devastating” and a “reckless takeover”. Dhanush said it stripped the film of its soul. Sharma, who built the story’s emotional arc, was left out of the conversation entirely.</p>.<p class="bodytext">Eros insists they were within their rights. Legally, they are correct. Under Indian copyright law, the producer is considered the “author” of a cinematographic work, with the power to make derivative versions. But owning something does not give the moral right to dismantle it. It is like making a Rs 99 Mysore Masala Dosa and calling it authentic, then stuffing it with ice cream. Technically it is still a dosa. Spiritually it is a crime.</p>.<p class="bodytext">AI will be part of cinema’s future. It can restore old footage, tweak performances and even enhance storytelling. But when it sands down the sharp edges of a narrative to make every ending neat, it begins to betray the story. Tragedies resonate because they mirror life’s unfairness. They teach audiences to sit with discomfort and to carry it out of the theatre like an echo. They endure because some questions remain unanswered. That sadness, the quiet walk out of the theatre and the scene that lingers for days, is what makes a film feel real. The rough edges are familiar: a missed chance, a love that fades, a loss that cannot be explained. Even a small moment that feels relatable can strike deep. Change those moments and the bond between story and audience begins to disappear.</p>.<p class="bodytext">The danger is not just what happened to ‘Raanjhanaa’. It is the pattern it sets. If heartbreak is fixed, where does it stop? Would ‘Mungaru Male’ turn into a family reunion? Would ‘Anand’ end with a cure? Would ‘Baazigar’ trade its climax for a group hug? Some films are classics because their endings are the truth of their worlds. Change that truth and it is no longer the same world. Cinema works because of the choices storytellers make. AI may rewrite an ending so smoothly that the original fades from memory, but it cannot replace the intent that gave it life.</p>.<p class="bodytext">Imagine if ‘Titanic’ returned, not only to let Jack and Rose live, but also to test the physics if both could fit on the floating door. It sounds silly, but it may be where the future of cinema might be heading towards.</p>
<p>Everyone loves a happy ending. Raj catching hold of Simran’s hand in ‘<em>Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge</em>’. Bhuvan’s winning sixer in ‘<em>Lagaan</em>’. Anna staying indefinitely in Britain for William in ‘<em>Notting Hill’</em>. </p><p>These moments endure because they are final and untouchable. But imagine changing them with the click of an algorithm. Anna goes big in Hollywood while William sits alone in his bookstore. </p><p>Raj misses Simran’s hand. In ‘Lagaan’, the ball is caught, the match is lost and there is “Dugna Lagaan...”. It feels like harmless fun, but it rewires the story’s soul.</p>.<p class="bodytext">That is why the Tamil re-release of ‘Raanjhanaa’ (‘Ambikapathy’) earlier this month sparked such a storm. This time, an AI-generated happy ending replaced the original tragedy, with Kundan surviving. Yes, there were whistles in theatres and cheers from audiences, but not a single member of the creative team, including director Aanand L Rai, writer Himanshu Sharma and actor Dhanush, was consulted. Rai called it “devastating” and a “reckless takeover”. Dhanush said it stripped the film of its soul. Sharma, who built the story’s emotional arc, was left out of the conversation entirely.</p>.<p class="bodytext">Eros insists they were within their rights. Legally, they are correct. Under Indian copyright law, the producer is considered the “author” of a cinematographic work, with the power to make derivative versions. But owning something does not give the moral right to dismantle it. It is like making a Rs 99 Mysore Masala Dosa and calling it authentic, then stuffing it with ice cream. Technically it is still a dosa. Spiritually it is a crime.</p>.<p class="bodytext">AI will be part of cinema’s future. It can restore old footage, tweak performances and even enhance storytelling. But when it sands down the sharp edges of a narrative to make every ending neat, it begins to betray the story. Tragedies resonate because they mirror life’s unfairness. They teach audiences to sit with discomfort and to carry it out of the theatre like an echo. They endure because some questions remain unanswered. That sadness, the quiet walk out of the theatre and the scene that lingers for days, is what makes a film feel real. The rough edges are familiar: a missed chance, a love that fades, a loss that cannot be explained. Even a small moment that feels relatable can strike deep. Change those moments and the bond between story and audience begins to disappear.</p>.<p class="bodytext">The danger is not just what happened to ‘Raanjhanaa’. It is the pattern it sets. If heartbreak is fixed, where does it stop? Would ‘Mungaru Male’ turn into a family reunion? Would ‘Anand’ end with a cure? Would ‘Baazigar’ trade its climax for a group hug? Some films are classics because their endings are the truth of their worlds. Change that truth and it is no longer the same world. Cinema works because of the choices storytellers make. AI may rewrite an ending so smoothly that the original fades from memory, but it cannot replace the intent that gave it life.</p>.<p class="bodytext">Imagine if ‘Titanic’ returned, not only to let Jack and Rose live, but also to test the physics if both could fit on the floating door. It sounds silly, but it may be where the future of cinema might be heading towards.</p>