In Sholay, Gabbar Singh asks his men, “Kitne aadmi the?” 50 years later, fans of another flick, Raanjhanaa, are asking its producers: “Kitne AI use kiye the?” as they look to punish them for their cinematic sacrilege.
Welcome to the year of altered endings, where two beloved Hindi films are getting a rerun facelift – one hailed as justice, the other decried as digital vandalism.
Both Sholay and Raanjhanaa are Bollywood cult classics. Both are having their endings tinkered with in 2025. But fan reaction to each is as different as when Jai and Veeru try to steal Thakur’s safe versus when they save villagers.
First up, the feel-good story. You might no longer remember, but Sholay had committed a cardinal sin: releasing during the Emergency. The autocratic mood of Mrs. Indira Gandhi balked at the idea of an ex-cop, Thakur Baldev Singh, taking justice into his own hands… well, feet, technically. Censor dictum led to Gabbar Singh being arrested instead of being killed by Thakur. For half a century, it remained the cinematic equivalent of a magnificent feast ending with a spoonful of stale dessert. Director Ramesh Sippy and Salim-Javed always envisioned Gabbar’s violent comeuppance. So, the news that the 2025 re-release will feature this original ending has everyone: audiences, critics, historians, perhaps even the ghosts of Gabbar’s three fallen ‘aadmi’, cheering. Why? Because it is seen not as an alteration but a restoration of the original vision.
Now, this is exactly the opposite of what fans are feeling for the Raanjhanaa (Ambikapathy in Tamil) re-release. A film that attracted a massive following with a flawed, obsessive protagonist, Kundan (Dhanush), whose unrequited love ends in a tragic, self-inflicted death. Its producers, wielding their legal rights like a butcher’s knife, have decided Kundan deserves a happier ending. Live, maybe even get the girl? Sounds simple? Even noble? Not at all. To draw a Sholay parallel, it’ll be like Gabbar not just surviving, but living happily ever after with Basanti and Radha, as Jai rots in prison. And crucially, the outrage isn't just about what they changed, but how they did it.
Director Aanand L. Rai and writer Himanshu Sharma, the creative forces behind Kundan’s poignant, messy journey, were reportedly blindsided. Instead of human collaboration, the producers opted for… Artificial Intelligence. That’s right. They’ve essentially hired a digital ghostwriter to sneak into the film’s emotional climax and perform narrative barbarism. The level of creative violation the industry feels has them outraged. Aanand L. Rai has, understandably, lashed out. The sentiment across Bollywood is near-universal condemnation – this is disfigurement.
However, as the ever-diplomatic observer who’s seen the horrors of extremes, I’ll refrain from grabbing a pitchfork and try to bring some perspective to this digital dumpster fire.
My slightly controversial starter: Do I inherently mind producers fiddling with endings? Not absolutely. But (and it’s a big Brazilian "but,"), it hinges on two crucial pillars.
First is creative consensus. Did they ask the folks who gave birth to the story? Did Rai or Sharma agree this was a meaningful exploration, a "what if?" worthy of celluloid? Like the Sholay team’s joyful reunion? If yes, the problem is solved before it even brews. Happy ending (ironically) for everyone!
But if consensus is impossible (artists tend to be protective of their babies, who knew?), but the producer really wants a new version… why not just remake the darn film? Call it Raanjhanaa: The Optimist's Cut. Recast, reshoot, reimagine! Spiderman has had three live-action and one animated reboot since 2002, together making over $9 billion, and nobody bats an eyelid. Use AI to de-age Dhanush if you must, but make it a new product, clearly labelled "Alternative Universe." Don't sneak into the original vault and swap the narrative diamonds for streetside pebbles.
Heck, I don’t even mind the producers making an entirely new film using just AI. Yes, yes – go ahead, cancel me, but that day of AI making an entire film, and a good one at that, will soon be here, so why not ‘Make in India’ instead of fake-ending in India.
Now, here’s where my worry – as a dedicated AI observer and reporter – deepens, beyond the immediate artistic hara-kiri. This Raanjhanaa fiasco risks giving AI a spectacularly bad name. It’s like blaming the hammer because someone used it to smash a priceless Ming dynasty vase. The villain here isn't the technology; it’s the intent and the execution. Blame the producers wielding the AI hammer with reckless disregard, not the hammer itself. AI is a tool, potentially revolutionary for restoration, animation, and soon, even making entirely new films. But using it to overwrite the original artistic intent of a living filmmaker without consent? That’s not innovation; it’s digital grave-robbing.
And the plot thickens! Why only alter the Tamil version? Is Dhanush, a powerhouse in Tamil cinema, pulling strings? Or is it a cynical market calculation?
This brings us to a fundamental truth: Just because you can do something, doesn’t mean you should. Society runs on these unspoken rules. I can wear a Krrish mask and dance on Bandra streets to ‘Main Aisa Kyun Hoon’ to wish Hrithik Roshan, but unless I am Ranveer Singh, I shouldn’t, if for no other reason than to save people from the monstrosity that’ll unfold from my two left feet. Bollywood can theoretically remake Die Hard on the Bombay Stock Exchange building, but laws exist (unless you’re in the 1980s and 1990s), for a reason. Art needs similar guardrails. Ownership rights are legal; artistic integrity is moral. They don’t always align, and when they clash this spectacularly, it leaves a bad taste like typhoid caused by tasty street paani-puri (yup, that happened to me).
The Sholay re-release is a joyful homecoming. The Raanjhanaa alteration feels like the first, clumsy attempt to rewrite cinematic history for commercial gain, bypassing the creators entirely. And that’s the terrifying precedent. If this stands, what’s next?
Will Humphrey Bogart finally get the girl in a "new, improved" Casablanca?: "Ilsa, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful second marriage... and here's the prenup!" Will Titanic fans get their long-demanded justice, with Jack clambering onto that damn door because an AI meticulously calculated the buoyancy? ("Room for two, Rose! Basic physics, luv!"). And who in Bollywood, if not Raanjhaana, will turn the Billy Joel song “We didn’t start the fire” to claim that yes, we did start the AI wildfire? Because I suspect the flashpoint for a war between artistic reality and algorithmic revisionism will be lit right here in Bollywood. But the repercussions, the all-consuming wildfire, will spread globally. Soon, the tech will be so cheap and accessible that you could download Raanjhanaa and, by breakfast, generate your own ending where Kundan morphs into the vengeful Gabbar Singh from Sholay. Fan fiction hits hyperdrive or creative liberation meets nuclear destruction of shared cultural experience?
Think of it in terms of our great epics. The Ramayana has been retold countless times across millennia from Afghanistan to Malaya – different emphases, new characters, regional flavours. But Ravana always dies. The Mahabharata’s core tragedy, the pyrrhic victory of the Pandavas amidst universal devastation, remains. Same with the thousand retellings of Shakespeare (most of which were themselves reinterpretations of existing tales). Romeo and Juliet, and indecisive Hamlet, always die. The endings are sacrosanct anchors. But AI? It doesn’t just allow you to retell; it allows you to rewrite. Imagine an AI-polished Ramayana where Ravana wins, written with such linguistic beauty it makes Valmiki weep. If you could, does it mean you should, or that you would? Pandora's AI Box is creaking open.
Of course, let’s don our cynic hats. Maybe this whole Raanjhanaa debacle is a masterstroke of marketing genius. Controversy sells! In the age of "no publicity is bad publicity," maybe the producers want the outrage. Maybe they’re counting on furious fans and curious onlookers to pack the theatres just to witness the heresy. If that’s the game, they’ve already won. Mission accomplished, regardless of the film’s fate. Profit over posterity.
Whatever the truth may be, on the ground, it feels like “cinematic universe” is passe; it’s the age of “cinematic alteration”. Sholay got a much-needed repair, restoring its original shape. Raanjhanaa is getting an unsolicited, ill-fitting addition sewn on by an AI tailor who never met the original owner. One feels respectful; the other a violation. The Bollywood cult of re-release has collided head-on with the cult of AI, and the result is messy, fascinating, and terrifying. The question isn't just about how these films end now, but where this path leads for the stories we thought we knew, and who gets to hold the AI hacksaw.
In this brave new world of AI, is anything truly sacrosanct? Only time, and perhaps the whims of a producer with an AI subscription, will tell.
