Last week, OpenAI quietly released what may go down in history as the most controversial film tool since the invention of the handheld camera: Sora 2, an AI model capable of generating hyper-realistic video from nothing more than a line of text. In Hollywood, it was hailed as revolutionary.
How will it be seen in Indian cinema? That remains to be played out. But if history is any guide, expect a mix of curiosity, panic, and—in at least one studio in Kodambakkam—a heartfelt prayer to Lord Murugan.
Because here, cinema isn’t just cinema. It’s mass culture, daily ritual, political campaign, and emotional currency. In no other country do film dialogues double as election slogans, or actors cross over to Chief Minister’s office with nothing but a fan club and a few slow-motion walks.
With Sora 2, the movie script may no longer need a scriptwriter. The actor may never be born. The set may exist only in server farms. And in India, that changes much more than just the movies.
The Indian film industry is valued at ₹19,000 crore (~$2.3 billion), producing over 1,800 films every year across more than 20 languages. Add to that ₹8,000 crore worth of television soaps and a booming OTT market of ₹13,500 crore, and you’re looking at a cinematic superpower.
South India accounts for almost 40% of this juggernaut. Tamil Nadu alone sees more movie releases per month than some countries see in a year. But the real plot twist? In states like Tamil Nadu and Andhra Pradesh, cinema doesn’t just drive box office collections. It drives political power.
M.G. Ramachandran (MGR) turned movie stardom into a decade-long chief ministership. Jayalalithaa followed, commanding both screen and state with flair. N.T. Rama Rao in Andhra was once mythological Rama on-screen, and political Rama off it. Even Rajinikanth, who never formally contested, could send tremors through the assembly just by suggesting he might.
And now comes a new challenger: AI.
Sora 2 can take a prompt like: “a post-apocalyptic Chennai where robots run tea shops” and generate an entire cinematic trailer in minutes. There’s no need for locations, cameras, junior artists, or even script supervisors with a short temper.
The implications?
Sora 2 will undoubtedly reshuffle the industry’s deck. OTT platforms are poised to win big, enjoying faster, cheaper content pipelines. Mid-tier production houses, however, face a high-risk squeeze between legacy methods and tech-savvy upstarts. Junior artistes, long the lifeblood of daily soaps and crowd scenes, may see their roles—and wages—vanish altogether. For political actors, the risk is more existential: synthetic charisma could dilute their real-life aura. Meanwhile, indie creators with a flair for technology could finally leapfrog the traditional gatekeepers.
Imagine the daily soaps watched religiously by 400 million Indians—mostly homemakers and elders—now produced entirely by algorithm, with AI-generated “Karpagam Aunties” who cry on cue, never demand a raise, and come with built-in TRP calibration.
Kamal Haasan tried to rewrite the script of Tamil Nadu politics through Makkal Needhi Maiam. He didn’t make it past NOTA, but landed comfortably in the Rajya Sabha, where the dialogues are longer and the lighting less flattering.
Vijay, however, remains the wildcard. The star of countless Tamil blockbusters has now turned toward politics with silent precision. No pollster yet knows how to measure his fan base’s devotion-to-vote conversion rate. But AI may interfere even here—if the next generation’s emotional allegiance goes to synthetic avatars rather than flesh-and-blood heroes, will fan clubs still become vote banks?
Will a digital star endorsed by an algorithm win over the youth more than a human with charisma and 100 movies? Will this threaten the very ground for probating the stars to politics? Will we see no more in the likes of MGR? Not that Kamal Haasan made it—wait a minute, if not Lok Sabha, he found Rajya Sabha. Whatever the media and masses may criticize, he’s still speaking from the red-carpeted floor of Parliament. And we will soon hear him—only for the media to translate his speech to let him know what he spoke.
Within the next year, Sora 2 will likely find its way into beta partnerships with major OTT platforms, quietly powering experimental short films and AI-generated animated content. Fast forward two or three years, and we may see full-fledged AI-written, AI-acted, and AI-edited serials seep into regional television—especially in languages and formats where cost-cutting matters more than cinematic poetry.
By the time we hit 2030, don’t be surprised if a political party resurrects a holographic MGR, complete with sunglasses, smile, and a digitally trained sense of timing, to endorse a campaign from beyond the grave.
And somewhere in Tamil Nadu, an invisible film financier—the kind who funds three soap operas with one rice mill loan and divine faith in Nielsen ratings—will default on his 5th EMI. As AI-generated serials rise, bank notices will follow. Maybe even processions.
India has endured everything from demonetisation to TikTok bans, from pirate DVDs to multiplex revolts. It has always found a way to keep the camera rolling. But Sora 2 threatens not just the tools of cinema, but the very intimacy between audience and star.
What happens when the hero never ages? When the heroine never tires? When politics loses its human avatars?
Can Mani Ratnam rewrite the screenplay? Or will the famous Red Giant fight this off like Chennai fights Cooum mosquitoes—with swatting, slogans, and occasional surrender?
One thing’s for sure: in India, the final twist always comes after the intermission.
Fade to black. Cue Sora.
Or as Rajinikanth might say with a pause and a punch: “Idhu eppo varudhu-nu theriyala… aana varum. Kandippa varum.” (We don’t know when it’s coming… but it will. It definitely will.)
Business and Economy 
Education 
Food 
Government 
Lifestyle 
Politics 
Travel 
World 
