In 1986, The New York Times published a vehement critique against a burgeoning film restoration trend, a historical moment that eerily mirrors today’s fervent discussions surrounding Generative Artificial Intelligence in cinema. Penned by the late critic Vincent Canby, the article denounced the then-popular practice of "colorization," arguing that altering black-and-white film classics with modern visual embellishments constituted a "desecration." Canby’s central thesis was that such interventions betrayed the artistic integrity and temporal context of the original works, stating unequivocally that "nobody connected with the original[s]…had anything to do with this artistic revisionism." He famously added that of the half-dozen colorized films he had viewed, "all but one were virtually unwatchable," highlighting both ethical and aesthetic concerns that resonate deeply with contemporary anxieties about AI’s role in shaping our cinematic heritage.
The Specter of Colorization: A Historical Precedent
The 1980s colorization craze was not a mere technological novelty but a cultural phenomenon that sparked widespread outrage among filmmakers, critics, and film preservationists. Driven primarily by companies like Hal Roach Studios and later by media mogul Ted Turner, who acquired vast libraries of black-and-white films, the process involved digitally adding color to monochrome footage. Proponents argued it made classic films more appealing and accessible to modern audiences, particularly for television syndication. Indeed, Canby himself noted that a colorized version of the 1937 film Topper had grossed $1 million in TV syndication alone, demonstrating the lucrative potential that fueled the trend.
However, the backlash was swift and powerful. Esteemed directors such as Woody Allen, Martin Scorsese, Steven Spielberg, and George Lucas publicly condemned colorization, viewing it as an affront to artistic authorship and a violation of creative intent. Allen famously stated, "You can’t take a painting by Rembrandt and put a little color on it." Scorsese and Lucas were instrumental in advocating for the National Film Preservation Act of 1988, which established the National Film Registry at the Library of Congress, partly as a response to the perceived threat of destructive alterations like colorization. The legislation aimed to protect films deemed "culturally, historically, or aesthetically significant" from being tampered with without proper attribution or clear indication of modification. While colorization never completely vanished, the intense criticism, coupled with the rising costs of the process and improving black-and-white film restoration techniques, significantly curbed its prevalence as a formally accepted practice, offering a potent reminder that public and professional pushback against technological innovations can be both warranted and effective.
Generative AI: A New Chapter in the Debate
Forty years later, Canby’s impassioned argument finds renewed relevance in a burgeoning debate around Generative Artificial Intelligence (AI) and its application to cinema. This new technological movement seeks to expand upon, alter, or "complete" movies made decades ago, presenting a far more complex and pervasive challenge than colorization. Unlike the relatively straightforward process of adding color, AI can generate entirely new visual elements, dialogue, performances, and even plotlines, blurring the lines between restoration, enhancement, and outright re-creation.
The dazzling, yet controversial, The Wizard of Oz experience at The Sphere in Las Vegas thrust this practice into the mainstream. The 160,000-square-foot interior display plane presented an unprecedented canvas, and AI was employed to adapt the 1939 classic. Originally shot for a traditional 4:3 aspect ratio, The Wizard of Oz required extensive manipulation to fill The Sphere’s immense and immersive dimensions. AI models were trained on the original source material, generating new visual flourishes, expanding backgrounds, and in some cases, creating new performances to seamlessly integrate the classic film into the ultra-wide, curved screen.
Echoing Canby’s historical editorial, The New York Times critic Alissa Wilkinson, in a review dated September 1, 2025, articulated contemporary concerns: "It suggests that in the future, every artist’s choices could be reversed, altered or ripped to shreds, then presented by their corporate owners as if they’re essentially the original, just zhuzhed up a bit for a new century." This sentiment captures the core apprehension: the potential for AI to undermine artistic intent and originality, transforming established masterpieces into mutable digital assets subject to corporate reinterpretation.
The Economic and Social Stakes of AI
Dr. Charles Acland, a distinguished professor of cultural theory and film studies at Concordia University, emphasizes the recurring nature of these debates. "In moving-image history, these debates about technological change and its impact on creativity or labor or our understanding of the past have resurfaced at various times," Acland notes. However, he distinguishes the current AI wave from past technological shifts: "But we also live in an economy where there is such extraordinary hype around what gets called AI…that it puts a different kind of pressure on these discussions and debates. Colorization is a good comparison, but it didn’t have the same sweeping social and economic impact of something like generative AI — so there’s more at stake in how we sort through what we’re going to accept and valorize."
Indeed, the economic ramifications of generative AI are vastly different from colorization. The global market for AI in media and entertainment is projected to reach billions of dollars in the coming years, driven by its potential for content creation, personalization, and immersive experiences. This immense financial incentive, coupled with the technology’s accelerating capabilities, creates a unique pressure point in discussions about artistic ethics and preservation. The Sphere’s Oz exemplifies this commercial success, having sold over 2.2 million tickets since its August 2025 opening. This staggering figure for a live, edited presentation of a widely available, nearly 90-year-old film underscores the general public’s embrace of an "eventized" and immersive version of a classic, even if critics and cinephiles remain divided or largely repelled by the digital additions.
The Quest for a Lost Masterpiece: The Magnificent Ambersons
While The Sphere’s Oz represents a commercially driven enhancement, another AI project delves into the realm of historical cinematic tragedy and artistic restoration: Edward Saatchi’s ambitious undertaking to reconstruct Orson Welles’ lost cut of The Magnificent Ambersons. The 1942 family drama, Welles’ follow-up to Citizen Kane, was famously truncated and reshot by RKO against the director’s wishes. Over an hour of original footage was destroyed, and a decidedly sunnier ending was imposed, betraying Welles’ darker vision. The director himself spoke decades later of his desire to reshoot the original ending and revive the dismantled final act, cementing Ambersons as one of cinema’s great lost films.
The enduring fascination with Welles’ original intent has kept the notion of restoration alive. A trail of evidence, including set photos, detailed "cutting continuity" documents (describing shot transitions), and Welles’ own commentary, has long allowed admirers to imagine the Ambersons that never saw the light of day. Filmmaker Brian Rose spent years meticulously recreating these lost scenes through animation, a testament to the dedication to Welles’ vision. Rose admits, "The thought was always in the back of my mind that, ‘Yeah, this will be my thing, and then somebody else will come along and do something else, or maybe technology — AI — could do a seamless recreation.’ The only thing that I completely missed the ball on was how quickly the technology would come around."
Edward Saatchi, founder of Fable Studios and a lifelong Ambersons enthusiast, recognized this technological leap. He partnered with Rose to combine their efforts. Operating without the official participation of Warner Bros., the current owner of the property, their multi-year project is already underway. One "shoot" with real actors to recreate missing shots has been completed, with two more planned. The work of these performers will be superimposed onto the likenesses of the original actors using AI, aiming for a seamless integration.
Saatchi acknowledges the contentious nature of his work: "Some people are going to be like, ‘Oh no, this is terrible,’ and some people are going to be like, ‘Okay, so wait, I’m going to be defending the butchering of this person’s vision and not even think about how to actually show what he was intending?’" He speculates that many in Hollywood might view it as a "service to cinema" if the recreation is "genuinely seamless" and "completely justified" in its artistic decisions. Saatchi reports outreach from established directors expressing interest, though he cannot name them. (Notably, Martin Scorsese, who once expressed interest in reconstructing Ambersons, has not yet contacted him). Attracting more high-profile filmmaker support is a key goal for Saatchi to bolster the project’s legitimacy within the cinephile community.
Ethical Minefields and the Welles Estate
The Ambersons project navigates a complex ethical landscape. Saatchi regrets not approaching the Welles estate before announcing the project. Orson’s daughter, Beatrice Welles, who runs the estate, offered a nuanced perspective to The Hollywood Reporter: "Like most people I’m quite terrified of AI and in many ways wish it had never been invented." While generally skeptical, she acknowledges the project’s intent: "As far as Ambersons is concerned, I’m a purist and wish that originally it had never been tampered with. Nobody and nothing can think like my father. In regards to what Fable Studios is doing, while I am skeptical I know they are going into this project with enormous respect towards my father and this beautiful movie and only for that I am grateful." Saatchi indicates recent positive dialogue with the estate, noting their "open-mindedness" regarding the project’s intention and structural approach.
For Saatchi, success hinges on seamlessness: "My Ambersons is going to be a disaster if it’s distracting, and so it’ll be very obvious if we’ve succeeded." He frames the endeavor more as an academic exercise than a commercial one, distinct from The Sphere’s Oz, describing it as an attempt to "undo to some extent" a "terrible turning point in cinematic history."
The Wider Chorus of Criticism
The pushback against AI-driven restorations extends beyond the Welles estate. Daniel Rorer, the Oscar-winning filmmaker behind the AI survey film The AI Doc: Or How I Became an Apocaloptimist, voices strong objections to posthumous restorations without a late filmmaker’s consent. "To be like, ‘I know that the artist doesn’t have any agency over this, but I’m just going to do it, I want to do it,’ is just a dystopic, selfish, postmodern dumpster fire of a use case for the technology, in my opinion," Rorer asserts. He questions the impulse to alter everything from the past: "Do we have to be fucking with everything that was made in the past? Can we just let things exist? It is kind of inconceivable that you’d go to the Sistine Chapel and they’d be like, ‘Hey, yeah, we decided we wanted to change some elements to the ceiling — we zhuzhed it up a little bit.’"
Dr. Acland further argues that the very imperfections of the RKO cut of Ambersons contribute to its historical significance and our understanding of Welles’ career struggles. "The fact that the studio back in 1942 insisted on re-edits and a happy ending and taking the film away from Orson — well, that’s part of Orson Welles’s story, and makes the film interesting to watch for all of its flawed components," Acland explains. "The idea we’re going to go back and fix that is a historical absurdity… What you’re going to get is a shell of that technological component on top of it."
Saatchi, surprisingly, welcomes such pushback and even concedes some points. "Even this, which I feel is clearly done with the best of intentions, has things that are kind of ethically indefensible," he admits, particularly regarding the generation of new performances using deceased actors’ likenesses without their consent. "There is no argument for why that’s defensible — other than that’s the only way to do it." He believes any AI-driven restoration project should openly acknowledge its inherent ethical compromises from the outset.
The Justification: Why Alter the Past?
The fundamental question remains: why undertake these projects at all? For The Sphere’s Oz, the answer is largely commercial and experiential. It has successfully introduced a new generation and demographic to Golden-Age cinema through an unprecedented immersive spectacle. The commercial potential of such "eventized" cinema is undeniable.
For Ambersons, the motivation is more specific and deeply personal for Saatchi and Rose, driven by a lifelong obsession with completing Welles’ unfulfilled vision. The project’s unique justification lies in the existence of a detailed blueprint – Rose’s extensive compilation and construction based on Welles’ own records. The goal is precision in capturing Welles’ original intent, not arbitrary invention.
Rose views the potential benefits expansively. "When I think about the first milestone use of AI in this medium, it could be really without redeeming value — propaganda to foment disunity and confusion, something that exploits a person’s likeness, something pornographic," he posits. "Edward and I are trying to use AI to give something back. That’s also a motivating factor: This could be a really beautiful, redeeming way to employ this technology, which is still being worked out and can be scary and leave a lot of people with uncertainty."
However, this perspective clashes with that of many prominent filmmakers currently speaking out against AI, including Rorer. "What is art? To me, art is a human expression of creative activity that expresses some truth about being human that says, ‘I was here, I existed, this was my experience, this is how I felt,’" Rorer argues, underscoring the belief that art is fundamentally a human endeavor rooted in specific time and authorship.
The Future of Cinematic Heritage
The implications of successful AI-driven restorations, like the ambitious Ambersons project, could be profound, moving the potential of convincingly resurrecting and reinventing cinematic history from theoretical discussion to tangible reality. If Saatchi and Rose succeed, it would demonstrate AI’s capacity to fulfill long-held dreams of artistic completion, yet it would simultaneously ignite deeper debates about authenticity, authorship, and the very definition of a film’s "original" version.
The trajectory of the colorization craze serves as a potent historical lesson: commercial incentives, public reception, and critical backlash all play crucial roles in shaping the adoption and acceptance of new technologies in art. While colorization ultimately faced significant resistance and diminished, the sheer scale and economic momentum behind generative AI suggest a more enduring and complex narrative. The question for cinephiles and the broader public is not merely whether AI can "zhuzh up" a classic for a new century, but whether such interventions represent a beneficial evolution of film preservation and appreciation, or an irreversible erosion of artistic integrity and historical truth. As Canby warned four decades ago, with lucrative potentials at stake, the dangers of artistic revisionism remain ever-present, potentially leading to a future where the original intentions of cinema’s greatest artists are not merely enhanced, but fundamentally reshaped by algorithmic decree.
