For Rick Roy, styling VIBE was less about making Kunal Kemmu and the rest of the cast look fashionable and more about creating a visual language for a world that is deliberately loud, quirky and slightly offbeat. The costume designer says the film’s aesthetic immediately clicked with his own sensibilities, making the collaboration with Kunal, who directs and stars in the comedy, particularly enjoyable.

“When I first met Kunal for it and the brief that he gave me and all the stuff that he was saying is something that I really love creating because street style, strong elements, slightly loud in terms of the clothes and bigger statement things, these are things that I love in my personal style as well. So when I got a brief for that character in his film, I was like, this is so me, I really, really want to do this film,” says Roy.

The idea was to build a highly stylized comedy without making the costumes feel disconnected from the characters. “It’s a really funny film and I have done a full-on comedy for a bit and also a very high-stylized comedy, I have to say, because the way it’s shot, the way the colour schemes are and everything, basically Kunal is very high style and I absolutely love that. For me, cinema needs to always be aesthetic. Even if you’re making the world in any kind of strata of society, I feel that cinematically it just needs to be beautiful because I’m a student of cinema. When I go to watch a movie, I just want to go to a different world that the director has created, and that’s what I think Kunal had managed to create for this film. I always try to create costume and create looks. Even if it’s a simple look, I always try to add an element of my own rather than it being a purchased piece directly. You look at the characters and when you see the film you’ll know that all the characters’ clothes are clothes that that character will wear. But when you actually look into it, you will see there are so many different elements that we have put into each outfit.”

One of the most striking examples of that approach is Kunal’s now-discussed orange fur coat. In fact, Roy had made the coat himself during a trip to London and, despite the team already having another look planned for the scene, had a strong instinct that it belonged in VIBE.

“It is my personal fur coat, I have to say. So I made that when I was in London. For my London trip, I made that myself and when we were discussing the film there was a scene when, you see the film, you’ll know where he narrated the scene and in my head I don’t know why I just told him, ‘Listen, I have the perfect outfit for it.’ And we had a completely different look for that scene made, discussed and all that stuff. But I don’t know why I was very, very sure that this is the outfit for that scene. There is nobody in the world who will wear that orange fur coat and sit and do the stuff that he has done in the film. When I brought it out he was laughing, he’s like, ‘Rick, what the f**k are you doing?’ I was like, ‘Kunal, just wear it. I’m telling you this will be iconic.’ And he started laughing like, ‘Okay, I’ll try it on for you.’ Then he wore it and then he was so excited. Then he was like, ‘Okay, you know what, you’re right, this actually makes sense. Let’s put it in the scene.’”

Roy says the actor-director was willing to experiment. For a designer who likes to alter and build on clothes, that made the collaboration particularly productive.

“I have rarely worked with directors who are as open to experimenting with looks as he is, as a director as well as an actor. That combo was fantastic. I would literally give him an outfit, I will see it on him and that’s who I am. I love changing things, adding things. I’ll tell him, ‘Will you give me 10 minutes? I want to do something to it.’ And he would laugh, he’d give it to me and I will do anything to that outfit and come back and he will just wear it.”

Roy sees that character-first approach as increasingly important at a time when, according to him, film fashion can sometimes lean heavily on existing trends.

“When you are trying to make a person look good, it’s a completely different kind of a mind space from when you’re trying to create a trend via a character of that film. The designers from all these films, your Manish Malhotra, your Neeta Lulla and all, they were not referencing styles. They were trying to create style. Nowadays I think most stylists are only trying to reference style and replicate that. I still try to do the old-school way because I’m a designer and I’m trained. It needs to be specific to that film. So when people go back to the film they will be like, ‘Oh, this outfit is from that film,’ which used to happen before and now recently it’s not because everybody is wearing everything and they all look the same eventually.”

Roy had a fanboy moment while working with Sharmila Tagore, who has a cameo in ‘Vibe’. He shared, “Sharmila ji was delightful. She is so beautiful and well-spoken. I spoke to her in Bengali, and she was so excited. I truly had a fan moment.”

For aspiring actor Vinayak Vasudeva, the biggest loss from AI isn’t employment, but individuality. Pic/Nimesh Dave

When Mahabharat: Ek Dharmayudh recently rolled its credits, there weren’t 300 names listed as is typical for a mainstream epic in India, but just 15 to 20.

On one hand, this is a mythic story retold; on the other, it is a new business model. This was a series made via artificial-intelligence-driven workflows, where massive crews are replaced by algorithms and lean teams.

Morgan Stanley Research projects that GenAI can trim overall media-production expenses by about 10 per cent and cut costs in television and film by as much as 30 per cent when the technology will be fully integrated into scripting, pre-visualization and post-production workflows. The question at the heart of this transformation is, is AI poised to become Bollywood’s biggest cost-cutting tool? For some filmmakers, it promises creative liberation, enabling stories without giant budgets. For others, it signals an industrial shake-up of seismic proportions.

This AI-reimagined series has opened the floodgates of a new era, but the real disruption is already unfolding in the backrooms of production studios. Across the globe, AI tools are quietly trimming timelines and budgets. Indian studios, too, are adopting these systems; a 2025 Broadcast and Film industry report estimates that AI could reduce overall production costs by 20–30 per cent by 2026, especially in post-production and set design.

For filmmaker Shakun Batra, who founded the experimental studio Jouska, AI is an invitation to rethink access apart from being a technical shortcut. “For Indian cinema, I think AI opens up a space for risk. We’ve always had incredible storytellers, but access — financial, logistical, or geographic — has been a real barrier. It creates a space where experimenting at scale becomes possible,” he says. His own experiments began out of curiosity but soon evolved into a hybrid workflow model where human storytelling meets algorithmic precision.

In traditional filmmaking, hundreds of people handle lighting, costume, and continuity. With AI-assisted systems, Batra envisions small, agile teams capable of producing near-studio-quality films for a fraction of the cost. The technology, he argues, may finally give independent filmmakers a seat at the table, giving access to what was once an exclusive, capital-heavy industry. Globally, studios are calling it a “business reboot.” In India, it’s beginning to look like a creative revamp.

Pre-visualization that used to take three to four weeks will now be completed in less than five days. Crowd simulations were once considered a logistical nightmare requiring hundreds of extras. Now they will be generated by neural renderers that create lifelike digital bodies, moving, emoting, and even reacting to camera angles. Lighting grids that took an entire crew half a day to set up will now be mapped virtually through AI-led scene design tools like Wonder Dynamics and Runway.

The result is staggering time compression. Where a traditional shoot could span 90 days, AI-assisted workflows are reducing production schedules by up to 40 per cent according to the Broadcast & Film industry report. India’s AI-in-entertainment market is projected to grow at 22 per cent annually through 2030, with potential savings of '70–80 crore on large-scale productions as stated in Pwc’s 2024 Entertainment and Media Outlook.

Batra describes it as “a meeting point between art and algorithm.” His teams run like creative start-ups where AI handles the grunt work, freeing humans to focus on taste, pacing, and emotion. A Rs. 100-crore fantasy once requiring multiple studios and financiers could now be visualized for Rs.. 30 crore or less. And that doesn’t just save money. It redistributes power. The question is no longer who can afford to tell a story, but who dares to.

For all the speed and savings that AI promises, a debate runs beneath the surface about what is lost when technology begins to stand in for the human touch. Actor and director Anshuman Jha, who has spent nearly two decades in cinema, calls AI “a music box pretending to be a violinist.”

“Artificial intelligence may perfect imitations,” he says, “but it can never capture the tremor of a human heartbeat. Breath is at the base of acting where every emotion has a rhythm, every performer a pulse. Replace that with code and the notes may still play, but the soul that wavers between them disappears.”

Jha sees the value in AI-assisted VFX and animation. But to use it to make a film from scratch — devoid of a set, tangible costumes and human faces — is simply a shortcut. “It’s laziness if used 100 per cent to create,” he says. “AI can function off information, but filmmaking is built on knowledge which you earn through experience, not through prompts. In today’s age, you can shoot a film using a mobile phone. Filmmaking is hard work. You can’t find a short cut way out of that.”

Addressing the loss of imagination and sensitivity of a human, Batra comments, “Yes, people will use AI to outsource creativity. But honestly? That’s the laziest way to use these tools. AI can speed things up, yes but that doesn’t mean it brings meaning. That still has to come from the filmmaker. For me, the human touch isn’t just about emotion—it’s about decisions. Why does a scene pause? Why does the silence matter? These are questions AI can’t answer unless we feed it something real to begin with.”

Jha’s critique points to a cultural crossroads. AI filmmaking is undeniably cheaper and faster, but the danger lies in what those efficiencies normalize. A creative process where irregularities like the slight tremor in a voice, the unplanned shadow in a frame, all get edited out in pursuit of polish. As the industry leans toward automation, Jha reiterates that, “at best it is a tool to make the process easier, but it can’t replace the human connect in traditional filmmaking.” In this new cinematic economy, the question is whether the stories will still breathe.

Similarly, the bustle of a set with its tailors stitching, brushes sweeping, fabrics rustling may be replaced by keyboards and prompts. For costume designer Rick Roy, this efficiency carries a cost. “Art has always been a human creative expression of emotions,” he says. “With AI, it’s visual, algorithmic, and devoid of humanness.”

Roy’s concern is anatomical. The way silk moves under studio lights or the quick fix of a safety pin before a take can’t be coded. Yet he’s pragmatic about what comes next. “If AI takes over, we’ll have to adapt. Designers will move from stitching to guiding — learning to teach AI what to create.” The craft, he believes, will survive as long as physical filmmaking does; the designer may just evolve into an AI stylist, a curator of digital texture and silhouette rather than cloth and thread.

Makeup artist Anuradha Raman, a decade into her career, sees a similar fault line. “AI can replicate faces with eerie precision,” she says, “but it loses the rawness that imperfections bring.” For her, makeup brings about emotional scaffolding. “When an actor wears a scar I’ve created, it changes how they perform. AI symmetry doesn’t bring the rawness to one’s character.”

The first revolution in Indian cinema was perhaps the arrival of colour, and the second might just be code. Author Amish Tripathi, who has watched AI transform video game development through his upcoming title Age Of Bhaarat, calls it “the next leap in storytelling logistics.” He’s not talking about automation as replacement, but augmentation. “AI won’t replace creatives,” he says, “but creatives with AI will replace those without it.”

While labour in the film industry may continue to have jobs, each stint will get shorter. For Tripathi, the promise lies in scale. What took game developers two years can now be done in five months. “Your biggest cost is time,” he explains. “If you’re paying people monthly, cutting that timeline changes the entire business.”

In film, that means a writer in Bhopal or a regional director in Kochi could now build an AI-rendered world and walk into a studio meeting with a 20 minute proof-of-concept — a tool once reserved for those with millions in pre-production funds. 

Every technological leap in cinema carries its shadow. AI’s efficiency is rewriting the economics of labour. Actor Vinayak Vasudeva sees the shift as more existential than financial. “Already our mainstream cinema is made for reels. Visuals that are flashy, fast, and give you an easy dopamine,” he says.

“We’re AI’s ideal customers because what actors hesitate to do can now be generated. An item song without paying anyone for it — that’s hard to think about.” For him, the biggest loss from AI isn’t employment, but individuality. “AI can’t bring emotion or human complexity. Acting is built on individuality, which is everything that AI lacks.”

Tripathi compares this to the transition from practical effects to CGI. “There was panic then too. However, with computer graphics coming in, people’s imagination became even bigger. Stories that weren’t even attempted started being made possible.” The same may hold true here. As AI lowers costs, it could multiply the number of films being made. The industry may lose some roles but gain entirely new kinds of creators.

When Shakun Batra looks ahead, he sees not machines replacing artistes, but a new industrial chain forming around them. “We’re already experimenting with hybrid workflows that bring traditional filmmaking and AI together, not as opposites, but as collaborators,” he says. “The hope is to find a balance that’s not just efficient but creatively honest.”

Globally, that vision is already taking shape. Netflix is using AI to forecast content success and tailor thumbnails to viewer emotion; Disney’s virtual production units like StageCraft cut shooting costs by up to a third. India has always been at a disadvantage globally in terms of graphics, and perhaps this will even out the playing field. Indian studios are watching closely. The Broadcast and Film report estimates that AI-driven production could add nearly Rs, 5000 crore to the media economy by 2030, spawning an entire ecosystem of AI designers, creative engineers, and virtual production specialists.

Yet, the irony is picturesque. Mahabharat, a 5,000-year-old tale of gods and men, has become the country’s first AI-made epic. The technology that claims to simulate emotion has retold the story that once defined it.

Spot boy Pinto, who fortunately did not realize that the advent of AI may cost him his job, said, “If there is no work here, we’ll simply go back to our hometown and take up farming.” 

Perhaps the question for India’s film industry isn’t whether AI can make better movies, but whether it can still make us feel. If cinema is the art of human reflection, how much of that humanity are we willing to trade for cost-effectiveness?

Mirror had earlier reported (May 24) about three members of the technical team, production designers Amit Ray and Subrata Chakraborty, DoP Ravi K Chandran and costume designer Payal Saluja exiting Vidya Balan's upcoming period drama Begum Jaan, the Hindi remake of Srijit Mukherji's Rajkahini, over budget issues. Payal has now been replaced by Rick Roy who has to make an entire wardrobe in just a fortnight. “I'm used to crazy timelines, it's a challenge,“ he says.

He insists he hasn't faced any monetary issues so far. “The Bhatts have been nice and agreed to everything I asked for. Besides, getting to work with Srijit and Vidya on a film like this is already worth more than anything anyone can pay,“ the designer argues.

He hasn't seen the original. “Srijit didn't want me to be inspired or influenced. He wanted my take on Begum and the other characters to be based on the script. Besides that film was set in post-Partition Bengal while ours is rooted in Punjab,“ Rick signs off.

Last Thursday when Emraan Hashmi bid his director friend, Kunal Deshmukh, goodbye after a meeting, he had no premonition of the calamity which was to follow.

Kunal flew to Nepal for a school friend's wedding and two days later, an earthquake shook Nepal and Emraan recieved the first of many texts from Kunal, who with the rest of the baraatis, was at the Gorkhana Forest Resort, 10 kms from Kathmandu's city centre. He assured the actor that he was fine and the two have been in touch, intermittently, except for seven hours in between when the power went off. Once electricity was restored, Kunal started reporting from Ground Zero, all the while trying to conserve his cell phone battery.

“The hotel was evacuated following fears of after shocks and everyone spent Saturday night out on the 18-hole golf course,“ Emraan informed Mirror.

Early on Sunday, they reached the international airport hoping to catch the 2.20 pm Jet Airways flight back to Delhi. But after fresh tremors, the flight didn't get permission to land. And around 4 pm, Kunal whatsapped Mahesh Bhatt, “Waiting for Jet flight. Meanwhile, have made a queue behind a Royal Air Force plane evacuating people to Delhi.“ He had earlier reassured the frantic filmmaker that they were “lucky to be safe“. Three hours later, he texted Emraan that both the 2.20 pm and the 5.15 pm flights had been suspended and they were camping on the tarmac with no plans of returning to the resort even though the control tower had been evacuated. “It's crazy but at least my friends are together. I think rations are running low at the airport. Since all commercial flights have been cancelled, the Indian Air Force flight is the best bet,“ said Emraan.

Bhatt who was to meet Kunal on Monday to discuss their next film, added that he's been told that the small airport was crowded, information network poor and it was getting cold with a thunderstorm brewing. Around 8 pm he got a text from Kunal, “If Jet cancels its flight we either stay at the airport or leave and come back tomorrow.“

Forty minutes later there was better news: “One Jet flight just landed. Our flight is expected to get here at 10 pm. Fingers crossed.“ Bhatt sighed: “This is life imitating cinema. Kunal's Tum Mile was about lovers trapped in a natural calamity (floods in Mumbai). Now he and Sonali, sweethearts since school, are trapped in a similar situation.“


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Asira Tarannum (MID-DAY; April 27, 2015)

When Kunal Deshmukh left for a friend’s wedding in Kathmandu four days ago, little would he have imagined about a fun trip turning into a nightmare of sorts. As Nepal’s worst earthquake in eight decades struck on Saturday — recording 7.9 on the Richter scale and claiming more than 1500 lives — the director was desperate to call up his loved ones and inform them of his well- being.

But thanks to jammed phone lines, his family spent a few anxious hours before they heard his voice in a five- second call. “We were extremely worried when news first trickled in about the earthquake,” said Kunal’s sister, Devika. “I am in Jakarta with my parents. After trying his number several times, I managed to speak to him through one of his friends, but the call lasted for only five seconds due to poor network. He was standing in the lawns (of Gokarna Forest Reserve) when the quake hit and he is safe. I spoke to him again when he was waiting at the Kathmandu airport,” she said with a hint of relief in her voice.

Concerned about his safety, Mahesh Bhatt tweeted soon after the incident, saying: “Can someone help us search Kunal Deshmukh (director of my film Jannat) in Kathmandu? He was living in the Gorkana Forest Resort (sic).” Mukesh Bhatt said he had spoken to Kunal before he left for Kathmandu. “After we heard the news about the tragedy in Nepal, we tried calling him up, but didn’t get through. Today, the airport has been closed down due to powerful aftershocks. We are trying to put him on the first flight back home,” he added.

Kunal’s stylist-friend Rick Roy is also relieved after speaking to him. “I called him many times, but the phone lines were busy. I sent him a few text messages and when I didn’t get a reply, I began to panic. But a few hours later, I spoke to a common friend who was with Kunal at that time. Thank god he is safe and sound,” he said.

A source close to the director says he is still in a state of shock. In a text message Kunal tells us, “The network is bad and I am at the Kathmandu airport. Trying to get home.”

The airport was shut down again at 1.15 pm yesterday following the strong aftershocks.
In a tweet, Mahesh Bhatt wrote, “Kunal says: Jet flt is suspended. Airforce has promised to get all of us out. They are setting up tables for chai, parathas & puri bhaji (sic).”