International
4D formatted films in anvil
MUMBAI: Ever since the advent of 3D formatted movies, practically every big-budget film is being released in the format, with higher ticket prices boosting the box-office intake.
The latest attempt to move beyond 3D technology has resulted in a new cinematic encounter known as 4-D. The film industry is enthusiastic about the unique theatre- experience that 4D promises to deliver.
CJ Group, a South Korean company that operates Asia‘s largest theater chain, is on the cutting edge of the technology necessary for the display of 4-D movies. The company has 29 specialty theatres that screen blockbuster studio releases such as Avatar, Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides and Prometheus.
The group is on the verge of closing a transaction with a nationwide US cinema chain that would create 200 4D theatres over the next five years.
The 4D technology has already been in use in theatres in Thailand, South Korea, and Mexico, and also in some theme parks. One of the company‘s biggest clients is the fourth-largest theater chain, Cinepolis, which recently expanded into Southern California. The company owns a dozen 4D theatres in Mexico.
Company execs project that filmgoers will be willing to pay an additional $8 beyond the cost of mere 3-D just to involve more of their senses while watching their favorite superheroes. CJ set up a lab located close to the famous Grauman‘s Chinese Theater in Hollywood to demonstrate and market its latest system, which it calls 4DX.
This isn‘t the first time that the film industry has tried to bring senses other than sight to film audiences. In 1960 a film titled Scent of Mystery utilised something called ‘Smell-O-Vision‘ which featured 30 different odours that included the smell of flowers, liquor, and gun smoke wafting toward the nostrils of the audience at appropriate times during the screening.
Then, for a film that was released in 1974 titled Earthquake, theatres used a technology called Sensurround that utilised large bass resonating speakers that shook the room with such intensity that Grauman‘s Chinese theatre had to install a safety net to catch falling plaster as the film was shown.
In 1981 John Waters used what is called as Odorama which allowed the audience to smell the cinematic scenes with scratch-and-sniff cards and in 2011 Robert Rodriguez used a similar approach that he referred to as Aromascope.
LOS ANGELES: Acting has never been an easy profession, but in recent years, it has acquired a new existential anxiety. Artificial intelligence can now mimic faces, clone voices and, in theory at least, speak any language it is fed. The fear that actors may soon be replaced by algorithms no longer belongs exclusively to science fiction. And yet, despite the rise of digital inauthenticity, some performers remain stubbornly resistant to replacement. The reason is not celebrity, nor even talent. It is language.
On paper, this should not be a problem. AI can translate. It can imitate accents. It can string together grammatically correct sentences in dozens of languages. But acting, inconveniently, is not about grammatical correctness. It is about meaning, and meaning is where AI still falters.
Machine translation offers a cautionary tale. Google Translate, now powered by neural AI, has improved markedly since its debut in 2006. It can manage menus, emails and airport signage with impressive efficiency. What it struggles with, however, are the moments that matter most: idioms, metaphors, irony, and cultural shorthand. Ask it to translate a joke, a threat disguised as politeness, or a line heavy with emotional subtext, and it begins to unravel. Acting lives precisely in those gaps.
This matters because film language is rarely literal. Scripts, particularly in independent cinema, rely on figurative speech and symbolism to convey what characters cannot say outright. Pedro Almodóvar’s Volver is a useful example. The film’s recurring use of red operates on multiple levels: grief, desire, repression, liberation, and memory. These meanings are inseparable from the Spanish cultural context and emotional cadence. A translation may convey the words, but not the weight they carry. An AI-generated performance might replicate the sound, but not the sense.
This is where multilingual actors gain their edge. Performers such as Penélope Cruz and Sofía Vergara do not simply switch between languages; they move between cultural logics. Their fluency allows them to inhabit characters without flattening them for international consumption. Language, for them, is not an accessory but a structuring force.
Beyond European cinema, this becomes even more pronounced. Languages such as Hindi, Arabic and Mandarin are spoken by hundreds of millions of people and underpin vast cinematic traditions. As global audiences grow more interconnected, the demand for authenticity increases rather than diminishes. Viewers can tell when a performance has been filtered through approximation. Subtle errors, misplaced emphasis, and an unnatural rhythm break the illusion.
There is also a practical dimension. Multilingualism expands opportunity. Sofía Vergara has spoken openly about how learning English enabled her to work beyond Colombia and access Hollywood roles. But this movement is not a one-way export of talent into English-speaking cinema. Multilingual actors carry stories, styles and sensibilities back with them, enriching multiple industries at once.
Cinema has always thrived on such hybridity. Denzel Washington’s performances, for instance, draw on the cultural realities of growing up African American in the United States, while also reflecting stylistic influences from classic Hollywood and Westerns. His work demonstrates how identity and influence intersect on screen. Multilingual actors extend this intersection further, embodying multiple cultural frameworks simultaneously.
At times, linguistic authenticity is not merely artistic but ethical. Films that confront historical trauma, such as Schindler’s List, rely on language to anchor their moral seriousness. When Jewish actors perform in German, the choice is not incidental. Language becomes a site of memory and confrontation. It is difficult to imagine an automated voice carrying that responsibility without hollowing it out.
This is why claims that AI heralds the death of language miss the point. Language is not just a delivery system for information. It is a repository of history, humour, power and pain. Fluency is not only about knowing what to say, but when to hesitate, when to understate, and when to let silence do the work. These are not technical problems waiting to be solved; they are human instincts shaped by lived experience.
AI may one day improve its grasp of metaphor and nuance. It may even learn to sound convincing. But acting is not about sounding convincing; it is about being convincing. Until algorithms can acquire memory, cultural inheritance and emotional intuition, multilingual actors will remain irreplaceable. AI may learn to speak. But it cannot yet learn to mean.
In an industry increasingly tempted by shortcuts, language remains stubbornly resistant to automation. And for actors who can move between worlds, linguistic, cultural, and emotional, that resistance is not a weakness, but a quiet, enduring advantage.
