Discussing the Disco Dancer and Dream Girl 2 decisions by the Bombay High Court, Aali Jaiswal explains how the Copyright Act, 1957, distinguishes between exclusive rights under Section 14 and the limits on protection under Section 13. Aali is a third year B.A.LL.B student at Dr. Ram Manohar Lohia National Law University, Lucknow. Her primary areas of interest lie in Intellectual Property Law and Technology Law.
By Aali Jaiswal
This year’s August turned out to be an adventurous ride for Bollywood, with the Bombay High Court passing back-to-back lessons on copyright law, with the pronouncement of the Dream Girl 2 order on the 6th, and the Disco Dancer judgment on the 12th. In Shemaroo Entertainment Ltd. v. Saregama India Ltd. & Ors. (Disco Dancer judgment ), the Court had to decide whether staging the cult classic Disco Dancer as a London musical was a legitimate ‘remake’ under contract or an unauthorized adaptation. Meanwhile, in Manoj Kala v. Balaji Telefilms Ltd. & Anr. (The Dream Girl 2 case), the Court examined whether the character ‘Pooja ’- a man pretending to be a woman over the phone was a protectable expression or just a stock comic trope. Both disputes turned on how the Copyright Act, 1957, distinguishes between exclusive rights under Section 14 and the limits on protection under Section 13. Together, they showed that ownership can’t be claimed over gossip, tropes, or speculation- and weak drafting is the fastest way to lose a copyright fight.
In the Disco Dancer case, an assignment agreement was signed between the Plaintiff (Shemaroo Entertainment Ltd.) and Defendant No. 3 (B. Subhash, the original producer of Disco Dancer) on 11/11/11, wherein Clause 30 specifically carved out the remake right to Defendant No.3 for a period of 10 years from the date of the agreement. Upon expiry of the said period, the remake right reverted to the Plaintiff. This clause caused confusion because the defendants attempted to stretch the meaning of “remake” to encompass “adaptation” or “sequel”. That’s when the court stepped in. It was almost a Film Studies 101: remake, adaptation, and sequel are not the same. While people often use these terms interchangeably in Bollywood conversations, the Court made it clear that the law treats them as very different things.
A remake refers to retelling the same story in film form, with a new cast, crew, or execution. An adaptation, on the other hand, involves converting a film into a different medium altogether. In this case, the dispute arose because Disco Dancer, a cult 1980s film, was being made into a stage musical in London. The Court clarified that turning a movie into a musical was an adaptation, not a remake. Finally, a sequel was defined as a continuation of the original story, expanding its universe with new plotlines.
The Court clarified that Shemaroo had only assigned limited remake rights and refused to blur categories, stressing that precision matters in copyright law.
The Court’s reasoning was rooted in the Copyright Act, 1957. Under Section 14(d), the producer of a cinematograph film enjoys several exclusive rights, including the right to make copies, communicate the film to the public, and authorize adaptations. Crucially, Section 2(a) defines “adaptation” to include converting a work into another form. For example, turning a film into a dramatic work like a stage musical. In contrast, “remake” is not a statutory term but an industry practice, generally understood as retelling the same story in a fresh film format.
Against this backdrop, the Court held that the London Disco Dancer stage show was an adaptation, not a remake. If “remake” were stretched to cover adaptations or sequels, it would override the statute’s careful distinctions and expand contractual rights far beyond their intended scope. The Court therefore reinforced a key principle: industry jargon cannot override statutory categories.
This is where the importance of drafting comes in. Entertainment contracts in India often use terms such as “remake rights,” “sequel rights,” or “adaptation rights” without clearly aligning them with the framework of the Copyright Act. That vagueness is what led to litigation in this case. My view is that the Court’s approach is welcome because it keeps contractual intent tethered to statutory law, ensuring precision rather than opportunistic interpretations.
If Disco Dancer highlighted the need to distinguish remake, adaptation, and sequel rights, Dream Girl 2 showed that copyright has limits -it cannot cover stock tropes or loosely drawn characters.
A copyright protects the expression of an idea, not the idea itself. This is where the scènes à faire doctrine comes in; certain tropes are so common to a genre that no one can claim ownership of them. As a comic enthusiast, I can confirm: mistaken identities, cross-dressing, and quirky romantic misunderstandings are stock devices. From F.R.I.E.N.D.S. to The Kapil Sharma Show, we’ve all seen them. The law says they are part of the genre’s “toolbox,” not the exclusive property of any writer or producer.
The Court’s approach in Dream Girl 2 aligns with the wider copyright framework under Section 13 of the Copyright Act, 1957, which makes it clear that copyright subsists only in specific categories of works- literary, dramatic, musical, and artistic works- and only in their expression, not in abstract ideas or tropes. This principle was cemented in RG Anand v. Delux Films (1978), where the Supreme Court held that similarities in general themes or situations do not amount to infringement unless there is copying of the “substantial and material expression.” The standard was later refined in Eastern Book Co. v. D.B. Modak (2008), which required a minimal degree of creativity in expression for protection. Internationally, courts have also drawn a line between stock characters and distinctly developed ones. In Nichols v. Universal Pictures (1930), the U.S. Court of Appeals held that broad archetypes (like “the Jewish father” or “the Irish Catholic girl”) are not protectable, but characters with sufficiently detailed traits may qualify. Taken together, these authorities explain why “Pooja”, a lightly sketched comic device, could not attract copyright protection, whereas a deeply fleshed-out persona like Sheldon Cooper or Wednesday Addams might.
The solution? Characters need more than copyright. This is where trademarking and merchandising come in. A trademark can protect the name, look, or catchphrases of a character, turning them into enforceable commercial assets. That’s why Mickey Mouse, Pikachu, or Batman remain valuable properties decades later. In India, too, Chhota Bheem, Motu Patlu, and Shaktimaan became brands by moving into merchandise and endorsements.
The lesson for Bollywood is clear: don’t stop at scripting. If you want your next “Pooja” to live beyond the screen, think like a brand owner. Copyright can spark life into your character, but trademarks and merchandising will give it longevity.
Both Disco Dancer and Dream Girl 2 remind us that if you want an injunction, you need solid evidence, not speculation or broad claims.
In the Disco Dancer dispute, Shemaroo Entertainment was worried about a potential sequel to the 1982 hit Disco Dancer. Their apprehension was based largely on media reports and industry chatter suggesting that such a sequel was being planned. But when Shemaroo came to court, they hadn’t actually shown any concrete steps taken by the defendants toward making that sequel. To make things worse, Shemaroo hadn’t even pleaded sequel infringement in their plaint, which is something they only raised later in arguments. The Court held that a quia timet (pre-emptive) injunction cannot be granted on such a weak footing. Injunctions require a clear and specific threat of infringement, not speculative fears.
In Dream Girl 2, the plaintiff pointed only to broad similarities without evidence of copied screenplay or dialogue. The Court held this was too generic and speculative for an injunction – ideas alone, without concrete expression, cannot be protected.
The takeaway is simple: courts won’t stop films or shows based on vague fears or broad claims. Speculation isn’t enough; you need specifics. Otherwise, copyright risks turning into a tool for silencing competition before it even begins.
The reluctance of the courts in both Disco Dancer and Dream Girl 2 also stems from the law on injunctions. Under Order XXXIX Rules 1 and 2 of the Code of Civil Procedure, 1908, injunctions are granted only when there is a clear and imminent threat of infringement. Courts have long recognized the concept of a quia timet injunction, which allows preventive relief, but only where the threat is “real, imminent, and credible.” In Kuldip Singh v. Subhash Chander Jain (2000, SC), the Supreme Court held that quia timet relief cannot be based on vague apprehensions or speculative fears. Applying this, the Bombay High Court in the case of Disco Dancer refused to stop a potential sequel to Disco Dancer based solely on media reports, and in Dream Girl 2, it rejected an injunction where no detailed script comparison was shown. The thread running through these cases is clear: copyright cannot be used as a weapon to silence competition at the stage of mere gossip or conjecture.
As the credits roll, one thing is clear: Bollywood may thrive on drama, but the courts don’t. The Disco Dancer and Dream Girl 2 orders remind us that copyright protects original expression, not monopolies over ideas or genres. Drafting is everything. One vague clause on ‘remake’ can spark a lawsuit. Courts won’t halt projects on gossip or speculation; cinema flows unless infringement is proven. And if you want your ‘Pooja’ to live forever, remember: characters need trademarks and merchandising, not just copyright.
In short, August 2025 gave us not just two copyright clashes, but also a crash course in how law, creativity, and commerce dance together in Bollywood.