Inkredo Designer, Unsplash
A long time ago in a galaxy not so far away, voice acting was the exclusive domain of talented humans. But today, in the age of generative AI, even the iconic voice of a legendary villain can be conjured without a single vocal cord, raising major legal questions about name, image, and likeness (NIL) rights in the digital era.
Fortnite, the video game juggernaut by Epic Games, recently unleashed a new non-playable character (NPC) that harnesses the power of the dark side using AI-generated voice technology. In Fortnite, the voice of this helmeted antagonist in black armor does not come from James Earl Jones, who voiced the character in the movies, but from a machine trained to match his tone, rhythm, and cadence. While Jones has reportedly authorized the use of his voice, the move has ignited a firestorm across the galaxy, and among lawyers, about the future of AI-generated personas.
The core issue is whether digitally recreated voices, built by AI from past performances, are truly protected under existing NIL frameworks. Under current right-of-publicity laws, individuals have the right to control the commercial use of their identity, including their voice. But when a deep learning model generates new dialogue using a synthetic approximation of that voice, is it still “his” voice? Or has it become something new, a kind of legal clone trooper that escapes the reach of traditional protection?
Consent from the performer (or their estate) is critical, but it is not a Jedi mind trick that solves everything. Most NIL laws were not built for this kind of technology. Statutes, such as California’s Civil Code § 3344.1 protect deceased personalities, but only up to 70 years after death. Even then, enforcement can be shakier than a stormtrooper’s aim. Worse still, those laws do not always contemplate AI models that adapt and generate new content indefinitely, effectively turning a performer’s likeness into a holocron of infinite expressions.
What if a voice licensed for one project ends up being used across a galaxy of games, films, or even advertisements, without new compensation or oversight? This is not just speculative. Without clear contractual boundaries, a single voice training set could lead to endless reboots of a character, long after the original performer or their estate would have said, “I find your lack of faith disturbing.”
Developers and studios may see AI as a shortcut to hyperspace, saving time, money, and coordination. But using AI to create derivative voice performances without transparent legal guardrails risks turning NIL rights into Bantha fodder. It also opens the door to future disputes over whether digital doubles require the same licensing rigor as human performers, especially as AI models become capable of improvising and even emotional nuance.
This latest NPC installment highlights a broader shift in the entertainment industry, where studios are increasingly turning to AI to preserve legendary characters. But with great power comes great (legal) responsibility. If the digital dark side is left unchecked, performers may lose control of their likenesses, their voices, and perhaps even their narrative legacies.
In short, the powers of AI are strong, but it must be balanced. Just as the council once debated whether a young Padawan could be trusted with too much power, we must now decide whether AI recreations deserve to wield the likeness of performers without limits. Our helmeted villain had a redemption arc that ultimately restored order in the galaxy, but if the law does not keep pace with technology, the entertainment industry might not be so lucky.
