Echoes Within Four Walls: Emotional Silence and Family Conflict in Long Day’s Journey into Night

This blog is written as part of a thinking activity assigned by Megha Ma’am. Its purpose is to closely examine the troubled relationships within the Tyrone family in Long Day's Journey into Night by Eugene O'Neill*. Through this reflective analysis, I explore themes such as emotional distance, addiction, miscommunication, and generational conflict, while also connecting them to challenges faced by contemporary families. By linking literature with lived experience, this activity deepens my understanding of how family relationships can both sustain and damage individuals.

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Eugene O’Neill: Architect of Serious American Drama

Eugene O'Neill is widely regarded as one of the most influential dramatists in American theatre. At a time when drama largely focused on entertainment, O’Neill introduced psychological realism and emotional intensity to the stage. His works examine hidden suffering, moral complexity, and fractured family bonds.

O’Neill’s personal life deeply shaped his writing. Raised in a household marked by addiction, illness, financial anxiety, and emotional distance, he transformed autobiographical pain into powerful drama. Rather than romanticizing family life, he exposed its contradictions—how love may coexist with resentment, guilt, and disappointment. This honesty gives his plays lasting emotional power.

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A Single Day, A Lifetime of Pain

Long Day’s Journey into Night unfolds over the course of one day—from morning to midnight—inside the Tyrone family’s summer home. The confined setting intensifies the emotional atmosphere. As hours pass, suppressed memories resurface, and unresolved tensions rise to the surface.

The Tyrone household consists of James Tyrone, his wife Mary, and their sons Jamie and Edmund. Each member carries emotional wounds shaped by regret and disappointment. The play does not depend on dramatic action; instead, it relies on conversations, silences, and repeated accusations. Through these interactions, O’Neill reveals how fragile family bonds become when empathy and understanding are absent.

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Addiction and Emotional Isolation

Addiction forms the emotional backbone of the play. Mary struggles with morphine dependency, while Jamie turns to alcohol as a form of escape. Rather than confronting these issues openly, the family responds with denial, blame, or avoidance.

Emotional neglect accompanies addiction. Although the family members care for one another, they rarely provide genuine comfort. Love remains unexpressed, buried under years of disappointment. This portrayal feels painfully realistic because it reflects how unresolved trauma can circulate within families across generations.

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Communication Breakdown: Then and Now

Silence in the Tyrone Family

Communication in the Tyrone household is marked by indirect remarks, sarcasm, and defensive accusations. Honest dialogue is almost impossible. Mary avoids confronting her loneliness. James deflects emotional discussion with financial concerns. Jamie masks guilt through cynicism. Edmund struggles to articulate both his illness and emotional vulnerability.

As a result, conversation becomes confrontation rather than connection.

Communication in Modern Families

Similar patterns appear in contemporary family life. For example, in the Indian web series Gullak, misunderstandings arise from generational differences, stress, and unspoken expectations. However, unlike the Tyrone family, modern narratives often allow space for reconciliation and emotional growth.

Today, greater awareness of mental health encourages families to address communication gaps rather than ignore them. While emotional distance still exists in many households, there is more openness to dialogue and healing.

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Addiction Across Time: Changing Perspectives

In O’Neill’s era, addiction was often surrounded by shame and secrecy. Mary’s morphine use is treated as a moral weakness rather than a health condition. Jamie’s alcoholism is dismissed as irresponsibility.

In contemporary society, addiction is increasingly understood as a psychological and medical issue requiring treatment and support. Though stigma has not disappeared, awareness has grown. This shift marks an important difference between the Tyrone household and present-day family narratives.

Emotional neglect, however, remains a shared human experience. Whether in early twentieth-century America or modern society, individuals living within families can still feel profoundly alone.

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Generational Conflict: Fathers and Sons

Conflict between James Tyrone and his sons reveals the tension between security and self-expression. James, shaped by poverty and insecurity, values financial stability above all else. His sons, however, desire emotional understanding and freedom.

This generational clash mirrors conflicts in contemporary families. In Gullak, parents emphasize discipline and stability, while children seek independence and emotional validation. Across cultures and decades, differing values create emotional friction.

The key difference lies in resolution. In the Tyrone family, arguments collapse into bitterness and silence. In many modern narratives, conflict becomes a pathway toward growth and mutual understanding.

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Realism Without Resolution

One of the most powerful aspects of Long Day’s Journey into Night is its refusal to offer closure. The play ends without healing or transformation. The family remains trapped within its emotional patterns.

This unresolved ending mirrors real life. Not all conflicts are solved; not all wounds are healed. O’Neill’s realism lies in his recognition that families are complex spaces where love and suffering coexist.

 
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Final Reflection: Why the Play Still Matters

A close reading of Long Day’s Journey into Night reveals how silence, addiction, and generational misunderstanding can erode family relationships. The Tyrone family serves as a timeless example of how unresolved pain perpetuates emotional distance.

When compared with contemporary family experiences, it becomes clear that many struggles remain universal. However, modern awareness of mental health and communication provides greater hope for healing.

O’Neill’s play continues to resonate because it invites readers to examine their own relationships. It reminds us that empathy, honest conversation, and emotional presence are not optional—they are essential for sustaining family bonds.

Through this reflective activity, I understand more deeply that literature is not merely a story from the past. It is a mirror, reflecting both the wounds we inherit and the possibilities we create for change.

Between Kurukshetra and the Country Road: Reading Waiting for Godot through the Bhagavad Gita

Introduction: From Absurd Stillness to Sacred Action

In the terrain of Modernist literature, Samuel Beckett’s Waiting for Godot emerges as a stark monument to post-war disillusionment—a world emptied of teleology, suspended in uncertainty, and haunted by repetition. In contrast, the Bhagavad Gita, a foundational text within Indian Knowledge Systems (IKS), offers not despair but discipline: a philosophy of purposeful action (Karma Yoga), inner steadiness, and spiritual alignment.

Placing these two texts in conversation generates a compelling philosophical dialogue. Beckett’s refrain—“Nothing to be done”—meets the Gita’s urgent inquiry—“What must be done?” What appears, at first glance, to be existential paralysis can be reinterpreted as spiritual disorientation. Vladimir and Estragon’s waiting resembles not merely absurd stagnation, but a state of Vishada (despondency) without the intervention of Krishna’s wisdom. Through the concepts of Karma, Kala (Time), Maya (Illusion), and Phala (Fruit of Action), the tragedy of Godot begins to resemble the tragedy of misplaced expectation.

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Section A: The Crisis of Stasis

1. Vishada: Arjuna’s Despair and the Tramps’ Paralysis

In the Bhagavad Gita, Arjuna’s Vishada unfolds on the battlefield of Kurukshetra. Overwhelmed by moral doubt, he collapses, refusing to act. Yet his despair is epistemological: he seeks clarity regarding Dharma (duty). His paralysis becomes the threshold to enlightenment because he turns to Krishna for guidance.

Vladimir and Estragon, by contrast, experience an ontological crisis. Their repeated stillness—“They do not move”—is not a prelude to wisdom but a perpetual condition. They question their own existence: “We always find something… to give us the impression we exist.” Unlike Arjuna, they have no Ishvara, no divine interlocutor. Their Vishada becomes static rather than transformative.

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2. The Failure of Karma: Habit versus Purpose

Krishna asserts that no being can remain without action; life itself is movement. True Karma is aligned with Dharma and performed without attachment to results.

Beckett’s characters, however, perform only pseudo-actions: exchanging hats, eating carrots, insulting one another. These gestures are not acts of duty but strategies to “pass the time.” Their paralysis stems not from inactivity alone but from misplaced expectation. They cling to a future event—Godot’s arrival—believing it will validate their existence. This attachment to outcome without corresponding duty represents a spiritual inversion of Karma Yoga.

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3. Kala: Time as Repetition without Renewal

In the Gita, Kala is both destroyer and renewer—cyclical yet meaningful. In Godot, time is cyclical but barren.

• The boy’s identical message at the end of both acts creates a loop where yesterday dissolves into today.

• The tree’s slight growth suggests seasonal change, yet it offers no existential shift for the characters.

Time here erodes memory but does not generate progress. It becomes eternal recurrence without regeneration—a stagnant Kala stripped of cosmic purpose.

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Section B: The Illusion of Expectation

Godot as Projection

If Godot is read not as a character but as an expectation, the title becomes philosophical rather than narrative. “Waiting” is the true protagonist. It signifies suspended agency—life deferred.

The tramps are not victims of an absent savior; they are prisoners of projection. They inhabit the space between present reality and imagined fulfillment. This psychological entrapment mirrors Maya—the illusion that external events hold ultimate meaning.

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Godot as Phala (The Fruit of Action)

Krishna’s counsel—“Karmanye vadhikaraste ma phaleshu kadachana”—teaches detachment from outcomes. One has control over action, not over its fruits.

Vladimir and Estragon invert this principle. They perform no meaningful Karma, yet they are obsessively attached to Phala—Godot’s arrival. They imagine salvation as something externally bestowed: “We are saved!” This expectation becomes the root of their suffering.

By waiting for the fruit without planting the seed, they condemn themselves to existential sterility. In Vedantic terms, they are ensnared by Maya, mistaking projection for promise.

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Section C: Vedanta and the Absurd – A Philosophical Contrast

Concept in the Gita	IKS Context	Parallel in Waiting for Godot
Karma	Action is intrinsic to existence and aligned with duty.	Action reduced to habit; movement without purpose.
Nishkama Karma	Action without attachment to outcome.	Hyper-attachment to Godot’s arrival.
Maya	Illusory perception of reality.	Godot as illusion sustaining false hope.
Kala	Cyclical time with renewal.	Repetition without growth.
Moksha	Liberation from the cycle of suffering.	Even suicide fails; liberation is denied.

This juxtaposition reveals not a contradiction but a diagnostic contrast: where Vedanta prescribes alignment, Beckett dramatizes misalignment.

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Section D: Reflective Criticism

Meaning Enacted, Not Awaited

The tragedy of Waiting for Godot is not the absence of meaning but the refusal to generate it. In the Gita, meaning arises through Svadharma—the enactment of one’s intrinsic duty. Arjuna finds clarity by embracing his role as a warrior.

Vladimir and Estragon, however, relinquish all roles. They are neither workers nor seekers, neither rebels nor creators. They become “waiters,” outsourcing purpose to an absent figure. By externalizing meaning into Godot, they evade the existential responsibility that thinkers like Jean-Paul Sartre describe: existence precedes essence.

Their waiting becomes a shield against freedom. Action demands courage; waiting demands nothing. The Gita warns against attachment to inaction (Akarma), which arises from Tamas—ignorance and inertia. Didi and Gogo embody this Tamasic stagnation. “Nothing to be done” becomes their mantra of self-deception.

Thus, Beckett’s play reads like a cautionary parable: when individuals wait for meaning instead of embodying it through action, they construct their own purgatory—a repetitive limbo marked by the illusion of departure: “Let’s go.” (They do not move.)

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Section E: Critical Reflection

Reframing the Absurd through Indian Knowledge Systems

Reading Waiting for Godot through IKS transforms it profoundly. Instead of perceiving the play solely as a testament to cosmic absurdity, we may interpret it as a study in spiritual ignorance (Avidya). The universe is not necessarily meaningless; rather, the characters are misaligned with the principles of purposeful action.

This comparative framework does not negate Beckett’s modernism—it deepens it. The play becomes a “negative scripture,” illustrating the consequences of detachment from duty, over-attachment to results, and fear of freedom. Through the lens of the Gita, despair becomes diagnostic rather than definitive.

In this light, Beckett’s wasteland converses with Kurukshetra. One stage presents paralysis without guidance; the other, paralysis transformed by wisdom. The difference lies not in circumstance but in consciousness.

Ultimately, this cross-cultural reading affirms a powerful insight: meaning is not an event that arrives—it is an action that unfolds.

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SR: Film Screening - Humans in the Loop

 

SR: Film Screening - Humans in the Loop

Breaking the Illusion of the “Self-Running” Machine

Today, Artificial Intelligence is often presented as something almost magical—clean, perfect, and fully automatic. We are told stories about smart systems that think, learn, and function on their own somewhere in the “cloud,” as if no human effort is involved. This popular image creates the idea of the “autonomous machine,” a machine that works independently without depending on people.

But this image hides an uncomfortable truth. AI does not run by itself. Behind every smooth algorithm and smart response, there are countless workers who label data, correct mistakes, and train systems. The global AI industry stands on the labour of thousands of individuals whose work remains unseen and unrecognized. Their efforts are hidden beneath the surface of technological progress.

This blog post is part of a larger engagement with contemporary cinema and digital culture, using the analytical approach suggested in Prof. Dilip Barad’s Film Studies worksheet. Through this lens, I examine Aranya Sahay’s 2024 film Humans in the Loop, a powerful and deeply moving exploration of the invisible human labour that sustains artificial intelligence. The film challenges the myth of technological independence and brings attention to the social, economic, and cultural realities that are often ignored in conversations about AI.

Challenging the Tech Dream: A Story from the Margins

Setting the Context: Understanding the World Before the Film Begins

The film works as a strong response to the glamorous stories often told about Silicon Valley and its so-called technological revolution. Instead of celebrating innovation, it shifts our attention to the people who quietly sustain it. At the centre of the narrative is Nehma, an Adivasi woman from rural Jharkhand. Her life changes when she enters the world of AI data labelling—a job that is repetitive, unstable, and very poorly paid.

Through Nehma’s everyday struggles, Aranya Sahay reveals the hidden side of the digital economy. The film shows how global technology systems depend on workers like her, whose labour remains unseen and undervalued. More importantly, it presents a sharp contrast between mechanical, rule-based algorithms and the depth of indigenous knowledge that cannot be easily reduced to data categories. This tension becomes one of the film’s strongest themes.

In this blog, I will examine the film through different critical approaches, including Marxist Film Theory, epistemology, and structuralism. Each perspective helps us understand how the film does more than tell a story—it uses cinema itself as a tool to expose what society prefers to ignore. Through careful framing, narrative choices, and visual storytelling, Sahay makes the invisible structures of labour and power visible on screen.

Before discussing the film’s technical and artistic aspects, it is important to first understand the social and economic background in which Nehma’s life unfolds. Her experience is shaped by larger systems—especially modern techno-capitalism, which depends heavily on hidden, underpaid digital workers. The film is not just about one woman’s journey; it is a broader critique of an economic system that profits from invisible human effort while promoting the illusion of automated intelligence.

Pre-viewing Task: The Socio-technical Landscape:

1. Hidden Hands Behind Smart Technology

The global tech world, mostly controlled by wealthy countries of the Global North, depends greatly on workers from poorer regions of the Global South. These workers remain unseen, even though their labour is essential. This kind of invisible digital labour is often described as “ghost work.” It is the silent foundation on which machine learning systems are built.

When we use generative AI tools, facial recognition apps, or automated content filters, we rarely think about the human effort behind them. In reality, thousands of workers spend long hours clicking on images, tagging objects, drawing boxes around faces, and sorting data so that machines can “learn.”

Humans in the Loop shifts our focus directly to this hidden workforce. Instead of showing polished tech offices in California, the film takes us to rural Jharkhand. By doing so, it removes the glamour from AI. It shows that artificial intelligence is not just advanced coding or futuristic magic—it is also repetitive, underpaid manual work done far away from the spotlight.

2. Digital Labour and the Question of Alienation

If we look at Nehma’s life through Marxist ideas, especially those of Karl Marx, we can see how deeply she is separated from her own work. Marx explained that under capitalism, workers become alienated in different ways: they do not own what they produce, they have no control over how they produce it, they lose connection with their own creative self, and they become disconnected from others.

Nehma’s condition reflects this clearly. She trains AI systems every day, yet these systems will never improve her own life or the lives of people around her. The technology she helps build belongs to powerful companies, not to her. She does not control the software, the data, or the profits. Her role is limited to repetitive digital tasks.

In this system, she becomes just one small part of a much larger machine. Her thinking, seeing, and clicking are turned into cheap labour, while big technology companies earn massive profits. The digital age may look modern, but the structure of exploitation remains similar to older forms of capitalism.

3. The Carefully Maintained Myth of Smart Machines

The fact that Nehma’s work is invisible is not a coincidence. It is part of how the system is designed. Large tech companies benefit from promoting the idea that machines can learn and function on their own. This creates excitement and trust in their products.

If people fully understood that so-called “artificial intelligence” depends on poorly paid workers—often women in developing regions—manually identifying traffic lights, trees, or human faces, the image of futuristic independence would quickly fade. The magic would feel less magical.

Aranya Sahay’s film breaks this illusion. It exposes what is normally hidden. By showing the faces and lives of digital workers, the film forces viewers to think about the real human cost behind everyday technology. What we experience as convenience is built upon labour that remains largely unseen and unacknowledged.

Active Watching Task: Cinematic Form And Apparatus Theory:

Cinema as Experience: Making Exploitation Visible and Felt

Aranya Sahay does not turn the film into a simple political speech. Instead, he uses the power of cinema itself—camera, space, sound, and framing—to help the audience feel what Nehma is going through. The film’s meaning is not only in its story but also in how it is visually and aurally constructed. A closer look at its form shows how carefully Sahay uses cinematic tools to express exploitation.

1. Two Worlds in One Frame: Nature vs. Screen

The film clearly contrasts two very different spaces. The first is the natural world of Jharkhand—green fields, open skies, soil, trees, and the lived history of the land. These scenes feel warm and alive. The camera moves more freely here, often showing wide landscapes filled with earthy colours and natural light. This space feels open and connected to tradition and memory.

In sharp contrast, the digital world appears cold and lifeless. When Nehma begins working on her laptop, the colour tone shifts. The screen gives off a harsh blue light. The space becomes tight and limited. Sahay often frames Nehma in close shots while she works, making her look boxed in. The camera does not allow her much movement. Visually, it feels as if she is trapped.

The glowing rectangle of the laptop screen slowly turns into a symbol of confinement. Even though she is physically at home, the digital workspace restricts her freedom. Through this strong visual contrast, the film shows how the digital economy separates her from the richness of her natural surroundings.

2. Sound That Speaks: Hearing Isolation

The sound design of Humans in the Loop plays a powerful role in expressing Nehma’s emotional state. When she is away from work, we hear the soft and layered sounds of village life—wind moving through trees, distant voices, everyday activity, and the natural rhythm of the environment. These sounds feel warm and grounding.

But the moment she starts working, everything changes. The natural sounds fade, and mechanical noises take over. The repeated clicking of the mouse becomes sharp and constant. The machine produces a low, artificial hum. These sounds feel empty and cold.

The steady clicking almost feels like a clock, marking time again and again. It highlights the monotony of her work. Through this shift in sound, the audience can sense her isolation and mental exhaustion. The contrast between natural sound and mechanical noise makes her alienation not just something we understand intellectually—but something we hear and feel.

3. The Camera and Our Responsibility as Viewers

If we look at the film through Apparatus Theory—which studies how cinema itself influences the audience’s thinking—we can see that Sahay carefully controls how we experience the story. He does not allow us to remain distant observers. Instead, he places us in a position where we are almost part of the process.

The film moves at a slow and steady pace. The scenes of Nehma working are repetitive and unhurried. This slowness is intentional. The camera often stays just behind her shoulder, showing us exactly what she sees on her screen. As a result, we end up staring at a screen that shows a woman staring at another screen. This layered viewing experience is not accidental.

By making us sit through the long, repetitive task of labeling one ordinary image after another, the film removes any excitement or glamour usually associated with Artificial Intelligence. There is nothing futuristic or magical here—only routine, exhausting work. The boredom we feel becomes part of the message.

In this way, the film quietly turns the focus back on us. We are not just watching Nehma’s labour; we are also consumers of the technology built through such labour. The cinematic technique makes us aware that our digital comfort depends on work like hers. Instead of allowing us to admire technology from a distance, Sahay makes us question our own role in supporting a system that thrives on invisible human effort.

Post Viewing Task 1: Epistemological Violence:

Knowledge, Power, and the Problem of AI

Humans in the Loop is not only about low wages or difficult working conditions. It also raises a deeper question: whose knowledge counts in the age of Artificial Intelligence? The film explores how technology is shaped by power and how different ways of understanding the world can come into conflict.

1. Biased Systems and Cultural Control

AI systems are usually described as neutral and scientific. We are told that algorithms are based purely on logic and numbers, and therefore they must be fair and objective. But the film challenges this belief. It shows that algorithms are not free from human influence. They are created by people, and people carry their own cultural values and assumptions.

Most major AI systems are developed in Western countries. As a result, they often reflect Western ideas about society, identity, gender, work, and value. These systems are then trained to sort and label the world according to fixed categories that may not fit other cultures.

In the film, when Nehma labels data, she is required to fit complex local realities into simple digital boxes. The rich and layered experiences of communities in the Global South must be adjusted to match categories designed elsewhere. This process shows a clear imbalance of power. One knowledge system becomes dominant, while others are forced to adapt or disappear.

Through this theme, the film highlights that AI is not just technology—it is also a cultural product shaped by global inequality.

2. Fixed Systems vs. Living Knowledge

This tension becomes clearer when we look at it through Structuralist ideas. Structuralism suggests that human life and culture operate within larger systems or structures that shape meaning. In the film, the AI interface represents one such rigid structure. It works through fixed options, strict categories, and binary choices—yes or no, object A or object B. Everything must fit into a pre-decided box.

But Nehma’s understanding of the world does not function in this rigid way. As an Adivasi woman, her knowledge comes from lived experience, tradition, and community memory. Her worldview sees nature, people, and spirituality as deeply connected. It is not divided into simple categories. For her, a forest is not just land; it carries history, belief, and identity.

The problem is that this layered way of knowing cannot be easily translated into dropdown menus or data fields. The AI system demands clarity and separation, while her indigenous epistemology is relational and interconnected. This clash shows the limits of structural systems when they try to control complex human realities.

3. When Technology Silences Culture

The conflict between these two ways of understanding the world leads to something deeper—what we can call epistemic violence. The harm is not physical, but intellectual and cultural. For example, when Nehma is asked to label an image of a sacred grove, the AI only provides practical options like “Timber Resource,” “Park,” or “Obstacle.” There is no option for “Sacred Place” or “Ancestral Space.”

This absence is not a small technical mistake. It shows how the system fails to recognize other ways of seeing the world. As Prof. Dilip Barad has argued in his discussions on AI bias, such limitations reveal how technology can reproduce power structures. When a system refuses to include certain meanings, it indirectly pushes those meanings aside.

In this situation, Nehma’s hesitation is important. She is not confused or incapable. Instead, the machine itself cannot understand the depth of what she sees. To complete her task and earn her wage, she is forced to simplify and reduce her own cultural understanding. The digital system makes her compress a rich and sacred reality into narrow, functional terms.

In this way, the film suggests that technology can act like a new form of colonization—reshaping knowledge, controlling categories, and quietly erasing voices that do not fit its framework.

Post Viewing Task 2: Politics Of Representation:

Reclaiming the Frame: Adivasi Presence and Power

Another important aspect of Humans in the Loop is how it deals with cultural representation. In mainstream Indian cinema, Adivasi communities have often been misrepresented. They are usually pushed to the background of the story. Many films show them either as “primitive” and exotic, or as weak people waiting to be saved by someone from a dominant caste or urban background. Such portrayals reduce their identity and silence their real voices.

Aranya Sahay takes a very different path. In this film, Nehma is not a side character. She stands at the center of a global, modern story about Artificial Intelligence. She is not shown as helpless or dependent. In fact, with every image she labels, she is actively contributing to the shaping of global technology. Even though she is exploited by the system, the film treats her with respect. We see her thoughts, her emotions, and her inner struggles.

Her small acts of resistance are especially powerful. When she deliberately mislabels certain images that go against her cultural beliefs, the film presents these moments as quiet but meaningful rebellion. These are not mistakes—they are subtle protests. Through such scenes, Sahay shows that resistance does not always have to be loud. It can exist in everyday actions.

By placing an Adivasi woman at the heart of a story about AI, the film also challenges the common idea that technology belongs only to urban, upper-class people. It reminds us that the digital future is not built only in big cities or corporate offices. Indigenous labour and presence are deeply woven into its foundation.

Closing Reflections: Questioning the Future We Are Creating

Humans in the Loop is more than just a film; it feels like an important social record of our time. It breaks the polished image of Artificial Intelligence and brings our attention back to the tired, overworked human hands that actually make it possible.

Through its slow rhythm, strong visual contrasts, and sensitive portrayal of Nehma, the film asks us to rethink what we call “progress.” It makes us question how we understand labour and whose knowledge we value. Technology often appears neutral and advanced, but the film reveals the inequalities hidden within it.

In the end, the story leaves us with difficult questions. Are we creating a future that respects the richness and complexity of human life? Or are we building systems that reduce everything to simple categories and codes? Nehma’s journey reminds us that in our excitement about artificial intelligence, we may be overlooking the very human realities that give life meaning.

WORKS CITED:

Barad, Dilip. (2026). WORKSHEET FILM SCREENING ARANYA SAHAY'S HUMANS IN THE LOOP. 10.13140/RG.2.2.11775.06568. 

McDonald, Kevin. Film Theory: The Basics. 2nd ed., Routledge, 2023.

Number Analytics. "Film Theory Essentials: Key Concepts and Frameworks." Number Analytics, 2023, https://www.numberanalytics.com/blog/film-theory-essentials.

Sahay, Aranya, director. Humans in the Loop. India, 2024.

 Sui, Z., and S. Wang. "Dogme 25: Media Primitivism and New Auteurism in the Age of Artificial Intelligence." Frontiers in Communication, vol. 10, no. 1659731, 2025, https://doi.org/10.3389/fcomm.2025.1659731..      

"Humans in the Loop: Aranya Sahay on Technology, AI, and Our Digital Lives." The Indian Express,2024,  https://indianexpress.com/article/opinion/columns/humans-in-the-loop-aranya-sahay-technology-ai-digital-10391699/.

Vighi, Fabio. Critical Theory and Film: Rethinking Ideology Through Film Noir. Bloomsbury Academic India, 2019.