When those who are absent take the floor. On the legal risks of holographic speakers

Holographic concerts are no longer a novelty straddling the worlds of technology and show business. Today, they can take the form of both large-scale, long-running spectacles attracting international audiences – as exemplified by the ABBA concert project in London – and a regular feature of cultural institutions’ programmes in Poland, as demonstrated by the concerts organised by the Silesian Philharmonic. We are no longer talking about an isolated experiment, but about a format that is becoming increasingly established in the events industry.

However, there is more to such a spectacle than just technology. A hologram is not merely a stage effect or a neutral image medium. It is a format where image rights, copyright, the organiser’s interests and the audience’s expectations intersect. When the project involves a person who is no longer alive, the issue becomes even more sensitive, as alongside legal considerations there is also the question of the memory of the deceased and how they are portrayed. Potential legal issues may arise as early as the concept stage, during discussions with heirs, contract negotiations and communications. It is at this stage that it is determined whether we are dealing with an acceptable tribute or with a project that may infringe on others’ rights or simply mislead the audience.

Between a show and someone else’s image

Let us imagine a speaker whose name alone is enough to sell an event: charismatic, recognisable, drawing in audiences not only with their knowledge but also with their personality and stage presence. Whilst they are still alive, the matter seems relatively straightforward. The organiser comes up with an idea to use a hologram during a conference or event, sets out the proposal, and the speaker themselves accepts the format and consents to the use of their image in a specific programme. They retain control over how they will be portrayed, and the boundaries of permissible use are defined by consent and a contract.

This is not merely an abstract model. In the widely discussed deal involving TikTok star Khaby Lame, a very broad consent to the commercial use of his identity and image was publicly described, including the creation of new content using AI tools. This example illustrates how important it is to precisely define the scope of consent at the contractual level. Under Polish law, one’s image and honour are personal rights protected by Articles 23 and 24 of the Civil Code, whilst the dissemination of an image generally requires authorisation under Article 81 of the Copyright Act.

A few years later, however, our speaker is no longer with us, yet the project lives on. That is when everything changes, because the person who until then had decided for themselves how their image was to be portrayed is no longer with us. In their place come their family, loved ones, heirs and rights management organisations. It is they who must decide not only on the commercial use of the speaker’s legacy, but also whether the memory of the deceased is being distorted. Of course, it would be much more difficult to challenge such a performance if its programme remained essentially unchanged and was limited to a faithful reproduction of a previously accepted format. Over time, however, even the most compelling project may begin to lose its appeal if audiences are continually offered exactly the same format.

And this is precisely where the temptation arises to turn to new solutions, including AI, which would allow not only the reproduction of a past presentation, but also its development, revitalisation and the creation of an appearance of novelty. Technology now makes it possible not only to show a speaker on stage, but also to modify their message, add new reactions, and even put words into their mouth that they would never have endorsed. At this point, the question is no longer merely whether it is permissible to use an old recording. It begins to concern something far deeper: who has the right to decide on the continued ‘life’ of such a person after their death, and where does permissible commemoration end and the creation of a new character based solely on an old legend begin? The further such a project strays from the originally agreed format, the easier it would be to allege that the scope of the consent granted has been exceeded. In practice, this could also lead to the withdrawal of further consent for the use of the likeness, particularly if the family were to consider that the portrayal ceases to be a faithful reconstruction and begins to violate the memory of the deceased or to commercially exploit their image in a way they would never have accepted.

It is not just a matter of image rights. There is also the issue of copyright

Even if a dispute over the likeness of such a person or their memory were to be avoided, there remains a second layer of the problem: copyright and related rights. After all, a presentation of this kind almost never comes out of nowhere. The project requires the organiser to draw on audio recordings, video material, recorded speeches, presentations, excerpts from previous conferences or other elements of the speaker’s public activities, which may themselves be subject to protection.

This is precisely why the consent of a single party – even one that is highly significant to the project as a whole – rarely settles the matter. Someone may control the rights to the image or the commercial use of such an expert’s personal brand, but hold no rights whatsoever to specific recordings, speeches or materials used during the event. Someone else may hold the rights to specific content, but not to the audiovisual elements or recordings of previous speeches. In practice, therefore, the organiser does not obtain a single, universal consent to ‘bring back’ such a figure on stage, but must sort out the entire chain of rights, which are often scattered amongst various individuals and entities.

If they fail to do so, the risk turns out to be surprisingly traditional, though its consequences can be very severe. This may involve demands to halt the project, remove promotional materials, pay compensation or surrender any profits made, and in extreme cases, criminal liability for copyright infringement. The technology may be modern, but the dispute itself is very often as old as the industry itself. Ultimately, it comes down once again to who had the right to use the material in question and whether they did so within the limits of the authorisation granted.

The viewer also has rights

The second major area of risk concerns the relationship with the audience. Here, the matter is simpler than with personal rights, as it boils down to the question of whether the viewer has been properly informed about what they are actually buying. If an advertisement for an event suggests that an artist is returning to the stage, that a live concert will take place, or that the audience will see something akin to an authentic performance, the organiser is entering dangerous territory. It is not merely a matter of such phrasing working well in marketing. What is crucial is that the average consumer may take it literally, or at least attribute a broader meaning to it than the organiser would later be prepared to admit.

Under consumer law, you do not need to state an outright falsehood to create a risk. Sometimes, the way an offer is presented is enough. Omissions, suggestive editing of promotional material, or a failure to clearly indicate that it is a screening or a re-enactment – all of these can lead to a misleading impression of the service. And if, influenced by such a perception, a consumer buys a ticket, the matter ceases to be merely a reputational issue. Civil claims may then arise, as well as the involvement of the Office of Competition and Consumer Protection (UOKiK). For the organiser, this is a very uncomfortable situation, as the dispute unfolds simultaneously on two fronts. On the one hand, they must explain themselves to audience members who feel they have been misled. On the other, they must address the question of whether the method of sale and advertising infringes upon the collective interests of consumers.

Digital presence, real risk

Events utilising holograms and digital presence are likely to be with us for the long term. The market favours formats that combine novelty with excitement, and audiences are keen to take part in projects that promise something more than just a standard presentation or a traditional show. This is hardly surprising. It is precisely the power of such a promise that makes these kinds of formats seem so attractive to organisers. However, the greater their potential, the greater the responsibility that falls on those who decide to make use of them. Many of the risks described can be significantly mitigated as early as the contract stage, by precisely defining the scope of use of the image, voice and recorded performances, the rules governing their further processing, the period of use, and the limits of permissible interference with the original message.

In essence, it is not merely about the image displayed on stage. It is about how far one is permitted to go in utilising another person’s image, body of work and reputation, and whether the audience is actually aware of what they are dealing with. The greatest risk of such projects therefore lies not in technical failure, but in their crossing the line between permissible use and abuse. Sometimes this will be a dispute over the scope of consent, sometimes over copyright, sometimes over the fairness of communication towards participants, and in the case of deceased individuals, also over their memory and the manner in which they continue to be portrayed. And it is precisely then that it becomes apparent that even the most convincing digital presence can lead to very real legal consequences.