Superman Can Wait: My Personal Experiences With Not Getting Agreements In Writing

You know, I say "get everything in writing" so often on this blog that I feel like I should have it pre-engraved on my headstone. I may be a broken record about it, but that's only because I've had plenty of first-hand experiences where that information would've come in handy. Here's one such experience that proved so formative, it helped shape my eventual journey from film to the law.

In the summer of 2002, I was a freshly minted RISD grad working in the vault of a major post-production house in New York City. I was hoping that after a few months organizing shelves of film and tape, they would call me up to the big leagues so I could learn to be an assistant editor or color correctionist. It wasn't my dream, but it was proximate enough to my dream that I stuck it out. In late August, my friend Maureen from college called and told me about a job opportunity she knew I couldn't pass up. After graduation, Maureen moved back home to Orange County where she was picking up odd jobs in the film business. A friend of hers - who I'll call Jenny because I can't remember her actual name - had been an assistant editor on Brett Ratner's films, and because Ratner was about to direct the new Superman movie, Jenny was slated to work on it. According to Maureen, Jenny could get me a job as a production assistant on the film, but I had to get my ass to L.A. pronto, since production was ramping up. This meant leaving my steady job and steady girlfriend (who eventually forgave me for moving 3000 miles away and married me) and taking a hell of a risk. Other than Maureen, I didn't know anyone in California. I had no money, no connections, nowhere to stay. I was going out on a limb, and trusting to fate, God, the universe, whatever, that it wouldn't snap beneath me.

With Maureen's help, I called Jenny who put me in touch with the production company. The woman I spoke to there was very encouraging and though she couldn't guarantee I'd be hired, she assured me that once I got to Los Angeles, I could come in for a proper interview and, most likely, get myself a set PA job. A month later, I was in the City of Angels, ready to make my dream come true.

"A job as a production assistant?" you might ask. "That was your dream?" Well, yes. Certainly I had no illusions about where a PA's job was on the totem pole. I knew the majority of my job would be making coffee runs to the nearest Starbucks. But this was a chance to work on a Superman film. SUPERMAN! For those who don't know me, Superman is my jam, particularly Christopher Reeve's iteration. Not enough to name my kid Kal-El or anything, but growing up, he meant a lot to me. He represented the ideal of heroism and goodness in a world that seemed continually bereft of both. He was what I wanted to be. It didn't matter that the script Ratner was working from (written by J.J. Abrams) had leaked online and been universally lambasted. It didn't matter that Ratner had only one good film under his belt and was widely considered a hack. It only mattered that it was Superman and I would be on the same set as him. How could this not all work out?

Oh my friends, how I'd love to tell you the gambit paid off. And if life were more like a movie, it would have. But within weeks of landing in L.A., Ratner was off the project and it reentered development hell. And all of a sudden, I had to make a life for myself in a strange place with no resources. You could say I acted recklessly, that I was dumb. And you'd be right to say that. A smarter man might have waited for an official job offer from Warner Bros, something in writing that I could hold in my hand on that plane ride across the country. But I was young and ambitious and excited to get started before there was even something to get started on. I upended my life without a guarantee of employment, only the vague promise of it.

But do you know how many artists do the very same thing? Sure, most don't move across the country for it, but it's so common for artists to get excited and start working on something before the deal is written down that it can take up anywhere from 50% to 75% of my law practice. So when I tell you to get everything in writing, I say it not just because it's smart business, not just because I see my clients going through it, but because I've lived it and know what can happen if you don't. Getting all your deals in writing protects your interests and holds everyone accountable. It should be an invaluable tool in your arsenal. So learn from my mistakes. If the job is important enough, it can wait until everything is written down. 

Steven Soderbergh Turns Raiders of the Lost Ark Into Silent B&W Fan Film, No One Sues

A long time ago, I was a young aspiring filmmaker and wanted to learn - really learn - how to make good films. So I went to a family friend who had some connections in the entertainment business and asked him what to do. He said "watch a lot of films."

So I did. And I became a colossal movie nerd. And even though the filmmaking part of my life is over, I still watch movies to learn from them. It's nice to know I'm not alone.

The other day, Steven Soderbergh, one of the most interesting mainstream filmmakers working today, posted on his blog a version of Raiders of the Lost Ark that he recut into a silent B+W film as an exercise to learn about film staging from Steven Spielberg, a "filmmaker [who] forgot more about staging by the time he made his first feature than I know to this day." He also replaced the classic John Williams score with the score from The Social Network, by Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross to strip away everything familiar about the film and "aid you in your quest to just study the visual staging aspect." For Soderbergh, staging is important because it "refers to how all the various elements of a given scene or piece are aligned, arranged, and coordinated...I value the ability to stage something well because when it’s done well its pleasures are huge, and most people don’t do it well, which indicates it must not be easy to master."

In other words, "I operate under the theory a movie should work with the sound off, and under that theory, staging becomes paramount."

As a movie nerd, I love that Soderbergh did this. As a lawyer, I'm cool with it too. In his blog post, Soderbergh strikes a defensive, almost sheepish, tone, saying that he's aware he's not allowed to recut Raiders, but did it anyway as a learning exercise. This hedging caught me off guard a bit, since it stands in opposition to the confidence he displays in the rest of the piece. Nevertheless, if I was his attorney, I'd tell him not to worry; as far as I'm concerned, this is a classic fair use scenario. I've spoken about the pitfalls of relying on a fair use defense in the past. My chief concern is that it's not a cut and dried thing. You have to weigh different factors based on the particulars of your case. To complicate matters, fair use is an "affirmative defense" which means you have to wait until you're sued for copyright infringement in order to assert it. It's a tough legal doctrine to use and even tougher to use well.

That doesn't mean you always need to ground the flight before it takes off, however. There are some pretty useful questions you can ask ahead of time to gauge whether using someone else's work without their permission is a risk you want to take. For starters, understand that the issue is less "what" are you doing to the already copyrighted work than "why" and "to what end?" If you're trying to make money from it or impinge on the owner's right to profit from it, that's the kind of thing a court would smack you for. But if you're using the work to inform and educate, or if your use says something critical about the work, those are the classic fair uses scenarios. In this case, that's exactly what Soderbergh is doing. He recut the film in order to say something about a crucial aspect of filmmaking. The fact that he's using Raiders to comment and teach is critical to the analysis, and it helps douse a potential lawsuit before it ever arises.

Don't forget the politics of this either. It's doubtful that Paramount (the film's copyright holder) or Spielberg would want to drag him through a legal proceeding. Soderbergh is a respected and beloved filmmaker, still at the height of his power (The Knick, anyone?). He's a potential collaborator and some of his movies made real money - i.e. the Oceans Trilogy. That's not a gift horse you look in the mouth. And let's be honest, this is precisely the kind of nerding around that Spielberg would probably appreciate.

Raiders of the Lost Ark is my all-time favorite film and Steven Soderbergh relied on fair use to recut it and show us just how great it is. In some alternate universe where I'm still 19-years old, I'm over the moon excited to watch and learn from it. Hell, 34-year old me still is.

Filmmaker-2-Filmmaker: Tip 5 - Why Public Domain Music Isn't As Cheap As You Thought

During my last year in film school, I got some bad advice.

I was working on my student film, the one that would have to play in the senior film festival. I had no budget and most of my actors and crew were generously donating their time to help me finish what I expected would be a masterpiece.

As post-production loomed, I began searching for music to score my film that fell within my budget - zero dollars. I was hoping to hire a local Providence-based band, but none of the ones I contacted were willing to do it for free. While I didn’t know much about copyright back then, I knew enough to avoid using popular songs and I didn’t want to get pinched for illegally downloading music (back then, Napster was all the rage).

Witnessing my plight, a friend suggested that I use classical music. His reasoning: the songs were composed hundreds of years ago and were in the public domain, so I wouldn’t have to ask anyone's permission and I definitely wouldn’t have to pay anyone for the privilege. Even better, classical music would give my film an air of sophistication, like 2001: A Space Odyssey. Because nothing demonstrates film school hubris quite like comparing your student film to one of the greatest pieces of cinema ever made.

Anyway, I followed my friend's advice and used classical music. The film played in the student filmfest and, while not exactly on par with Kubrick’s masterwork, it was moderately well received. I sent it off to some real film festivals and was rejected by all of them.

My friend was right about one thing: music composed before 1922 is not protected by copyright law. As a result, it lives in the public domain (meaning you can use it for any purpose without paying for it). But it was still bad advice. As I later learned in my producing career, where music is involved, not only is the song itself subject to copyright protection, the RECORDING of that song is also explicitly granted copyright protection. Which means that most music is protected twice under the law.

Why are recordings granted their own copyright protection? Because they're considered separate works of artistic expression. The copyright to a piece of music protects only the WRITTEN music and accompanying lyrics. The copyright to a recording rests with the specific audio RECORDING of the song. More than that, each separate recording - even if it’s of the same song - is granted its own copyright. A live recording of Eric Clapton’s Layla (like the famous MTV Unplugged version) has a separate copyright from the original recording which appeared on the 1970 album Layla and Other Assorted Love Songs because it's a completely unique and discrete interpretation of the song. And each of those copyrights stand apart from the copyright granted to the words and music as written by Clapton and his partner Jim Gordon.

Even if the music is in the public domain, copyright protection will still attach to recordings made after 1922. Just yesterday I was listening to a rendition of Fare Thee Well (Dink's Song) by Marcus Mumford and Oscar Isaac off the Inside Llewyn Davis soundtrack. The origins of the song can be traced to 1904, which means it predates modern copyright law. But a simple iTunes search will reveal dozens of recordings of the song by Bob Dylan, Pete Seeger, Dave Van Ronk, Jeff Buckley, Ramblin’ Jack Elliot, and many more. Each recording of the song gets its own copyright, even though the music and lyrics are no longer protected.

So the moral of the story for all you filmmakers out there: don’t do what I did and think you’re getting off scott free just because you chose some archaic piece of music that was popular during the Napoleonic wars. You’ll still have get permission from the owner of the recording's copyright.

Thor's Dark World: Why Over-Delivering is a Breach of Contract

Thor: The Dark World, the sequel to Marvel's 2011 hit Thor is currently deep in post-production and is slated for release this winter.  If you've been following the production of the film like I have, then you've heard rumors that Marvel President Kevin Feige and the film's director Alan Taylor are in the midst of a major disagreement.   The nature of that disagreement remains a mystery, but one recent rumor claims that the fight is over - of all things - the running time of the film.  Taylor apparently wants the film to run for two and a half hours, while Feige wants the film to clock in at two hours even.  Evidently, the conflict has gotten so bad that editing has halted and a mediator has allegedly been brought in to resolve the situation.

Now this rumor may be complete BS (although the rumor mill has been swirling for weeks that Taylor was taken off the film, right before composer Carter Burwell's exit a few days ago), but I thought it was unique opportunity to highlight an interesting little wrinkle in contract law.  Namely, that over-delivering on a contract is technically a breach and can result in a lawsuit for damages.

Holy Hell?  You can actually be sued for giving the other party more than they originally bargained for?  Yes you can, and if these rumors are true, it's exactly what Feige appears to be accusing Taylor of - breach of contract by delivering more movie than was originally requested.  It feels counter-intuitive to say that getting MORE than you paid for is somehow a negative thing worth suing over, and to some extent that's right.  It's rarely considered a bad thing to get more than you asked and if you were to sue over it, a judge would probably dismiss the case and maybe even hit you with a Rule 11 sanction for bringing a frivolous lawsuit.  That's probably why Marvel is bringing in a mediator instead of suing Taylor outright.  Why waste the time and money to sue the guy when a judge would just dismiss the case because of its inherent ridiculousness?

But a breach is a breach, even if benefits the aggrieved party.  There's a reason why high-level contracts like these are so time-consuming and expensive to put together; the parties have very specific needs and demands. You can bet your bottom dollar that if a provision ends up in a contract, no matter how absurd it seems,  it's important to the parties that it gets carried out exactly as written.  Any deviation from the terms of the contract is considered a modification, which is not enforceable without the approval of both sides.

And anyway when you think about it, over-delivering on a contract can actually be a negative thing in some situations.  Movie studio generally hate long films because they can't schedule as many showings - 5 to 6 showings per theater per day for a two hour film as opposed to 3 or 4 for a three hour film - meaning the film will make less money during its theatrical run (Although Avatar and The Lord of the Rings films bucked that trend). Marvel is not, after all, a charity.  They want to make as much money as they can, and they've contracted with their talent a certain way to achieve that goal.  If Taylor's contract does indeed specify that he is to deliver a two hour film, and he breaches that provision by delivering a movie that's 30 minutes too long, then it could actually be detrimental to Marvel.  Marvel will be required to spend extra time and extra money they hadn't planned on to edit the film down to the requested two hours.  Reasonable minds can argue whether it is financially or artistically prudent to predetermine a film's running time before a director has even been hired, but Marvel has determined what it wants, has contracted to get what it wants, and is perfectly within its right to enforce that.

147 Years Later, Lincoln is Still Relevant

[Author's Note: I discuss what may be considered spoilers below, so if you haven't seen Lincoln, or don't want to wikipedia the events surrounding the 13th Amendment's passage, read no further.]

There are two moments towards the end of Lincoln that made me realize why the film should be shown in every high school civics class.

In the first, Lincoln is surrounded by his advisers and they warn him that passing the 13th Amendment at the expense of a negotiated peace with the south is impossible.  In fact, it is tantamount to political suicide. By this point, however, Lincoln is exhausted from all the jabbering and naysaying and decides to put an end to it.  He doesn't want to hear why they CAN'T pass the Amendment, he wants to hear HOW they can pass the Amendment.  He wants to get his way, come hell or high water.  For only the second time in the film, Honest Abe loses his temper and thunders the most quotable line in the movie: "I am the President of the United States of America! Clothed in immense power!" The room goes silent and the point is clear: there is only one item on the President's legislative agenda that matters, passage of the 13th Amendment.

Shortly after, Lincoln goes to meet with the three negotiators hired by Secretary of State William Seward to get the 22 democratic votes needed in the House of Representatives to pass the Amendment. Lincoln not so subtly discusses with the negotiators - played by John Hawkes, Tim Blake Nelson, and James Spader - exactly how to "convince" these democrats how to vote across party lines in favor of the Amendment. Some of those convincing techniques involve bribery, threats, and favors to lame duck congressmen who weren't reelected (one settles for becoming the postmaster of his county).

Taken together, these scenes perfectly encapsulate the thematic bottom line of Lincoln: that politics is about getting things done, even if it means breaking the law to do it. Certainly the film has a lot more on its mind... bravery, morality, how little our political system has changed over the centuries. But make no mistake, Lincoln wants us to see how the sausage gets made, so to speak, and come away with the realization that lawmaking isn't a zero sum game. Just because your bill is righteous and takes the moral high ground doesn't mean it will pass automatically.  It is okay (and often necessary) to do a little evil in order to do a great good. Lincoln certainly believed that during his political life. The 13th Amendment, the largest progressive restructuring of America's social contract, happened mainly because palms were greased, wheels were dealed, and favors doled out... all at the order of the President of the United States (at one point, the vote on the Amendment is stalled when rumors arise that delegates from the south have come to seek a peace. Lincoln writes a note to be delivered to the Speaker of the House denying that such an event has happened... even though it is in fact true.  Lincoln's aide refuses to deliver the fraudulent note. Lincoln smiles, takes the note, tenderly holds the hand of his aide as if to say "I understand", and then gently hands it to another aide to deliver, who promptly sprints back to the Capitol building to deliver it.)

Today, the media saturates the American public with all the ups and downs, and ins and outs of our political system. As a result, we feel like we see a lot about how our laws are passed in this country. We understand that politicians vote along the party line and do not cross the aisle unless they are compelled to do so for a moral reason or because they've been "convinced." Lincoln argues this is indeed the case, but maybe that isn't a bad thing. Lincoln and his supporters have no compunction about buying the votes they needed in a flawed and messy system because they knew that the future of the country depends on the Amendment's passage. And while it's easy to get discouraged by the apparent lack of progress in this country, the film argues that America's system of passing and amending laws is painfully slow by design. It prevents zealots from taking over and changing the nation's social, political, and class structure on a whim. Real change takes a magnanimous effort to overcome the significant political inertia that's built up over time.  The result is this: when that change comes, it's here to stay.

Lincoln knew why the 13th Amendment was so important.  Like a canonball to the gut, it signaled that America was finally on the path towards achieving the heart and soul of the Declaration of Independence: "we hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal." That's a battle we're still fighting today, but at least we're winning it. Even still, Lincoln doesn't shy away from the messiness of that balancing act. In one scene, he discusses the 'slipperiness' of his interpretation of his powers. In yet another scene, he acknowledges to another character that he has no idea what's in store for the country or it's black population after the Amendment passes. But he knows that this is a battle that needed to be fought, and he was going to use every tool in his arsenal (regardless of its legality) to win that battle.

It's a pragmatic view. It's a realistic view. It's a view that understands morality has a place in politics, but should not get in the way of politics. It is completely unromantic and it cuts against the moral righteousness and manifest certainty we are taught about our country. And that's exactly why it should be taught in our schools. We need to have a much more sophisticated understanding of how our government works. Only then can we get our government to truly work for the people. Lincoln is a masterpiece because it doesn't coddle us and give us the 5th grade version of things. It's a masterpiece because it understands that we can still do great things, even when we do them wrongly.