What My Wife's Pregnancy And Derivative Works Have In Common

Three weeks ago, Steph and I decided to publicly announce that we're expecting our first child (September 1st, dear readers! Mark your calendars). It was crucial to us that the announcement be memorable and fun, and almost immediately, Steph hit upon the idea that the announcement take the form of a movie poster. I'm a film buff after all, so I think she knew I couldn't say no. My initial concept was to do a horror-themed one sheet in the vein of Saw, but Steph didn't like the idea of equating our bundle of joy with murderous psychopathy, so we quickly settled on another well-worn trope: the bright, colorful, goofy posters for terrible Matthew McConaughey romantic comedies like Failure to Launch, or How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days. The poster would feature us against a white backdrop, Steph as the beautiful, glowing mother-to-be, while I acted the part of the hapless but gold-hearted man-child.

Concept in hand, we hired a friend and professional photographer, Alex Jones, to shoot the poster. I wanted this thing to be perfect and my camera gear - an iPhone 5 - wasn't exactly going to cut it. I also knew Alex could deliver what I was looking for with minimal direction; he did my headshots last year and those were universally praised. As expected, Alex's poster shots went above and beyond. And after two days of experimenting with layouts, fonts, and colors, here's what we came up with:

The announcement was a big hit with friends and family and it was also a creatively satisfying experience. So why am I telling you this? First, I'm proud of the way the poster came out and I just want to brag a little. Second, I thought the poster was a good example of the weird world of "derivative works."

A derivative work is an adaptation, translation, or modification of an existing copyrighted work. You see them all the time without even realizing it. A film based on a book, a photograph of a sculpture, a cover of a song, an English translation of a Russian novel, a collage of cat meme pictures... all of these are derivative works. And with the internet providing unlimited free access to all sorts of visual content, it's become pretty easy to build a career as a derivative work artist. As a result, I frequently get questions from collage artists and photographers asking where the line is when it comes to using the works of others in their own work.

Unfortunately for them, that line is pretty clear; the only person allowed to make a derivative work of the original is the owner of the original! It's codified in our copyright law as an exclusive right, which means that if you author a derivative work without permission of the copyright owner, you could actually be liable for copyright infringement (exception: photographing or painting exterior structures like buildings and sculptures for commercial gain are generally not copyright infringement if the structures are easily visible from a public place). Without that permission, your only recourse is the fair use doctrine, which I've been pretty vocal about being a lousy way to get out from under a copyright infringement claim.

To complicate matters further, if you author a derivative work, you will own the copyright in the parts of the work that are unique to you, even if the derivative was unauthorized. The original copyright, of course, will still remain with the owner. This weird overlap can lead to some sticky situations with both parties claiming some copyright interest in the work and neither being able to profit off the other's creation.

So looking at our faux-movie poster, how does this dynamic play out?

1. The copyright to the original photograph rests with the artist. Contractually, Alex maintains the rights to all his photos unless he conveys them away. The only right I possess is the right of non-commercial display (meaning I can show people the photo but I can't resell it).
2. The modifications I made to turn the photo into a poster do not constitute copyright infringement in this case because I had permission from Alex - I hired him specifically to carry out a preexisting vision - and because I'm not making any money from it. If Alex had not given me permission (either explicitly or implicitly), I would have been liable to him for copyright infringement.
3. While Alex owns the copyright to the photo, I own a copyright interest in the overlay changes I made to transform his photo into a movie poster. Yes I can actually claim a copyright in the layout, the wording choices, the color choices, and the overall aesthetic effect of the piece.

You'll notice that a big reason I'm safe is because I'm not making money off the poster. That, obviously, is no consolation to a working artist who needs to make money to survive. So my blanket piece of advice for artists who rely on the works of others to create their own: do your best to get permission, use older work that's in the public domain, or avoid using preexisting work altogether. And if you're not interested in that, please talk to a lawyer to see if your intended use is protected by fair use.

Ultimately, I think your time is better spent creating new work rather than defending yourself on an infringement claim because you used old work.

[Author's Note: I don't actually know Judd Apatow and A.O. Scott.]

Here's My Take On the Tarantino v. Gawker Lawsuit Battle

A few people have asked my opinion on the Quentin Tarantino v. Gawker lawsuit and while I've been happy to lament it with friends and family, I hesitated to weigh in here because I wanted some time to get my thoughts in order. The situation, while comical, says something deeply unflattering about both Tarantino and Gawker, and it brings to light a previously unknown area of law that could have an impact that reverberates through the entertainment and media spheres for a long time. That time to think was also necessary to separate the wheat from the chaff - people have largely chosen sides based on knee-jerk reaction, rather than a thoughtful analysis of the facts (if you like Tarantino's films, Gawker is obviously the devil. If you dislike Tarantino's films, then he's a cry baby who may have instigated this whole fight). Now that I've had some time to process the situation, here's my take:

Whoever wins, we all lose.

For those not in the know, Tarantino sent an early draft of his new script, The Hateful Eight, to several actors he was considering for roles in the film. One of those actors (most likely Bruce Dern of Nebraska fame) gave the script to his agent. Somehow, the script leaked out of the agency and wound up on a website where it could be downloaded and shared by anyone. Angered by the leak, Tarantino spoke to Deadline to discuss how he was so pissed at the situation, he shelved the script completely and would make another film instead. A few days later, Gawker printed a story with the headline Here is the Leaked Quentin Tarantino Hateful Eight Script which contained a link to anonfiles, the website that was hosting the leaked script. Tarantino lost his shit and sued Gawker, claiming that it was liable for "contributory copyright infringement." You can find the complaint here, and you can read Gawker's response to the suit here.

Unlike traditional copyright infringement, contributory copyright infringement is a really muddy area of law, with very little case-law and precedent to accurately predict how a court would rule on this issue. Contributory infringement occurs when someone knowingly causes, induces, or materially contributes to copyright infringement. In this case, Gawker didn't host the script on its own servers, so it can't be liable for direct infringement. But because it linked to anonfiles and essentially told its audience, "here's where you can get it," Tarantino argues that it knowingly caused the infringement to be much worse than it otherwise would have been.

So did Gawker infringe Tarantino's script through contribution? That determination will rest on a lot of factors such as: the intent of the article's author and publisher, the likelihood of readers clicking through to the script, and the actual amount of traffic Gawker is responsible for sending to anonfiles. I honestly don't know how this will shake out, but here's what I do know... whichever way a court rules in this case, it sets a dangerous precedent for artists and web masters alike.

If Tarantino loses, it softens the rights of individual artists to protect their work from prying eyes. It allows websites to purposely drive traffic towards wrongfully obtained work without taking any of the blame for making the infringement worse. On the flip side, if Gawker loses, website owners will become responsible for content they don't host. No matter how you cut it, it creates a slippery slope that could negatively impact a lot of people, especially when you consider the fact that Tarantino filed his complaint in a California Federal District Court. Like New York, the California federal courts are extremely influential, and case-law coming out of those courts can set the agenda for the rest of the country.

To make matters worse, neither Tarantino nor Gawker have particularly good arguments. In the past, Tarantino has openly praised the leaking of his scripts, and his bluster is what made this story news to begin with (if he had handled it privately or through his lawyers, the script might never have leaked as quickly and as widely as it did). Gawker argues that because it's a news website, posting the link was newsworthy and thus, its actions are protected by fair use. But would a real news agency like CNN or BBC post the link? I doubt it. I also doubt that posting a link to an infringed script was the kind of thing the writers of our copyright laws envisioned when they came up with fair use.

I pray that the parties settle before getting to trial because this is not the case to determine such a deeply important issue.

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.

When The Movies Get It Right: A Great Artist Makes A Bad Business Decision In A Great Film, a.k.a. The Curse Of Llewyn Davis

[Potential Spoilers Follow for Inside Llewyn Davis. Be warned.]

If you’re a working artist, Ethan and Joel Coen understand you. Inside Llewyn Davis is a movie by artists, about artists, for artists. It is sad and soulful, angry but thoughtful, bleak yet hope shines in around the edges, and is totally, utterly understanding of the trials and tribulations you go through.

Oscar Isaac is stunning as the eponymous, transient hero. Seriously stunning. His Llewyn is a homeless bounder, sleeping on friends’ couches night by night, carrying nothing with him but a guitar and a cat, trying to pick up gigs and cash wherever he can.  Unmoored by the untimely death of his singing partner, he is still creatively vibrant, but unable to parlay that into a meaningful solo career. As the movie takes pains to show, he’s no Bob Dylan.

Several times throughout the film, Isaac's performance brought me nearly to tears because I’ve been him. Obviously not in the particulars of his life, but the way he shows the dogged pursuit, the endless failure, and the devotion to the craft despite it all are so familiar it’s scary. We have all experienced that crushing weight when your last best hope for a paying gig (and maybe your entire future) tells you “I don't see a lot of money here” and sends you packing. Maintaining the integrity of your art is difficult enough, but when you add commerce to the mix, how do you ever reconcile the two? This movie is about that very paradox (lest I make the movie sound like a relentless downer, rest assured; as with other Coen Bros films, this one is ferociously funny).

There’s a scene midway through the film where Llewyn signs away royalties and the right to be credited on what turns out to be a popular and financially successful song because he needs the money N-O-W. He’s got expenses to pay and places to be and he can’t sit around waiting for a royalty check to come, if it ever does. I’ve never done that but I know people who did, and the way the scene is played - Llewyn doesn't even take a moment to consider the potential windfall at his fingertips - rings so true that I couldn’t let it lie, I had to write about it.

It’s been going on as long as artists have tried to profit from their art. In perhaps the best known example of this, two Jewish kids from Ohio sold their little-known comic book character to a publisher in the 1930s for 130 bucks. That hero turned out to be Superman and the publisher, DC Comics, made millions while Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster died penniless. 75 years after Siegel and Shuster were scammed out of the most iconic creation of the 20th century, their estates are STILL fighting with DC Comics over the rights to the character.

As someone who advises artists in manners of law and business, it’s easy for me to sit here and tell you to take the long view. You never know when something you work on will hit big, so it’s better to plan for the future, right? Of course it is! But who can ever know if that will happen? The odds of that kind of success are frankly against you, and plus, you have rent to pay, so why not take the money now?

That’s what Inside Llewyn Davis gets to its very core. That the life for artists is messy and filled with dire financial obligations (a friend of mine coined the phrase “adulthood is a never-ending series of urgent expenses”). The only person who can control how you get paid is you, and like Llewyn, you’re often making that call while shouldering the weight of the world. If there is a lesson to learn here, it’s that you should try to mentally detach yourself from your obligations in order to make a good decision. That may not be easy or even possible in some situations, but there you go.

You can't know if your work will be successful; the only thing you can control is your decision-making process. So find a way to control it. Llewyn didn’t because he’s a hot head. That kind of passion makes him a great artist, but it’s also why he’s essentially a bum.

[P.S. If you can’t tell, I loved the film. You should see it.]

Sony Wins "Midnight in Paris" Lawsuit, Inadvertently Proves My Case About Copyright Duration

"The court has viewed Woody Allen’s movie, 'Midnight in Paris,' read the book, 'Requiem for a Nun,' and is thankful that the parties did not ask the court to compare 'The Sound and The Fury' with 'Sharknado.'" - District Court Judge Michael P. Mills

*****

Last October, William Faulkner's estate sued Sony Pictures Classics, the distributor of the hit Woody Allen film Midnight in Paris, claiming that a line used by Owen Wilson's character in the film was pulled straight from Faulkner's 1950 novel Requiem for a Nun without permission from the estate.  Such a use, the estate argued, constituted both copyright and trademark infringement.

Just for comparison's sake, here's the line from the book: "The past is never dead. It's not even past."

And here's the line from the film, said by Owen Wilson's character Gil Pender: "The past is not dead! Actually, it's not even past.  You know who said that? Faulkner. And he was right. And I met him, too. I ran into him at a dinner party."

When I heard about the lawsuit, I rolled my eyes.  "This is exactly the kind of frivolous lawsuit that makes people hate lawyers," I groused to my wife.  The line was so minimal and seemed like a clear-cut case of fair use.  The suit didn't seem like a credible attempt to protect Faulkner's legacy; it looked like a cynical ploy designed to cash in on a box-office hit.  Judge Mills, as evidenced by the above quote, agreed.  In an opinion issued yesterday, he dismissed the Faulkner case against Sony, finding that film's use of the Faulkner quote fell within the fair use exception to copyright infringement.

But the content of the opinion interests me less than what this case means to copyright policy.  Because whether Judge Mills intended it or not, the dismissal speaks volumes about a problem with the way this country shields copyright holders from piracy.  Namely, that copyrights are allowed to live for too long and that results in too many lawsuits.

Back in April, I wrote this Sherlock Holmes piece discussing why the current scheme of copyright duration should be changed to better serve the current copyright landscape. Right now, any work of art fixed in a tangible medium is protected by U.S. Copyright Law for the life of the author plus 70 years.  I argued that allowing copyrights to last for so long actually stifles creativity and innovation in the following ways:

1. Artists are less incentivized to create new works because of the looming spectre of legal action
2. Owners of profitable copyrights like Sherlock are less incentivized to create new works of art as long as they can continue to profit from those copyrights
3. Copyright owners like the Faulkner estate are incentivized to pursue legal action against even the most minimal use of their copyright because the length of the copyright's life acts as a mandate to keep the work protected at all costs

And that's exactly what happened here.  Under our current copyright law, Requiem for a Nun is still protected 62 years after publishing and 50 years after the death of the novel's author.  It will continue to be protected until 2032.  This permits the descendants of the author to pursue all uses of that work anytime they see green and to concoct unreasonable arguments in defense of that green (the Faulkner estate, as part of its now dismissed trademark claim, argued that the use of William Faulkner's name in the film is likely to deceive the audience into believing that an affiliation exists between Faulkner and Sony).  And while the verdict in this case was proper, it won't be the last time this happens.

A shorter copyright duration is better because it allows the author and his immediate family to profit from his creation, but it also devalues the property after the author's death by coming into the public domain sooner.  And that's a good thing.  If Faulkner is no longer profitable, then that frees up people to use his characters in new and interesting ways, while also incentivizing the estate to create something new.  Someone argued with me once, claiming that letting the work into the public domain would open it to bastardization, copying, and retread.   But I fail to see how that's a bad thing.  If a filmmaker wants to stage a remake of Sherlock Holmes starring Justin Bieber as Sherlock and Chester Cheetah as Watson, well sure that will probably suck big time, but that doesn't diminish Conan Doyle's original writings.  Those remain untouched and intact.  And anyway, the integrity and profitability of a work are not often related.  If they were, the Broccolis would never have greenlit a James Bond movie where Denise Richards played a nuclear scientist.

The purpose of copyright protection isn't to provide a golden parachute for the author and his beneficiaries until the end of time.  It's mean to foster originality and ingenuity for the betterment of society.  Hell, even the head of the Copyright Office, Maria Pallante, suggests shortening the duration of copyright to life of the author plus 50 years.

The point is, until we revamp our copyright law to stop favoring the corporate copyright holders, we're going to continue seeing lawsuits like Faulkner v. Sony any time a large copyright owner sees a potential conflict with its interest.  When I look at Judge Mills' decision, I don't see a single judge smacking a plaintiff for filing a frivolous lawsuit.  I see an indictment of a system that allows the suit to be brought in the first place.

Death of the Unpaid Internship, Part 2: Black Swan's Revenge

Two weeks ago, my wife and I were driving home from an unsuccessful apartment hunting trip.  In an attempt to get my mind off the stress of looking for a new home, she asked me what I thought about the recent ruling in the Black Swan internship case.

For those who don't know: Eric Glatt and Alexander Footman, two interns who worked on Darren Aronofsky's Black Swan sued the film’s distributor Fox Searchlight, claiming that the company’s unpaid internship program violated minimum wage and overtime laws.  They argue that they were wrongly classified as unpaid interns when they should have been paid employees.  Well about three weeks ago Federal Judge William H. Pauley III ruled in favor of Glatt and Footman, stating the two should have been paid for their work, and the failure to pay them was a violation of the Fair Labor Standards Act (FLSA).  In his opinion, Judge Pauley said that Glatt and Footman

worked as paid employees work, providing an immediate advantage to their employer and performing low-level tasks not requiring specialized training. The benefits they may have received - such as knowledge of how a production or accounting office functions or references for future jobs - are the results of simply having worked as any other employee works, not of internships designed to be uniquely educational to the interns and of little utility to the employer. They received nothing approximating the education they would receive in an academic setting or vocational school. 

Which essentially means that Glatt and Footman did not fall under the federal definition of "intern" and should have been paid as employees as a result.  Judge Pauley went on to say that even though Glatt and Footman knew what they were signing on for, the FLSA

does not allow employees to waive their entitlement to wages.... An employer is not to be allowed to gain a competitive advantage by reason of the fact that his employees are more willing to waive [FLSA claims] than are those of his competitor.

You can read the whole decision here if you like.  It's a pretty big deal and I'd be lying if I said I didn't make a celebratory fist-pump when I read the news.  [For the record, I'm only talking about internships taken by non-students, not educational internships, or volunteerism/ pro bono work]. I've made it known in the past that I'm no fan of the unpaid internship for adults who are no longer in college, which is why my wonderful and patient wife didn't bat an eyelash when, stressed out from looking at a string of ugly apartments, I snapped back, "Any company that refuses to pay employees for their work doesn't deserve to exist!"

That's a pretty militant proclamation and having some distance from the heat of the moment, I've decided that I support the content, even if the delivery and word choice don't properly communicate how I truly feel.  I shudder at the idea of being labeled an anti-corporate socialist (although I'm sure someone will accuse me of it), so allow me to clarify my stance.

1. Unpaid internships for non-educational purposes are bad for employees because experience cannot pay the rent.
2. Unpaid internships for non-educational purposes are bad for the market because they force entry-level workers to work for nothing, suppressing wages for everyone up the ladder, and thus reducing taxable and spendable income for workers.
3. Unpaid internships for non-educational purposes are bad for our culture because they perpetuate the [absolutely wrong] belief that being taken advantage of is somehow the same thing as "paying your dues."

When a company elects not to pay an intern while profiting off his or her work, that tells the world that it's okay to get something for nothing, and that's not how capitalism is supposed to work.  I know first-hand what Glatt and Footman have gone through, taken advantage of and then cut loose.  The last time I wrote about this, a friend asked me if it was okay to accept an unpaid internship in the same industry she had already been working in for several years.  She had just moved to a new city and was concerned that she was an unknown commodity in her new location, despite her years of experience.  To her, the unpaid work would be a good way to break into the industry in that city and build a name.  While I understood her thought process, I strongly disagreed with her and told her to hold out for actual paying work.   To me, her willingness to go without pay signaled something rotten about how exclusionary our industries have become (especially the glamour industries like entertainment, publishing, and fashion), even to people who have experience within those industries.  Here is someone with six years of direct expertise in her field, who has skills that are immediately transferable and applicable, yet she felt that her only recourse was to start over from the bottom, as if she were a 19-year old freshman.

The longer I think about it, the less flexible I become on the matter.  Are there ever good reasons to accept unpaid work?  I'm sure someone will argue that building a reputation at the beginning of a career is a worthwhile excuse.  A few months ago I might have even been convinced.  Obviously every free-thinking adult should consider all the options before committing to a potential income drought and weigh those options based on the facts of each individual situation.  But looking at it from the macro view, I find those arguments unconvincing in the light of Judge Pauley's ruling - I personally believe you're better off finding a mentor and/or developing your own projects... you're going to be unpaid anyway, might as well develop some entrepreneurial skills while you're at it.  That's why I align myself behind the FLSA standards (found here) and feel comfortable stating categorically that unpaid internships are only acceptable when done for college credit and in conjunction with a legitimate educational institution.  The rest of the working world is starting to catch up too.  Two weeks ago, three former interns sued Gawker Media for violating the FLSA, and a few weeks before that, a former Condé Nast intern sued the company for paying her $1.00 an hour under its internship program.  Hell, one law firm is specializing in these Fair Labor internship cases by identifying individuals who held unpaid internships and reviewing the conditions of their employment for possible wage-and-hour violations.

So this is all good news right?  Well anything is possible.  It's certainly possible that the Black Swan case and all the subsequent unpaid internship cases might cause a sea change in the way employers run their internship programs.  It's possible that they'll start paying interns for their work.

But I don't really think that's going to happen.  My fear is that the current system will just continue to lurch forward in spite of the Black Swan ruling.  Or worse, companies will strip out any real work or educational opportunities and relegate interns to picking up coffee, dry cleaning, and lunch orders.  Lord knows there are enough people out there willing to bet that an unpaid internship is a lesser evil than complete and utter unemployment... I can understand that.  But the system only changes if we all make the commitment together.  I hope Glatt and Footman's win is the beginning of that change.

Man of Steel, Man of Immigration

Last year during a set visit to the Plano, TX set of the new Superman movie Man of Steel, a reporter asked the film's director Zack Snyder whether the film would feature a young Clark Kent coming to terms with his powers while growing up in Kansas - a topic that was heavily tread on Smallville's ten season run.  Snyder responded, "You need a Superman that has built-in sort of values... I always remember everyone saying like, 'You're not going to show him growing up in Kansas, are you?' I'm like, 'Why make Superman?.... to understand him, you have to understand the Why of him.'"

The point he was making, inelegant though it be, demonstrates a key understanding of what makes Superman tick.  For decades, comic book writers were unabashed about the Why of Superman, the reason he is the way he is: he was raised in a loving household by two good-hearted, God-fearing, and hardworking American parents who accepted him despite his many differences and taught him the value of responsibility.  Clark Kent had the idealized American childhood, and that childhood made him grow up to become Superman.  It's something we could all aspire to, which is why he became a symbol of American exceptionalism - strength and dominance, tempered by benevolence and justice (sadly, it's also this fundamental goodness that makes Superman unpopular today.  He comes from a very 1950's mode of un-ironic thinking that makes people unable to identify with him).  His DNA may be Kryptonian, but he is a Kent, a Kansan, and an American in all other aspects of his being; his mid-western roots are the wellspring of his value system.  It's the ultimate nature vs. nurture question, with the writers hewing towards nurture at every opportunity.

But the Why of Superman also highlights an interesting dichotomy: Superman wears his homegrown American values on his blue spandex sleeve, but he is still an illegal alien.  Even though America is his adopted home, he is not a citizen and that makes him, politically speaking, someone to fear.  America has a long and storied history of xenophobia that is sadly still present today; treating aliens like second class citizens, regardless of whether they crossed into the U.S. from the Sonoran Desert or across the vast gulf of space.  The Immigration and Nationality Act, the law governing U.S. immigration policy, is designed to create a nearly impenetrable barrier to entry into the U.S.  Superman, the classic immigrant, would be no exception to our immigration policies.  And that means if Superman applies for U.S. citizenship through the usual channels, he's more likely to end up on a boat to Belize than taking the oath of citizenship.

So what are the usual channels that will fail the Last Son of Krypton in his efforts to become an American citizen?  Generally speaking, the only ways to become eligible for citizenship are through family-based or employment-based visas under INA Section 203(b).  I think we can rule out a family-based visa right off the bat.  For Superman to be eligible for one of those, he would have to be sponsored by a parent, sibling or spouse.  And to benefit from any one of those relationships, he would have to divulge his secret identity and his relationship to Jonathan and Martha Kent.  To do so would not only open them up to potential threats from the likes of Braniac, Bizarro, and General Zod, but also to potential criminal liability - they did, after all, harbor an illegal alien, a criminal offense punishable by upwards of 20 years in prison (I think it's safe to assume that Clark, being legally adopted by the Kents, possesses the appropriate documents - a passport and social security card - but cannot use those documents in his guise as Superman).

No if Superman wants to protect his alter ego and his family, his only other option is to get a job.  And his gig at the Daily Planet isn't going to cut it for the same reason that a family-based visa won't work for him. For an American employer to hire him, the employer would have to A) give others a chance to apply for the job by advertising the  opening to all qualified candidates and B) prove that he is the most qualified for the job, and C) that no American citizen was as willing, able, or qualified as him.   The employer would also have to prove that in hiring Superman, it was offering the "prevailing wage" and "prevailing working conditions."  In most cases, this is a difficult threshold to overcome, but not so for someone who can run faster than a locomotive and leap tall buildings in a single bound.  Frankly, I think most employers could report with a straight face that Superman is the best possible employee for whatever position he's hired for.

Those employment-based visas are limited, however.  The government allocates only a very small amount of them each year, although preference are given to "priority workers" who have

extraordinary abilit[ies] in the sciences, arts, education, business, or athletics which has been demonstrated by sustained national or international acclaim and whose achievements have been recognized in the field through extensive documentation. 

The last time I checked, there was no case-law describing how to categorize an immigrant who was powerful enough to push planets out of orbit and could take a vacation inside the sun, so I'm just going to wing it here and say that I think a credible argument could be made that Superman's abilities would fall into the "athletics" column.  Luckily for him, there's no question about Superman's feats drawing national and international acclaim.  Hell, any professional sports team could bring him on without a second guess.  And when you think about it, Superman's knowledge of Kryptonian technology could allow him to fall into the "sciences" column, making him a valuable commodity for defense contractors like Raytheon and Northrop Grumman, especially in light of the repeated extraterrestrial attacks his mere presence seems to draw towards Earth.

There's only one problem with this option.  Superman has no papers of any kind; no foreign passport, no identification card, no temporary visa.  He arrived as a newborn infant with no documentation and never passed through an authorized port of entry.  This makes him not only an illegal alien, but an undocumented one to boot, which means that no employer could hire him without opening their business to criminal liability.

So despite his extremely useful skill set, Superman can't avail himself of the usual channels since he lacks proper documentation.  That means the only other option available to the Man of Steel is to apply for asylum as a refugee under INA 208.  A refugee is defined as

any person who is outside any country of such person's nationality or, in the case of a person having no nationality,is outside any country in which such person last habitually resided, and who is unable or unwilling to return to, and is unable or unwilling to avail himself or herself of the protection of, that country because of persecution or a well-founded fear of persecution on account of race, religion, nationality, membership in a particular social group, or political opinion...

It's safe to say that when Congress passed this bill, they hadn't contemplated its potential effect on aliens of extraterrestrial origin whose home planet had been destroyed by a nearby supernovae.  While Superman could argue in front of an immigration judge that he is "unable" to return to his place of origin since it no longer exists, it's not for any of the reasons outlined in the legal definition, making it difficult to know how a judge would look at his application for asylum (I suppose it could be argued that being the biological son of Jor-El, a renowned Kryptonian scientist who fell into disgrace due to his theories that Krypton was about to explode, could open Superman to some form of political persecution).  It's certainly plausible that Superman's particular status could be found to fall within the definition if he hires a savvy immigration attorney to make a compelling case, or the judge is able to make the facts fit the legal definition of "refugee."   But there's yet another hurdle even if this occurs; INA 208(2)(A) clearly states that asylum can be denied if the alien can be removed to a "safe third country"

in which the alien's life or freedom would not be threatened on account of race, religion, nationality, membership in a particular social group, or political opinion, and where the alien would have access to a full and fair procedure for determining a claim to asylum or equivalent temporary protection...

Which basically means that the U.S. can deny Superman asylum if they determine that he can live safely in Canada.

Based on all of these factors, Superman is f**ked.  But that doesn't mean the story ends.  When an alien is denied citizenship for any reason, it falls to the U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement branch (otherwise known as ICE) to deport that alien back to his or her country of origin.  But how do you deport Superman?  Assuming he can be somehow captured and subdued, he can easily be back across the border within the hour.  And even if deportation were possible, where do you deport Superman to?  He's not "from" anywhere on Earth, and the technology doesn't exist to send him back to Krypton, which would essentially be a death sentence anyway since there's a massive empty void where the planet used to be.

So Superman is here to stay, but failing some extraordinary intervention on behalf of Congress or the President, the U.S. will functionally remain closed to him.  There is hope, however, that this will not always be so. Word on the street is that our immigration law could change this year to create a path to citizenship for aliens who are already present in the U.S. without documentation.  The bill appears to be gaining bipartisan support and has been flogged repeatedly in the news by Republican Senator Marco Rubio.  If it goes through, it could make citizenship attainable for the Man of Steel.  And I think that such a bill is the right thing to do.  Not only for the millions of immigrants who want nothing more than to live and work in this country, but also for a man who stands for truth, justice, and the American way.  He's spent his life fighting for America; it's time to make him one of us.

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.

Sherlock Holmes and the Case of Copyright Duration

Is Sherlock Holmes in the public domain?  Holmes scholar and lawyer Leslie S. Klinger believes so, and he is suing the Conan Doyle estate to prove just that.

It all started, as these things do, with money.  You see, a few years ago Klinger published a new Holmes novel and, like many who wished to capitalize on the popularity of Sherlock (Guy Ritchie and Steven Moffat in particular), he paid a hefty licensing fee to the Conan Doyle estate for the privilege.

Recently, Klinger decided to have another go at Sherlock; in particular, he wanted to publish a collection of short stories. Once again, the Conan Doyle estate demanded a payout.  Much like the Tolkien estate, the Conan Doyles are renowned to be fiercely protective of their copyright and they doggedly pursue anyone whom they feel infringes it.  This time, however, Klinger decided to sue the estate as a preemptive measure, claiming that Holmes and his entire canon (supporting character like Watson, Moriarty, Mrs. Hudson, the house at 221B Baker St, character traits like Holmes' deductive reasoning and friendship with Watson, etc.) were in the public domain and thus, he didn't have to pay them a licensing fee.

This is a pretty serious move and in all likelihood it has legal support.  That's because in the United States all works published before 1922 are automatically in the public domain and are thus available for anyone to profit from. [Author's note: aside from pre-1922 works, any work whose copyright expires will move into the public domain.]  Sherlock Holmes made his first appearance in 1887's A Study in Scarlet, and nearly his entire world found its way into print before 1922.  By that logic, it's hard to see how the character won't be found to be in the public domain, and if a judge does find for Klinger, that's going to have major repercussions for the character.

In contrast, the estate argues that because Sir Arthur was still publishing Holmes stories as late as 1927, the character and his entire canon don't fall into the public domain. That's where the wrinkle in this case appears.  Apparently, one of the authors whose short story Klinger wants to publish used a Holmes character that didn't appear in a published work until 1924. The case is really interesting and you can read all about it here.

I brought up this issue because of a quote at the end of the article.  When interviewed about the Klinger v. Conan Doyle case, New York based entertainment lawyer John J. Tormey III said that, "Copyright was intended by its progenitors to be a limited monopoly, not an indefinite monopoly."  Amen brother!  On at least two occasions (here and here), I've discussed how the original purpose behind copyright protection in the U.S. wasn't to grant the author everlasting control at the expense of all others, but to foster innovation for the betterment of society.  Our creative landscape is littered with copyright owners (some individuals and families, but mostly corporations), holding their copyrights in an iron death grip, suing the crap out of anyone large or small (usually small), in order to prevent them profiting from that copyright.

That's why I think we need a drastic overhaul when it comes to duration of copyright - in modern political parlance, I would say that I've "evolved" on the matter... which really means I was never a fan of the current duration allowing a copyright to last for the life of the author, plus 70 years (and going up to 95 years for corporate copyright holders), but I just never felt comfortable saying it aloud until now.  Forgive my lack of lawyerly eloquence, but life plus 70 is just too damn long.  Look, I get that if you create something that's profitable, you want to be able to control it, make your living off of it, and provide for you family.  That's a natural instinct and a praise-worthy one.  Piracy - the use of your work without your permission - should be dissuaded and punished where appropriate.

The problem with the current durational scheme is that it results in less innovation and artistic expression and more lawsuits.  Under the current law, the author's estate can use and exploit the author's original work for several generations after he dies. If you can stay rich off of your grandpa's work, what incentivizes you to create your own work of artistic expression...to add something to society?  Even worse, many works of artistic expression end up being purchased by large corporations who use their considerable resources to suppress smaller artists who wish to use those copyrights as points of inspiration for their own work.  [Corporate bullying of individual artists is one of my bugaboos.]

That's why I propose the following four-tiered amendment:

1. A copyright will last for the life of the author and no longer.  Upon the author's death, the copyright will move into the public domain.
2. If the author sells the copyright to another party (a corporation, say), the party will have 15 years to use the copyright.  If the party does not use the copyright in 15 years, the copyright will revert in full back to the author.  If the author dies before the copyright can revert back to him, the copyright will expire and the work will move into the public domain.
3. if the author sells the copyright to a non-corporate buyer, and the buyer uses the copyright within the 15 year timeframe, the copyright will last for the life of the buyer.  Upon the buyer's death, the copyright will move into the public domain.
4. If the author sells the copyright to a corporate buyer and the corporation uses the copyright with the 15 year timeframe, the copyright will last for 70 years, measured from the original sale of the copyright.  At the end of the 70 year period, the copyright will move into the public domain.

I know, this makes me look like an anti-free market socialist.  In fact, I'm willing to bet within two days of publishing this post, I'll get some pushback on the feasibility of this system or the logic behind it.  I don't care though. The truth is, limiting copyright ownership is the best way to spur innovation and growth, which is what our founding fathers envisioned.  A system like this will help limit perpetual copyright monopolies and inspire copyright holders to be pushing boundaries.  Hell, even The Economist agrees that copyright durations should be shorter, so I can't be totally out of my mind.

Sherlock Holmes is probably in the public domain already, but if he isn't, he should be.  Arthur Conan Doyle created him over 120 years ago and his descendants have profited amply from his popularity.  Now it's time for Conan Doyle's great-grand kids to go out there and make their own mark on society and let the world have Sherlock.

Robin Hood And The Much Needed Change In Copyright Policy

A few years ago, Ridley Scott decided to direct a big budget Robin Hood film from an original script by Ethan Reiff and Cyrus Voris. The script was called Nottingham and it was a particularly unique take on the Robin Hood mythos: it was to be a medieval police procedural where the protagonist, the Sheriff of Nottingham, used forensic analysis and new investigation techniques to hunt down Robin (my understanding was that Robin would've been a fairly minor role, played almost like a movie monster). Well that's new! The take on the story wowed Scott and when he got involved, he hired writer Brian Helgeland to do a page-one rewrite of the script... because in Hollywood, the best way to show you love and appreciate someone's work is to scrap it altogether and replace it wholesale with something else. Anyway, the new collaboration yielded an even more intriguing concept: what if the Sheriff and Robin Hood were the same person but didn't know it?!! The story would be a Fight Club-esque exploration of personality disorders couched in the language of a medieval action film.

Like 'em or not, both of those concepts were definitely unique takes on the subject matter. But somewhere between the numerous rewrites and day one of principal photography, the story lost these elements and became 2010's Robin Hood, a fairly sober three hour origin story about the rights of landowners, following a middle-aged Robin as he tried to get King John to sign the Magna Carta.  Snore. The Sheriff himself showed up for about five minutes and was played as a bumbling ass.

Sadly, we'll probably never see Nottingham since the copyright to that script is now owned by Universal Pictures and they'll never let it out of their death grip. In Hollywood, when a writer pens a spec script (that is, an original, non-commissioned, unsolicited screenplay), the studio will always acquire the copyright from the writer before the script goes in front of the cameras. There are two ways this can happen: the first is through an "option." The studio pays the writer a nominal fee for the exclusive right to turn that script into a film for a stated period of time. The writer will retain ownership over the copyright until the script goes into production, at which point the studio will buy it outright (as always, I'm speaking in generalities and the specifics of each deal will depend on a number of different factors, such as the writer's reputation, the studio's negotiating tactics, etc). The second way is that the studio bypasses the option and buys the script directly from the writer.

Either way, the copyright eventually passes to the studio, and the studios tend not to be shy about exercising complete dominion over the work. They can shelve the script entirely or rewrite it from page one, changing literally everything that makes that script distinctive: the title, character names, thematic subtext, you name it. Even if the original writer is kept on board to do those rewrites, he is no longer working on his own property. He's just a hired gun and has no say over the changes demanded by the studio. Imagine getting fired from your own script because you didn't like the changes being made to it and you have a sense of how F'd up Hollywood can be sometimes. And this kind of thing happens all the time, where the final film bears so little resemblance to the original work that it becomes a functionally different entity altogether. And the saddest part is that these original screenplays languish forever in dusty studio vaults, never to be seen or heard from again.

So I'm 500 words into this essay and I haven't even stated why I'm writing it. Well honestly, I'm a film fan and I want to see Nottingham, which means that I'd like to see Reiff and Voris get another crack at having their script made. The fact that this will never happen is a creative travesty and I personally believe it violates the spirit of copyright. The protections given to copyright holders in the Constitution weren't meant to give them unassailable right to prevent others from using their work. Sure, there were protections against infringement, but the real purpose of the law was to promote artistic progress for the betterment of society, not for individual profit. Article I, Section 8 of the U.S. Constitution reads that:

“Congress shall have the power... to promote the progress of science and useful arts, by securing for limited times to authors and inventors the exclusive right to their respective writings and discoveries.”

Just check out Title 17, Chapter 1 of the U.S. Copyright Law to see what I'm talking about. There are whole species of escape hatches and exceptions built into the law that are designed to give artists leeway in using and relying on the works of others.  Fair use is a great and popular example of that.  In other words, the "exclusive rights" given to copyright holders under the law aren't so exclusive when you step back and look at the law in its entirety. But over time, the copyright policy in this country shifted away from innovation for the greater good to favor the copyright holder, which in many cases tend to be giant corporations. These corporate copyright holders are granted a wide latitude when protecting their work, often at the expense of individual artists. Hell, just this past week the new Copyright Alert System went into effect - a system intended to prevent online piracy of copyrighted works. Now fighting piracy is a decent (if not noble) intention, but this new law was backed by the RIAA, an organization that spent 10 years suing teenagers and dead people for downloading music from peer-to-peer sites, so you have to wonder what their motivations truly are. Just a small example: as a result of an RIAA lawsuit, Joel Tenenbaum of Massachusetts owes the record companies $675,000 for downloading 22 songs.

I'm on record saying that this type of one-sided treatment needs to stop, which is why I think the copyright laws in the country should be revised to better reflect the needs of individual artists. In particular, I would support a change that would permit copyright to automatically revert back to the original author after a certain period of time - say 10 years - if it went unused or was otherwise changed to such a degree that it could no longer be considered a derivate work. In practice, this system would allow the studio to use the screenplay it had just purchased and try to make it into a film. If the script underwent dramatic changes (as with Nottingham), the original script could revert back to the screenwriters, who could then have another chance to make the film they envisioned.

I'm sure there are lots of kinks to work out with the change I've envisioned; namely, how to enforce the automatic reversion, determining what is considered "use" of the material, and how continuous that usage must be over the 10 year period, but I think this is a conversation worth having. There's no reason why Nottingham and Robin Hood can't co-exist. Especially in light of the fact that A) Robin Hood bombed, and B) a revisionist take on the material favoring the Sheriff as a medieval detective could have enormous franchise potential. If Universal doesn't want a piece of that pie, there's no reason it has to throw the entire thing in the trash.

[Author's note: I realize that I've posted two entries in a 3 week period bagging on Ridley Scott films, but I'm actually a big fan. I think Kingdom of Heaven is a masterpiece.]