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.

The Maker of Candy Crush Saga Is Trying To Crush Your Ability To Use The Word Candy: A Trademark Misadventure

Can you trademark a single everyday word? Even if you know nothing about trademarks, the answer seems obvious: NO. After all, if you can trademark a single word, what’s to stop you from trademarking “foot” or “bike” or “candy” and then suing someone every time they used that word in a business setting? Such a reality would be absurd. Sadly, such a reality may be upon us because King, the maker of the hit game Candy Crush Saga, has just received approval from the United States Patent and Trademark Office (USPTO) to do just that.

King is trying to protect Candy Crush Saga, its big moneymaker, from a host of imitators who use the word “candy” in their titles. So it did what any reasonably copyright holder would do to protect its financial interest… it submitted an application to trademark the word “candy” in order to prevent other game developers from using it. I’m not being sarcastic here either; King’s response IS reasonable because these imitators have confused the general public into thinking that these other Candy games were just like Candy Crush Saga, maybe even made by King. And with the public assuming all these games came from the same manufacturer, they became less likely to download the real deal and more likely to download the imitation, siphoning profit from King. This kind of marketplace confusion is exactly the type of problem that trademarks were designed to prevent.

The problem here isn’t that King tried to trademark a single word. The problem is that the USPTO let it. This is troubling for two reasons. First, the USPTO approving such an application violates a basic tenet of trademark law: that a trademark must stand out, it must be distinct. According to the USPTO’s own guidelines:

Generic words... are never registrable or enforceable against third parties. Because generic words are the common, everyday name for goods and services and everyone has the right to use such terms to refer to their goods and services, they are not protectable. 

In this case, the word “candy” is too generic; it doesn’t immediately reference a game for most people. It refers instead to a sweet food substance that a man my age shouldn't enjoy as much as I do. If, on the other hand, King had tried to trademark a unique version of the word like “Kan-D” the mark might have been stronger and more worthy of protection.

The second reason King’s application is so troubling is that it’s bad policy. If anyone can trademark any word, they can then clog up the federal court system (where trademark disputes must be litigated) with needless lawsuit after needless lawsuit. King clearly has no intention of legally pursuing every business that uses the word “candy". They simply want to prevent other game developers from making games that reference Candy Crush Saga. But you can’t base policy on the intention of one party. You have to base policy on the potential actions of everyone affected. Frankly, other trademark owners may not be as nice as King when it comes to protecting their trademarks.

Luckily, the trademark process is a long and complication one. Here, the USPTO has not officially registered the mark (which is the final step that grants the trademark owner a wide swath of protective powers). They merely approved King’s application, which means now that anyone who could be hurt by the mark has 30 days to contest the mark and try to persuade the USPTO why trademarking a single generic word is a bad idea. And believe me, there will be a lot of pushback on this, from immediately affected parties and policy wonks.

So what possessed the USPTO to approve King’s application in the first place? Was it negligence? Does it signal a strange new shift in policy? Is it a long-term gambit designed to draw attention to single-word trademark applicants and whip the public into a frenzy, thereby dissuading future like-minded applicants? Who can say? In my estimation, King’s registration will probably fail because of the pushback its application is going to get. But if the mark survives the contest period and officially registers, you can bet this won’t be the end of the story. King may well have just saved Candy Crush Saga from imitators, but it also just painted a huge target on its back.

When Rowling Met Galbraith: How An English Lawyer Broke The One Unbreakable Rule All Lawyers Must Follow

This past April, a former military police officer named Robert Galbraith released his debut novel, The Cuckoo's Calling to stellar reviews but terrible sales, selling only 1500 copies. As sales floundered, a British lawyer named Chris Gossage confided to his friend Judith Callegari that Galbraith wasn't a real person, but was in fact the pseudonym for J.K. Rowling, the most famous author in the world. Callegari then did what most of us would do when handed such a world-shattering piece of gossip - she blabbed to anyone who would listen, including a reporter. With the cat out of the bag, sales of Cuckoo skyrocketed to #1 on Amazon.

It's not hard to see why Rowling would do this. As wealthy and successful as Harry Potter made her, the pressure to rebel against typecasting must have been overwhelming. Following the release of Deathly Hallows in 2007, she sought to distance herself from the world of magic by writing a novel for an adult audience. The result was The Casual Vacancy, a thriller which sold like gangbusters, but was panned by critics. I imagine she took a great deal of satisfaction knowing that while Cuckoo wasn't popular when everyone thought Galbraith had written it (it's not like she needed the money), it found love from the very people who felt she could never write a book that wasn't aimed at children. She admitted as much on her website, saying that it was nice to be able to publish "without hype or expectation." So while Rowling was displeased with her identity being leaked, she had still proven her point.

Not everything worked out so well for Gossage though, a partner at the firm that represented Rowling. She sued the firm because he breached the inherent confidence present in the attorney-client relationship (which usually applies to the whole firm even if Gossage himself wasn't representing Rowling).  Even worse, he was just slapped with a fine by the Solicitor's Regulation Authority (the organization that oversees attorney ethics in England) for violating a client's trust.

Regardless of which side of the pond you live on, attorney client confidentiality is a pretty big deal. In most cases, by the time a client seeks the aid of a lawyer, a crisis has happened and the client is often in the midst of a deep personal anxiety. Not only are they emotionally fragile, they are dealing with issues that might require the divulging of sensitive information. Anything from sexual abuse, to financial indebtiture, to murder is on the table, and needs to be discussed frankly in an open and safe environment. If the client can't feel comfortable discussing these issues, then the lawyer can't give the best legal counsel he or she has sworn to provide.

That trust is so important that every country with a judicial system has a rule protecting attorney-client confidentiality. In Massachusetts, where I practice, Rule 1.6 of the Rules of Professional Conduct states that:

A lawyer shall not reveal confidential information relating to representation of a client unless the client consents after consultation.

Without the client's express consent, a lawyer can only reveal confidential information in certain limited circumstances:

1. If it would prevent someone from sustaining substantial bodily harm or death,
2. To obtain legal advice about ethics,
3. To defend himself against allegations of legal misconduct, or
4. To comply with another law or court order.

All 50 states have a rule like this. Depending on the severity of the violation, a lawyer can be punished with fines (as Gossage was), disbarment, or even jail time. Most lawyers take client confidentiality very seriously, not just out of fear of punishment by the local examining board, but because it's the right thing to do.

Every American law student knows the tale of Frank Armani and Francis Belge, two American lawyers who represented Robert Garrow, who was accused of murdering Philip Domblewski in 1973 while Domblewski was camping in the Adirondacks with friends. During a consultation with Armani and Belge, Garrow not only admitted to killing Domblewski, he admitted to murdering and raping several other people. Garrow told them where he dumped the bodies, and his story was confirmed when Armani and Belge personally went to those sites to investigate and photograph the remains.

But because Garrow was their client, Armani and Belge couldn't tell the family members of the deceased where the bodies were.  In fact, Armani and Belge kept silent for nearly a year, despite intense public pressure (they finally disclosed what Garrow had told them after Garrow admitted to the murders during trial). Because they had taken an oath to protect their clients' confidences (no matter how reprehensible), Armani and Belge were not able to discuss what Garrow told them without incurring potential legal repercussions.

In the grand scheme of things, the £1000 (about $1600) Gossage was fined amounts to little more than a slap on the wrist. Gossage claims that he himself is a victim of betrayed confidence, believing that Callegari would keep the secret. Regardless of his excuses, Gossage just learned a valuable lesson about talking out of school, especially when the client is as well-known as Rowling. He should count his lucky stars that she's a world-famous billionaire author, and not a psychotic rapist killer like Garrow.

Anyone Who Argues Against Net Neutrality Is A Greedy Scumbag Who Wants To Take Your Money

I've always wanted to write a salacious hit-bait headline like that. Hopefully it worked and you're reading this. So now that I've gotten your attention, here's what I really want to say... anyone who argues against net neutrality is a greedy scumbag who wants to take your money.

This week, the D.C. Circuit Court of Appeals struck down the Federal Communication Commission’s (FCC) rule protecting net neutrality. And that’s unfortunate because net neutrality is a wonderful thing. For those who don’t know, net neutrality is the principle that all internet traffic should receive free and equal service, regardless of source or content. For the past decade, this is how the internet has functioned. It didn't matter if you were reading an article on a news website, sharing your vacation pics on Picasa, or streaming Raging Bull on Netflix, you could access any content you wanted and it was all treated the same.

Net neutrality is what allowed Google, Facebook, Netflix, and Amazon to get a foothold in the marketplace and become the juggernauts they are today. Realizing the goldmine to be had by controlling access to the internet, the telecoms started implementing policies to do just that. So in 2010, the FCC passed an Open Internet Order allowing it to regulate internet companies the same way it regulates telecoms and cable companies. The goal was to keep access to the ENTIRE internet equal and open to all.

Why Should You Care?

Unfortunately, Verizon hated this, so it sued the FCC, claiming that its Open Internet Order was an overreach of federal power. The D.C. court agreed. That means it’s now legal for internet providers to:

• Block any website they want for any reason,
• Charge ISPs more money to host streaming content, meaning your Netflix subscription is about to increase by orders of magnitude,
• Cap and throttle internet usage with impunity, charging higher fees for better broadband access.

So if Time Warner wanted, it could now block any website it's not affiliated with. Prefer to get your news from NBC, Fox, or NPR? Too bad. Time Warner owns CNN so that’s the only news outlet you might be able to get. Even if it decides not to block those websites outright, it can charge ISPs higher fees to carry those websites, or throttle the bandwidth given to those websites making them load much slower. HuffingtonPost has a pretty solid rundown about how the internet might look in the absence of net neutrality.

Ultimately, the death of net neutrality will mean that a few giant companies can discriminate against sites and content they don't like and funnel your internet experience in ways they deem appropriate (during oral arguments, Verizon’s attorney admitted they would be pursuing different economic schemes if not for the Open Internet Order). With the internet providers controlling content, fewer and fewer startups will be able to get a foothold in the market, significantly affecting innovation.

Net neutrality opponents have argued that so much traffic comes from "big video sites such as Netflix and YouTube, [that it] clogs up the system and imposes delays on everyone else. These companies should be paying their fair share." Which sounds eminently reasonable until you realize that Verizon made $2.23 billion in the third quarter of 2013 alone, so it's not exactly hurting for cash.

Pro-neutrality advocates have argued that there's plenty of bandwidth to go around and charging extra because of the nature of the content is "naked corporate greed." I agree, and so do Facebook, Google, Yahoo, Amazon, and Netflix, who favor net neutrality and stand to lose a lot of money if the telecoms get their wish.

How This Affects Artists

The loss of net neutrality is bad for everyone, but it’s especially bad for artists because art is frequently visual in nature, and unlike text, visual media requires a lot of bandwidth. If I’m a filmmaker and I put my latest film on YouTube, how likely are you to watch if it takes 10 minutes to load because you’re on a lower-tiered broadband plan which doesn’t include video streaming? If I write a song that contains explicit sexual content, how will I get anyone to listen if Comcast starts arbitrarily banning content it deems to be pornographic in nature?

The end of net neutrality becomes another way for large corporations to trample the rights of individual artists, something I’ve railed about on this site for a while now. Limiting the artist’s ability to display and promote his or her work not only affects the individual’s ability to make a living, but it affects society at large because it stifles creativity and limits innovation.

Why There’s Still Hope

The Atlantic's Kevin Werbach offers some credible arguments that, despite the ruling, there’s some hope for the future. First, even though the D.C. court’s ruling now eliminate the only rule preserving net neutrality, no rules even existed before 2010. And it’s not like we were plunged into an internet-restricted hellscape during that time. In fact, immediately following the court’s ruling, Verizon announced that there would be no changes to its services for customers.

Second, the court made it’s decision on a fairly limited technicality and gave the FCC a roadmap for fixing this whole mess. In a nutshell, if the FCC placed internet services into the same category as it did the telecom giants, it would be able to reinstate the Open Internet Order in some form. The fact that internet providers are not classified as "common carriers" like the telecoms is the main reason the rule was invalidated by the court. And throughout the opinion, the court repeatedly references the FCC’s “choice” or “decision” to classify internet providers differently than telecoms.

Given the Commission’s still-binding decision to classify broadband providers not as providers of “telecommunications services” but instead as providers of “information services,” see supra at 9–10, such treatment would run afoul of section 153(51): “A telecommunications carrier shall be treated as a common carrier under this [Act] only to the extent that it is engaged in providing telecommunications services.”

Granted, reclassifying broadband providers as common carriers would require some legal jiu-jitsu by the FCC, and it’s unclear to me that the law would easily permit FCC Chairman Tom Wheeler to make that choice. Even if he could, he might not want to since it would probably result in a  political battle with congressional Republicans, who, it should be noted, absolutely hate net neutrality. Right now, the FCC is more likely to appeal the court’s ruling than reclassify. But reading the decision it became clear to me that the court was telling the FCC how to regain the upper hand. The decision repeatedly slaps down Verizon's claims and states explicitly that it “think[s] it quite reasonable to believe that Congress contemplated that the Commission would regulate [broadband internet service providers].”

Probably the best way to resolve the matter is to get Congress to pass pro-net neutrality legislation, which is obviously easier said than done. Luckily, there’s a lot of money in this fight and for once, it’s not a case of the big guys (i.e. big corporations) lobbying against the little guys (i.e. you). Sure, Verizon, Comcast, and Time Warner have a lot of money to lobby Congress. But you know who else has a lot of money to lobby Congress? Facebook. Google. Amazon. Yahoo. And they fucking love net neutrality.

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.

Protecting The Brand: Why Letting You Hate King Joffrey Is A Baller Move By HBO

I don't watch Game of Thrones and I never read the books, but even I know King Joffrey is a nasty little shit. That's because everyone, up to and including HBO, keeps telling me. A few weeks ago, HBO did something quite interesting; in anticipation of the upcoming fourth season of the show, the network sponsored a twitter “roast” of Joffrey Baratheon, King of Westeros. The premise is this: fans of the show would tweet horrible things about the horrible king using the hashtag #RoastJoffrey.  The best tweets would be compiled by HBO at www.RoastJoffrey.com. Here are some I picked out at random:

 If you’re a fan of brand protection (and who isn’t these days?) then you should reserve a space of honor for HBO. See, people hate Joffrey... and hating Joffrey has become something of a national pastime  (here’s a Facebook page with the elegant and appropriate title Fuck You, Joffrey Baratheon). The hatred has become so intense that you have to feel bad for actor Jack Gleeson. By all accounts, he’s a nice kid, but the character he plays is such a schmuck that Gleeson can't even watch his own performance. He's even vowed to quit acting when his tenure at GoT ends in order to devote himself to charity work.

Anyway, the Twitter roast proves that HBO knows how to have fun. Furthermore, it shows that HBO understands the fans are going to build a community around the show anyway, so it might as well be a part of that. By joining in the fun of hating Joffrey, HBO is aligning itself with the fans ("we're fans of these characters, just like you!") and in the process, it is building brand loyalty among the audience. Why is that so important? Because if you like HBO you're less likely to steal from them. It's a simple, but effective, truth. If you think HBO cares about your fandom (and word is that they really do care, this isn't just a hollow put on), you're less likely to illegally download the show and more willing to buy the DVDs and all that delicious GoT merchandise.

In reality, there’s no evidence that illegal downloading actually harms large corporate copyright holders (and at least one study shows that illegal downloads actually increase legal sales by 2%), but why take the risk, especially when positioning yourself with the fans is so easy? To me this is a no-brainer. When the fans like you, they’re less likely to steal from you. HBO gets that, and as a result they’re going to let you hate on King Joffrey with the fury of 1,000 suns. I think it’s a good trade-off.

Sherlock Holmes Enters The Public Domain And George R.R. Martin Does A Happy Dance: Why Longer Copyrights Might Be Better For Artists

Eight months ago, I wrote this article describing why it would be a good thing if Sherlock Holmes entered the public domain. The premise of the article was that long-living copyrights are harmful to artists; they stifle innovation and creativity and incentivize large copyright owners to pursue legal action against even the most minimal use of their copyright. By shortening the copyright lifespan, the monetary value of  properties like Sherlock, would drop, making them less appealing and thus motivating artists to create new works instead. Simultaneously, copyright lawsuits against infringers would drop, keeping smaller independent artists out of court.

Well, last week I got my wish. According to a federal judge in Illinois, Sherlock Holmes and all elements of his character created prior to 1922 are now in the public domain, which means that anyone in the U.S. (but not the U.K.) can write their own personal Sherlock fanfic and profit from it without paying the Conan Doyle estate it's traditionally hefty fee. So, happy Greg, right? Well maybe not. A strange thing happened on the way to victory... I sort of changed my mind.

George R.R. Martin's hatred of fan fiction had something to do with it. In a recent interview, Martin said this in response to a question about his refusal to license Game of Thrones for use in fan fiction:

 [O]ne thing that history has shown us is eventually these literary rights pass to grandchildren or collateral descendents, or people who didn't actually know the writer and don't care about his wishes. It's just a cash cow to them. And then we get abominations to my mind like Scarlet, the Gone with the Wind sequel. 

I've always admired Tolkien and his immense influence on fantasy.  Although I've never met the man, I admire Christopher Tolkien, his son, who has been the guardian of Tolkien's estate who has never allowed that. I'm sure there are publishers waiting in the wings with giant bags of money just waiting for someone to say, "Yes, go ahead, let's write Sauron Strikes Back." I hope I never see Sauron Strikes Back written by some third-rate writer who leaps at the opportunity.

His reasoning makes sense to anyone who has created something worth stealing: he wants to protect the integrity of his creation. Which is pretty easy while he's alive. He can approve or deny any licensing request that he thinks might dishonor the work. But what about after he dies? How do you ensure that the people who become guardians of GoT can protect it the way he wants? Part of the answer, I think, is to make copyrights indefinite, preventing them from entering the public domain. This would effectively turn them into business assets (much like trademarks). For some artists, this could be beneficial.

For the record, I still believe it's important to prevent unnecessary infringement lawsuits and spur innovation - remember, the Constitution supports the protection of copyright for the public good, not just for personal financial gain. For those reasons, I would still support shortening copyright durations. But Martin's words made it clear to me that these aren't the only issues that matter. Isn't artistic integrity something the law should be protecting as well? After all, artists don't just create for the money or recognition. They are driven to create because they have something to say. If an artist can protect the integrity of the work over time, that gives the work greater meaning. Conversely, if copyrights are shortened, the meaning behind the work suffers. For Martin, shorter copyrights would mean those "third-rate writers" would be granted unfettered access to GoT that much sooner. You can see how unappealing that would be for him.

Martin's not alone either. In the late 90's, Disney was on the verge of losing the rights to some of Mickey Mouse's earliest films. In order to prevent them from entering the public domain, Disney lobbied Congress to extend copyright durations. Their efforts paid off in 1998 when Congress passed the Copyright Term Extension Act (referred to derogatorily as the Mickey Mouse Protection Act), which extended the lifespan of all copyrights in the process: individual copyrights were lengthened from life of the author plus 50 to life plus 70, while works of corporate authorship were extended from 75 to 120 years. Time, however, catches us all, and Disney's copyrights will start expiring as early as 2017, so you can bet good money that they'll put the full-court press on Congress to extend copyright terms again. As long as Disney stands to lose its most valuable commercial asset, copyright terms will continue to grow. And the longer Disney has the power to lobby, the more likely copyrights will eventually gain perpetual life. In the not too distant future, Disney may have the right to Mickey Mouse in perpetuity.

But is this inherently a bad thing? I'm not so sure. There are numerous examples of long-term guardianships protecting the integrity of their properties. There's Christopher Tolkien refusing the license any of his father's work for film or television (the elder Tolkien sold the film rights to The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings back in 1969). There's the Conan Doyle estate ensuring that all filmic versions of Sherlock meet the owners' high standards. There's also the Broccoli family maintaining a tight control over the James Bond film franchise for the last 50 years. Say what you will about the quality of any individual work, but no one could argue that these owners have anything less than the integrity of the source material at heart.

In any legislation there are trade-offs, with different issues being important to different stakeholders. For some, protection against big corporations is the most salient issue; shorter copyrights make sense for those people. But for someone like Martin, who has created a sprawling world that is financially viable and popular enough to have imitators, it makes sense for the law to protect the quality of the work. That could mean Martin and his heirs own GoT forever.

So maybe, just maybe, I was wrong about the value of longer copyrights. But no matter what, this isn't an issue that can be settled in a single blog post by lil ol' me.

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.]

On Being Nice

Last week, I wrote this article about ways to fight back against infringers that didn't require commencing a lawsuit. It was well-received and widely read. In that article, I threw in a blurb describing why you should be nice to your adversaries and how doing so could lead to a better legal outcome for you. To my surprise, I got a lot of pushback on that. Several readers found the advice to be downright controversial. Their general view was "I'm the victim, so why do I owe it to someone who stole from me to be nice?"

It's a legitimate point and hard to argue against. But I'll try anyway.

From my seat, being nice makes practical sense. Judges and juries are people too, and like us mere mortals, they're susceptible to all sorts of biases. And since these are the people who will determine your legal fate, you want them to LIKE YOU. Making an effort to show magnanimity in light of your victimization can do just that. It's really that simple. "But Greg, it shouldn't matter if I'm likable. The judge and jury have a civic duty to do justice even if the victim is a jerk." Yes, absolutely right. Except the law is never as one-sided as it appears from your side. While you may feel victimized, it may in reality be a gray area. Most cases fall closer to the middle than any one side, which is why your appearance, your attitude, and your facial expressions may be enough to sway a jury your way (or not).

I'm not saying you have to be friendly to your adversary. I'm not saying you need to walk over to him in front of the jury, shake his hand, and call him your mate. But neither should you rail against him, call him names, and undermine him. Let your arguments stand on their own without interference from your emotions. You can - and always should - be direct in your dealings when it comes to legal matters, but that doesn't preclude being nice either. In a legal setting you will be adversaries, but that doesn't mean you need to be enemies as well.

Here's another reason. We have a real kindness deficit in this country. American culture is adversarial by design (our government and judicial systems were built on principles of adversity, as juxtaposed with the British system, which is inquisitorial) and when it goes unchecked, it can make us meaner, less trusting, and more litigious. It can lead to situations like one I experienced today. A young Hispanic man approached me while I waited for my train at Back Bay Station in Boston. He smiled and introduced himself in broken English. He showed me his cell phone and told me it wasn't working, and he began to ask if he could make a call on my phone. Before he finished his statement, I pointedly told him "No!" It took him a few moments to register my denial and he sputtered out a few more words before looking dejected and shuffling off to ask someone else for help. Before he left, he meekly thanked me for my time.

I was immediately crushed by how casually cruel I had been. I shut him down before he could even ask for help... how easy it was for me to be so dismissive and disrespectful to someone I didn't know. And the more I thought about it, the more I realized that none of my rationalizations withstood any kind of scrutiny. Yes, I didn't know him. Yes, I didn't trust him. Yes, he might have stolen my phone. But so what? I can afford a new one. I can easily wipe the memory of the old one from my computer so sensitive data couldn't be accessed. Assuming I was right to distrust him, what was I was protecting anyway? I was so disrespectful to someone I had just met, imagine how effortless it would have been if I had actual animosity towards him.

Being nice takes work, it takes effort. It's especially hard when you think someone has wronged you and your instinct is to treat them like the worst rat bastard that ever lived. I ask you to take the higher road; don't act like I did today. Be the better person and treat your adversary with respect. That's how you win allies in and out of court. BE NICE. Because even if you lose your case, you can at least walk out of that courtroom with your head held high.

Reading Contracts Sucks But You Should Do It Anyway Or MTV Will Broadcast Your Address To A Million People

Let's do some role-playing. Pretend you're a young man named Tristan Watson who has agreed to participate in an MTV reality show called True Life: I'm a Chubby Chaser, a doc about men who prefer dating large women. Let's also pretend you agree to do the show on the condition that MTV withholds your identity, referring to you only as "Tee" during the broadcast. This agreement is made via handshake, but the anonymity clause is never incorporated into the final written contract, which you sign. Once the show airs, you discover that not only is your full name used, but MTV also broadcasts your address and even your apartment number. You receive death threats and you lose your job. You sue the network for lying to you about its promise of anonymity and for all the harm it has wrought in your life, but because the contract also includes an agreement that you "will not sue the network for any reason," you lose big time.

Sadly, this is no game. There is a real Tristan Watson and everything I just said actually happened to him. Watson's experience is not a novel one. Contracts that broadly favor one side happen quite a bit in the entertainment world where one party (i.e. MTV) has considerably more bargaining power than the other (i.e. Watson). These lopsided contracts are even more prevalent in the nonsensical world of reality TV, where American teens will sign away their birthright for a chance to become a celebrity and the networks make absolutely no attempt to be reasonable in contracting with said teens. Unfortunately for Watson and those like him, even if the contract hadn't contained a promise not to sue, there are two inter-related concepts in contract law that ensure he was destined to lose his lawsuit against MTV.

1. Absent extraordinary circumstances such as fraud, U.S. courts presume that every party to a contract has read and understood the terms. So pleading ignorance when you discover you agreed to something you didn't intend almost never works. Had Watson taken a few minutes to read the contract before signing it, he would have discovered that the anonymity clause was nowhere to be found and might have avoided the drama following his appearance on True Life. This is a shining example of why you should always always always read your contract, even the ones you write yourself.
2. In situations where two parties agree verbally to a term, but never actually integrate it into the final contract, that term is not considered valid once the contract is written and signed. This is called the parol evidence rule, and it's almost impossible to overcome if incorporating that term would change the contract.

Look I get it. Reading contracts is no fun. They're boring, they're long, they contain a lot of junk, and they're usually written in legalese, making them tough to understand. Believe it or not, lawyers hate reading contracts for the same reasons. It's true! Why do you think we charge you so much money to draft and review your agreements? Because it sucks!! That's why mobile apps specializing in generating simple contracts (like Shake) are making a big splash nowadays.

Sucky or not, however, there's no getting around it. Whether you're a high-bargaining party or a low-bargaining party, then only way to preserve your interests is to get comfy reading contracts. There's no better way to ensure that harmful provisions weren't snuck in there when your back was turned. Because once you put your signature on that piece of paper, that's all she wrote my friend. You are bound to the terms in that contract whether or not you read it.

[Author's Note: I should add that if Watson could prove MTV acted fraudulently, the entire contract would be invalidated, including the promise not to sue the network. Since Watson lost his lawsuit, I'm guessing that he couldn't meet that burden.]