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.]

Ask Greg: How To Fight Back When Someone Has Infringed Your Work

Q. I recently discovered that someone was selling T-shirts featuring my illustrations. They've credited me as the artist on their website, but I've received no financial restitution and they didn't ask my permission. I want them to either pay me or stop selling the T-shirts altogether. What are my options for getting them to stop?

A. Let's be honest, you don't want to sue anybody. You don't have the time and you probably don't have the money, and even if you did, the effort and emotional toll it takes is astronomical. So before you go down that road, there are some things you can do to save time and money, and hopefully avoid court.

1. Send the infringing party a “cease and desist” letter. You'd be surprised how often people don’t even realized they're infringing someone else's work. Oftentimes, they think the work is in the public domain simply because it's available online. And even when people do infringe your work on purpose, an officious sounding letter is usually enough to make them stop. While you can always draft a cease and desist yourself, it has more teeth if it comes from a lawyer.
2. Negotiate! If you reasonably feel that the infringer isn't acting with malicious intent, give them a call and see if they're willing to talk turkey. You want to get royalties for all T-shirts already sold, and you definitely want to get a fee for all future sales. If this works, it's a classic win-win. They stay in business and you get a financial benefit. At the very least, you'll get a sense of their motives.
3. Use social media to rally people around your cause. This can be a surprisingly effective way to get public support and put pressure on the infringer to do the right thing. You may have heard this story about a graphic designer who wasn't paid for poster designs he made for Spike Lee's newest film, Oldboy. The designer sent an open letter to Lee recounting his abuses. This was a smart choice on the part of the designer. Even though Lee, like most directors, has no role in the marketing of his films (marketing is almost exclusively the domain of the studio), by going right to the top, the designer started creating groundswell. And if he can get Lee to go to bat for him, the pressure placed on the studio could be overwhelming.
4. Lastly, BE NICE, no matter how much of a jerk the other party is. That old saying about catching more flies with honey than with vinegar - it's absolutely true. I can't tell you how many times I've seen victims of infringement get swatted by a judge because they acted like unrepentant assholes. If you look worse than the guy who actually stole from you, you're going to lose, plain and simple. In general, when interacting with a potential legal adversary, you should follow my patented Famous Three Step Rule For Dealing With Infringers: First time be nice. Second time, be nice. Third time, be nice. You can always be direct, but politeness really can make the difference in your outcome.

If you do all of these and the infringer still won't pay you back or cut you in, it's time to sue. Call a lawyer and get that ball rolling ASAP (you have three years from the discovery of the infringement to bring a lawsuit). And if you have anymore questions, don't hesitate to Ask Greg.