Category: Copyright

Brammer Appeals Unsound Ruling in Otherwise Simple Copyright Case

In June, I wrote about the deeply flawed ruling in Brammer v. Violent Hues after the District Court for the Eastern District of Virginia handed down some rather inscrutable opinions about an otherwise straightforward copyright infringement case.  A production company company called Violent Hues used a photograph belonging to Russell Brammer on a website for the purpose of promoting a film festival.  The district court held that the use was a fair use predicated on errors of both fact and law, which are now enumerated in Brammer’s appeal to the Fourth Circuit, filed on October 22.  I suspect Brammer will prevail in this appeal, but I wanted to comment on one aspect of the response.

In the days before a now woefully unclear principle called “transformativeness” was introduced to the fair use doctrine (see discussion here), Brammer would have been a very simple case.  A photograph was copied and displayed for commercial purposes and used without a license.  The defendant would not have a leg to stand on, and the complaint would end in settlement. 

But as described in this recent post about Richard Prince’s unlicensed use of Donald Graham’s photograph to make “fine art,” various parties have sought to leverage the ambiguous nature of “transformativeness” in order to assert that it means little more than using a protected work in a context the original author had not exploited at the time of the infringing use.  I know that’s a mouthful, but such is the nature of twisted logic.  

In Brammer, the lower court held that Violent Hues had only made use of the informative aspect of Brammer’s photograph, displaying it in an informational context on a website, and so this was different from the photographer’s original, expressive purpose.  This line of reasoning is fraught with destructive implications; but one comment I made half-jokingly in my June post was that if, indeed, a court were able to identify two images (one expressive, one informative) in a single photograph, then Mr. Brammer ought to sue for infringement of his right to make derivative works.  

I say this was only half joking because, as Brammer’s appeal points out, one significant pitfall of an over-broad interpretation of “transformativeness” is that it can eliminate the author’s right to prepare derivative works as protected under copyright law §106(2).  In fact, the brief refers to a highly-controversial ruling by the Second Circuit which held that Richard Prince (yeah, him again) had made fair use of several photographs belonging to Patrick Cariou, stating “Cariou and its predecessors in the Second Circuit do not explain how every ‘transformative use’ can be ‘fair use’ without extinguishing the author’s rights under § 106(2).”   

So, I wasn’t really kidding.  Either the district court erred in holding that a photograph can be metaphysically split into identical twins with entirely separate identities, or Violent Hues infringed Brammer’s right to prepare his (expressive) work as a derivative (informative) work.  Spoiler:  the initial parsing of the image by the district court is preposterous as a matter of law, art, culture, and basic reason.   

The brief goes on to assert, “The Second Circuit heard the criticism [about the derivative works right] and received the message that its post-Campbell holdings went too far. In subsequent decisions, it dialed back what can qualify as transformative, holding that the Google Books and Cariou cases presented unique factual circumstances, and limited what can be viewed properly as a transformative justification.”

As addressed in other posts, the “transformativeness” doctrine is a squirrelly little bugger. It has caused splits among circuits and, as we see in Brammer, can result in a federal appeal where settlement should have been the natural outcome.  It seems likely that before long the Supreme Court will need to chisel this particular doctrine into some kind of coherent shape.  As such, rights holders should demand that its meaning remains tethered to the way in which it was first applied in Campbell v. Acuff-Rose in 1994.

To Review…

Assessing “transformativeness” is a consideration under the first fair use factor, which weighs the “nature and character of the use.”  It was first weighed in a manner entirely consistent with the spirit of fair use, which is to limit copyright’s protections so that they do not stifle otherwise unachievable new forms of expression.  Thus, a use which “transforms” by adding to or amending an original work in a way that creates a wholly new expression is well-suited to consideration for its amount of “transformativeness,” especially if the nature of the original work is intrinsic to the new expression.  

As first applied in Cambell, the Supreme Court held that a consideration of “transformativeness” favored the manner in which 2 Live Crew had used the song “Oh, Pretty Woman,” not solely because the raunchy rap version was new, but because there was an extent to which it parodied the spirit of the original, and this commentary was constituent to the nature of the new expression. 

Clearly, the considerations in Campbell are a far cry from a case like Brammer, where no new expression was created, but where the defendant simply used a whole work, as is, without permission (not that different from Prince v. Graham, really).  Still, the errors made by the district court in this otherwise simple case reveal the extent to which the “transformativeness” doctrine is in dire need of clarification.

As I said in the past, I think the word itself is problematic.  It is just too easy to shift perspective from considering how a use may “transform” a creative work to a consideration of how a use may have a “transformative” effect on an audience, or on society as a whole.  Both of these distinct perspectives have been present in fair use analyses, but arguably only the former truly examines expression itself, which is the purview of copyright law.  So, I expect Russell Brammer will prevail in this appeal, but we have not heard the last of these semantic adventures to the edge of reason aboard the “S.S. Transformative.” 

Walt Whitman Championed Democracy and Fought for Copyright – Part I

(This post was first published as part of Copyright Alliance’s Secret History of Copyright Series)

“Publishers move without concert, harmony, or agreement. There is no law to regulate their rights, and they have none (which are respected) by courtesy.  They print the same book, and the spirit of competition is such as to destroy all correctness, all taste, and all chance of profit.  The result is, that the author gets nothing, the publisher is subjected to losses, and the public are never satisfied.  An international copyright law would remove these evils.”

 — Nahum Capen, 1844 —

This excerpt from a Memorial written by a notable Boston author, editor, and publisher fairly well sums up the state of book publishing—and most creative work—in the embryonic America of the mid-19th century. It is not mere coincidence that the evolution of an American artistic voice parallels the development of U.S. copyright law; and the passage of an international copyright statute in 1891 was a key milestone—culturally, economically, creatively, and politically—in the nation’s progress toward global maturity.  One important advocate of that law also happened to be one of the nation’s first truly domestic creative voices—the poet Walt Whitman, who viewed the adoption of international copyright as a matter of democratic principle even more than a matter of economic purpose.

Creativity today is entirely democratic.  We understand that works of great genius and value might come from anywhere.  But many of America’s most influential authors and thinkers, during the years between the Revolution and the Civil War, believed that literature should remain tethered to classical, elitist traditions.  Thus, while American copyright law evolved throughout the 19th century, charting a course distinct from the antecedents of English common law, a new American creative voice was emerging at the same time.  Indeed, there was a conscious, creative/political movement that may be roughly bracketed between an 1837 speech by Ralph Waldo Emerson and the literary apotheosis expressed in Whitman’s Leaves of Grassin 1855.

It was August 31, 1837, when Emerson spoke to the Phi Beta Kappa Society at Harvard University in which he called upon young, domestic authors to write the narrative of the new nation rather than to continue to “feed on the sere remains of foreign harvests.”  Emerson’s address helped galvanize a broad, cultural shift that was just percolating among the first post-Revolution, literary figures in the nation, and among these was Whitman, who published his first short stories in a new periodical founded on the principles of this movement—the United States Magazine and Democratic Review.

Whitman was a colleague of the Young Americans—they were contemporaries of other literary- nationalist movements in Europe—who had intentionally set out to democratize literary work as an essential ingredient to democratizing America itself.  Although the policy views of these young Democrats are too myriad, factional, and contradictory to synthesize in this short essay, the one consistent belief of the Young Americans was that culture and literature should not be authored solely by the nation’s aristocratic, Anglo conservatives.  Whitman was, therefore, a key figure in America’s first clash of generations, with younger authors insisting that the American voice must become far more diverse than works steeped in European traditions and flowing from Puritan epicenters like Harvard and Yale.

Capen’s observations about the state of publishing was contemporaneous with early debates on international copyright, which the independent American book publishers successfully opposed for decades, primarily by asserting that the law would give the larger printing firms monopoly control over all publishing.  In truth, most American publishers of all sizes were accustomed to the trade in copies of European—mostly English—books without license, and Capen’s Memorial also notes that that these volumes tended to be cheaply made products with flawed pages and weak bindings (i.e. disposable).  Hence, American rejection of international copyright throughout most of its first century had the twin effect of disenfranchising foreign authors from the American market while simultaneously retarding investment in domestic authors and a domestic publishing industry.

When Charles Dickens toured America in 1842 and advocated that the U.S. adopt international copyright, he was scorned by many, including in several editorials that forecast today’s digital-age critics of copyright.  In fact, it was the founding editor of the Democratic Review, John O’Sullivan, who broke rank with his literary colleagues by opposing international copyright in an 1843 editorial, in which he said of Dickens, “He has certainly been richly enough paid at home, in pecuniary rewards as well as in public honor, for what he has done, to leave him but slender ground on which to ask a return of mere volunteer generosity on our part for the pleasure his admirable writings have afforded us.”

O’Sullivan acknowledged the same article that his opposition to an international copyright law was contrary to the beliefs of his fellow authors, and this included Whitman, who had earlier written a defense of Dickens (nicknamed Boz) in the Evening Tattler.   Although critical of Dickens’s alleged (and it turns out inaccurately reported) haughty tone toward the Americans, Whitman wrote, “Let Boz—ungrateful as he has proved himself—let him be treated fairly.  He no doubt came over here with the main purpose of effecting an international copyright:  we are among those who believe that a law to that effect would be wise and righteous.”

Whitman self-published Leaves of Grassin 1855, carving a new, egalitarian, domestic verse out of a long walk through New York City, filled with industry, sweat, agony, pathos, and sex.  Literally and metaphorically a response to Emerson’s call to “sing” the song of the young nation, it begins with the democratic vow …

I celebrate myself,
And what I assume you shall assume,
For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.

One might think the symbiotic relationship between author and reader inherent to those words—and indeed evident throughout Whitman’s poetry—would be anathema to a passionate defense of copyright.  But in fact, Whitman promoted the cause of international copyright throughout his career—his first article supporting the law was published more than a decade before he published Leaves of Grass—viewing the principle primarily as an expression of moral and democratic values and, therefore, consistent with the literary aspirations of Young America. He just barely lived to witness the law’s passage in 1891, about which he wrote…

“We have our international copyright at last—the bill is signed today. The United States, which should have been the first to pass the thing, is the last. Now all civilized nations have it. It is a question of honesty—of morals—of a literature, in fact. I know it will be said by some—Here, now, how is it that you, Walt Whitman, author of ‘Leaves of Grass,’ are in favor of such a thing? Ought the world not to own the world in common? Well, when others do, we will, too. This copyright bill is the doing as we would be done by.”

American Literature Professor Martin Buinicki of Valparaiso University, in an article published in 2003, seeks to harmonize Whitman’s democratic ideals, his writing, his relationship to the independent publishers of the period, and his advocacy of copyright. “Taken at face value,” Buinicki writes, “Whitman’s careful tending of his copyrights appears not only to contradict his democratic declarations but also to trouble his bold assertions of artistic independence:  by scrupulously protecting his copyrights …”

In Part II of this post, I’ll expand on why that “face value” assumption is incorrect and why Whitman, therefore, serves as a foil to many assumptions made by copyright critics about the motives of authors.

You’re Watching Too Much TV—All Because of Copyright!

An editorial appeared in The Hill written by Martin Skladany, associate professor of law at Penn State.  Titled To curb dangers of media consumption, let’s reconsider copyright law, the article comprises an incoherent litany of social complaints; but to the extent one can glean any thesis from its dissociated and unsupported declaratives, I suppose it would be the following:

“…excessive copyright protection has turned art – which is meant to inspire us intellectually and support us emotionally, to enable us to cope with the uncertainty of life and the finality of death – into a glossy corporate weapon that Hollywood wields to effectively imprison vast swaths of society.  ‘We the people’ are ‘doing time’ in front of a screen.”

In sum,  Skladany thinks Americans have become mush-headed and morally depleted (as evidenced by our vitriolic political climate) because we are watching too much filmed entertainment; and the underlying cause of this addiction is strong copyright law, which enables “Hollywood” to keep us hooked on their “glossy” (i.e. frivolous) wares.  I have to say, as someone who’s never seen Game of Thrones and is more likely to be found reading than watching TV, that Skladany is behaving like a highfalutin prig; and in doing so, manages to make a hash of copyright law, art, filmed entertainment, journalism, and the topic of media gluttony all at the same time.  

For one thing, I have no idea on what authority he declares that the purpose of art is to “inspire us intellectually and support us emotionally, to enable us to cope with the uncertainty of life and the finality of death”?  Really?  Is that what Bukowski is doing?  Or David Lynch? Or Banksy?  Or Shakespeare for that matter?  Artists may hope to inspire intellectually at times—though certainly not always—but if indeed they were merely the self-help gurus Skladany seems to think they should be, their works would be intolerably tedious. 

If Skladany wants to propose that entertainment and news reporting have merged in a way that is unhealthy for journalism, that would be a hard premise to refute and certainly makes a worthwhile discussion on its own. Or if he wishes to opine on the not very original theme that “low art” tends to be more popular than “high art,” that’s also a separate conversation, albeit a purely academic one.  But neither of these topics justifies lumping all content that appears on all screens into a single category, labeling it “corporate mind control” and then, bizarrely, diagnosing copyright law as the underlying infection causing a social disease.

Like other academics of his ilk, Skladany refers generically to “Hollywood” as though all filmed entertainment emanates from a monolithic institution—one which is allegedly doing our thinking for us.  This is oxymoronic, like saying “Democratic Party Conspiracy,” because just like Democrats couldn’t organize a conspiracy of two, the diverse range of television and motion pictures in the market represent thousands of individuals with a million competing and interrelated ideas, aesthetics, values, egos, agendas, and resources. 

Some of those individuals are brilliant, funny, poignant, serious, etc. and have a talent for expressing themselves in ways that deserve to shape our thinking.  We call this art.  And the way of madness lies in Skalandy’s arrogant implication that we can parse which of these expressions comprise the “better” art in context to his assault on copyright law.  Or to put it another way, I think the world would be better off without reality TV, too, but copyright law has nothing to do with the fact that more people have seen The Apprentice than the oeuvre of Francois Truffaut.

It is unclear whether Skladany means to be imposing a value judgment about what he considers to be the “art” and “non art” among all motion pictures and television; but clearly he harbors such an opinion, or his perspective would make even less sense than his presentation.  He writes, “Reducing copyright’s excessiveness will hurt professional reporters and non-corporate artists to a degree, but, more significantly, it will also level the playing field with corporate entertainment.”  (I’ll let the “hurt to a degree” go for the sake of the larger point.)

By “excessive” copyright law, Skalandy refers solely to the duration of protection—certainly it is the only example he presents—and it is frankly impossible to fathom how shortening copyright’s terms would “level the playing field” and thus enable the “art” of filmed entertainment to better compete against the “non art” of filmed entertainment.  And this is assuming that all “art” content comes from independent creators while all “non art” comes from corporations, and as though no symbiosis exists between these two worlds.

Of course, parsing the “good media” from the “bad media” does not appear to be Skladany’s real goal.  It’s not that we’re watching too much low-quality material in his view, it’s that we’re watching too much, period—spending far too many hours glued to whatever the digital-age version of the boob tube is in lieu of more admirable pursuits like “volunteering” or “going to social events.”   This is where he truly wanders off on thought safari as pertains to copyright law.  I mean, even if we consider his opinion to be valid in this regard, what in blazes does copyright have to do with it?  I was going to watch Jessica Jones tonight, but now that the copyright terms are shorter on that show, I guess I’ll go volunteer at the homeless shelter.  Seriously?

Skladany is free to opine that Americans ought to be engaged in more useful activities than watching stuff on screens, but nothing about his credentials as a law professor, nor anything in this editorial in The Hill, suggests that he has anything fresh to add to that particular conversation, which began shortly after the first TVs were sold.  This is just one of several examples illustrating his lack of intellectual discipline, choosing instead to toss a bunch of haphazard ingredients into an anti-copyright casserole, serve it up half-baked, and expect people to eat it.  Or as my friend Neil Turkewitz stated in his response to yesterday, “…it may be the worst ‘academic’ piece I have ever read.”  

There is much more one could write in response to Skladany’s editorial, not least would be to rebut its underlying theory that weakening copyright would “level the playing field” rather than simply weaken individual authors.  But as he has not provided even a hint of support for this premise, it seems sufficient for now to say that he is simply wrong.