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IP: 'The Future of Ideas': Protecting the Old With Copyright Law


From: David Farber <dave () farber net>
Date: Mon, 07 Jan 2002 09:18:42 -0500


From: Dewayne Hendricks <dewayne () warpspeed com>


January 6, 2002

'The Future of Ideas': Protecting the Old With Copyright Law

By DANIEL ZALEWSKI
<http://www.nytimes.com/2002/01/06/books/review/06ZALEWST.html?todaysheadlines>

[T] hanks to digital technology, a delightful new art form emerged this year: the fan edit. Devotees of the pop singer Bjork, for example, have begun running her songs through their computers, tweaking the beats and instrumentation, then posting hundreds of ''remixed'' versions on the Web. Some of these edits are tone-deaf; others, however, trump the original arrangements. And this summer, Mike J. Nichols, a ''Star Wars'' addict living in Santa Clarita, Calif., used his Macintosh to make a series of merciful cuts to ''The Phantom Menace'' -- most notably, the virtual elimination of the irksome Jar Jar Binks. Fans who obtained a copy of Nichols's ''Phantom Edit'' through the Internet hailed the arrival of a vastly improved (if not yet good) movie.

This nascent genre might not be around for long, however. Although the Bjork remixes remain openly posted on a Web page, ''The Phantom Edit'' has met a more predictable fate -- it's been squashed by lawyers. George Lucas's production company, Lucasfilm Ltd., has threatened to sue the pants off anyone who dares to set up a Web page permitting downloads or trades videotaped versions on eBay. Why? ''We can't allow them to duplicate and distribute our films for profit,'' a press officer has explained.

This is the kind of wobbly argument that drives Lawrence Lessig, a Stanford law professor, absolutely nuts. After all, can a zillion-dollar company like Lucasfilm truly be worried that a puckish effort like ''The Phantom Edit'' will torpedo its own DVD sales? And how can such a silly fear justify the silencing of Nichols's artistic expression?

Lessig's passionate new book, ''The Future of Ideas,'' argues that America's concern with protecting intellectual property has become an oppressive obsession. ''The distinctive feature of modern American copyright law,'' he writes, ''is its almost limitless bloating.'' As Lessig sees it, a system originally designed to provide incentives for innovation has increasingly become a weapon for attacking cutting-edge creativity.

Sadly, Lessig's grim assessment is dead on. Earlier this year, for example, lawyers for Margaret Mitchell's estate almost succeeded in banning ''The Wind Done Gone,'' a slave-centered recasting of ''Gone With the Wind,'' on the grounds that it was theft. (Indeed, the case is still tied up in court.) And Baz Luhrmann, the director of ''Moulin Rouge,'' was forced to revise his screenplay when Cat Stevens's lawyers refused to allow him to use the song ''Father and Son.'' Why, Lessig asks, does American law increasingly protect the interests of the old guard over those of the vanguard? After all, new art always borrows from old. Shakespeare's ''Hamlet'' was a remake; Picasso created collages from torn-up newspapers; rappers rhyme over bass lines lifted from funk songs. If that's the way culture works, why does the law so often stand in the way?

Although Lessig is a proselytizer for what he calls an ''open access'' culture, he is not some foggy-headed communist suggesting that artists cough up their creations for free. ''Copyright is a critical part of the process of creativity,'' he writes. ''A great deal of creativity would not exist without the protections of the law.'' At the same time, Lessig argues that those protections should be as limited as possible. Patents and copyrights, he suggests, should have short, renewable 5-year terms instead of the current system of 90- to 150-year terms. And paying a licensing fee should be all it takes to secure unfettered access to another artist's work. Over all, Lessig argues, the goal of law should be to push cultural products quickly into a public-domain ''commons'' where they can be enjoyed by all -- and, perhaps, transformed into something new.

Lessig is aware that he's not the first critic to claim that America's copyright lawyers have become pinstriped thought police. Much of the novelty of his book lies in his effort to trace how the intellectual property virus has spread, with tragic results, to the Internet -- a communication network expressly created to allow the rapid dissemination of new ideas. ''An environment designed to enable the new is being transformed to protect the old,'' he concludes glumly.

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