Royalty på sfinxen?!

Tja, någon sisådär oerhörd förkämpe för upphovsrätten är jag då rakt inte, men det är inte mycket som får mig att lyfta på ögonbrynen för upphovsrättsmaffians påhitt längre. De har en verklighetsförankring som antagligen bara NASA kan beskriva i reda ord... Men ibland kommer i alla fall nyheter som får en att lyfta på nämnda ögonbryn och dessutom skratta högt. I AB idag:

Vill ha royalties för sfinx-kopior

Egypten har tröttnat på ofoget att pyramiderna och sfinxen kopieras lite varstans i världen, exempelvis i spelhålan Las Vegas. Nu ska man begära royalty. Zahi Hawass, chef för landets riksantikvarieämbete, tycker att det kunde vara på sin plats med lite sponsorpengar till kulturminnesvården. Ett lagförslag om royaltykravet väntas snart komma upp i Egyptens parlament.

(Källa.)

Vilken pajas! :o)

Groucho - kungen!

Denna eminenta historia ovan får mig att tänka på den store Groucho Marx - världens genom tiderna roligaste komiker. I slutet på brödernas filmkarriär så gjordes filmen 'En natt i Casablanca', en ganska medioker och småtrist film - i alla fall med brödernas mått mätt. Warner Brothers tog genast chansen och hotade med stämning emedan de ansåg sig ha ensamrätt på namnet Casablanca i titeln; detta med tanke på en av alla tiders mest kända film - 'Casablanca' med Ingrid Bergman och Humphrey Bogart. Groucho skrev då ett brev där han dels undrade om verkligen Casablanca var Warner Brothers egendom samt det faktumet att de helt säkert hade rätten till namnet Warner, men däremot tillägget Brothers var det mer osäkert med - Bröderna Marx hade ju de facto varit Brothers längre än dem... Jaa, herregud - det krävs ett geni för att vara upphovsman till något sådant där! :o)

Brevet i fråga

Jag trillade för ett tag sedan över brevet ifråga, det är en njutning att läsa - så läs och njut:

Dear Warner Brothers,

Apparently there is more than one way of conquering a city and holding it as your own. For example, up to the time that we contemplated making this picture, I had no idea that the city of Casablanca belonged exclusively to Warner Brothers. However, it was only a few days after our announcement appeared that we received your long, ominous legal document warning us not to use the name Casablanca.

It seems that in 1471, Ferdinand Balboa Warner, your great-great-grandfather, while looking for a shortcut to the city of Burbank, had stumbled on the shores of Africa and, raising his alpenstock (which he later turned in for a hundred shares of common), named it Casablanca.

I just don’t understand your attitude. Even if you plan on releasing your picture, I am sure that the average movie fan could learn in time to distinguish between Ingrid Bergman and Harpo. I don’t know whether I could, but I certainly would like to try.

You claim that you own Casablanca and that no one else can use that name without permission. What about “Warner Brothers”? Do you own that too? You probably have the right to use the name Warner, but what about the name Brothers? Professionally, we were brothers long before you were. We were touring the sticks as the Marx Brothers when Vitaphone was still a gleam in the inventor’s eye, and even before there had been other brothers—the Smith Brothers; the Brothers Karamazov; Dan Brothers, an outfielder with Detroit; and “Brother, Can You Spare a Dime?” (This was originally “Brothers, Can You Spare a Dime?” but this was spreading a dime pretty thin, so they threw out one brother, gave all the money to the other one, and whittled it down to “Brother, Can You Spare a Dime?”)

Now Jack, how about you? Do you maintain that yours is an original name? Well it’s not. It was used long before you were born. Offhand, I can think of two Jacks—Jack of “Jack and the Beanstalk,” and Jack the Ripper, who cut quite a figure in his day.

As for you, Harry, you probably sign your checks sure in the belief that you are the first Harry of all time and that all other Harrys are impostors. I can think of two Harrys that preceded you. There was Lighthouse Harry of Revolutionary fame and a Harry Appelbaum who lived on the corner of 93rd Street and Lexington Avenue. Unfortunately, Appelbaum wasn’t too well-known. The last I heard of him, he was selling neckties at Weber and Heilbroner.

Now about the Burbank studio. I believe this is what you brothers call your place. Old man Burbank is gone. Perhaps you remember him. He was a great man in a garden. His wife often said Luther had ten green thumbs. What a witty woman she must have been! Burbank was the wizard who crossed all those fruits and vegetables until he had the poor plants in such confused and jittery condition that they could never decide whether to enter the dining room on the meat platter or the dessert dish.

This is pure conjecture, of course, but who knows—perhaps Burbank’s survivors aren’t too happy with the fact that a plant that grinds out pictures on a quota settled in their town, appropriated Burbank’s name and uses it as a front for their films. It is even possible that the Burbank family is prouder of the potato produced by the old man than they are of the fact that your studio emerged “Casablanca” or even “Gold Diggers of 1931.”

This all seems to add up to a pretty bitter tirade, but I assure you it’s not meant to. I love Warners. Some of my best friends are Warner Brothers. It is even possible that I am doing you an injustice and that you, yourselves, know nothing about this dog-in-the-Wanger attitude. It wouldn’t surprise me at all to discover that the heads of your legal department are unaware of this absurd dispute, for I am acquainted with many of them and they are fine fellows with curly black hair, double-breasted suits and a love of their fellow man that out-Saroyans Saroyan.

I have a hunch that his attempt to prevent us from using the title is the brainchild of some ferret-faced shyster, serving a brief apprenticeship in your legal department. I know the type well—hot out of law school, hungry for success, and too ambitious to follow the natural laws of promotion. This bar sinister probably needled your attorneys, most of whom are fine fellows with curly black hair, double-breasted suits, etc., into attempting to enjoin us. Well, he won’t get away with it! We’ll fight him to the highest court! No pasty-faced legal adventurer is going to cause bad blood between the Warners and the Marxes. We are all brothers under the skin, and we’ll remain friends till the last reel of “A Night in Casablanca” goes tumbling over the spool.

Sincerely,

Groucho Marx

(Källa.) Juristerna var inte nöjda med detta (sic!) utan krävde ett förtydligande, då skickade Groucho ett ännu värre brev där han bl a beskrev hur han själv skulle spela rollen som "Bordello, Humphrey Bogarts hjärtevän"... Denna gång så förstod kanske t o m juristerna att det mest idiotiska i denna historie inte var Grouchos genialiska galenskaper utan deras eget handlande, och de återkom heller aldrig och filmen hade sedan ostört premiär 1946. För övrigt så för er som inte sett filmen, så är inte rollen Bordello med alls, jag tror nog den försvann under klippningen... ;o)

Mer visdom

Groucho lär också ha sagt:

"The secret of life is honesty and fair dealing. If you can fake that, you've got it made."

Mer upphovsrätt

Jag har givetvis skrivit mer om denna:

• 'Bakläxa för upphovsrättsbeivrare'
• 'Upphovsrätten'
• 'Film om copyright'

och inte minst i

• 'För övrigt anser jag att Skivbolagen bör läggas ner'

//Zac