Three days ago, YouTube permanently disabled the account of critic and commentator Kevin B. Lee, suggesting that YouTube is cracking down on critical video essays posted to the site:
Kevin’s video essays wed critical commentary or conversation to
clips from copyright films in a “teaching” context, and most of them
were created as part of his project to “view every film on the list of 1000 greatest films of all time, as compiled by They Shoot Pictures, Don�t They?.” Kevin says he received a copyright warning earlier today in regards to his video essay on …And God Created Woman. It
was the first time YouTube had ever slapped his wrist over one of the
video essays, although they had contacted him about two unaltered clips
in the past, one from The Sorrow and Pity and one from Dames.
Three strikes, and Kevin’s out — YouTube has removed all 70 of his
videos, including 40 original video essays. If you’ve embedded one of
these in your own blog, that embed will now be unplayable.
Kevin has his own personal archive and can potentially re-upload the
clips; he says he’ll investigate other online video sharing options.
But YouTube is still the biggest game in town, and Kevin says he’ll
miss it. “I’ll miss not only the unparalleled audience reach, but the
cool stats that YouTube had to offer (like learning that viewers would
rewind repeatedly to watch Bardot’s bare ass in my video essay for …And God Created Woman),” he noted in an email. “But that’s nothing compared to having the right to share my work in the first place.”
Kevin is one of a number of people producing film criticism via
online video who have had trouble with YouTube of late. These videos
represent the first real advance in film criticism as an art form in,
at least, decades; other video sharing platforms may remain more
friendly to copyright borrowers for awhile, but ultimately this
practice may have to either move underground or disappear.
Read more here (from SpoutBlog). In a passionate (and lengthy) post on The House Next Door, Matt Zoller Seitz thinks 12 January 2009 might be a decisive day in the history of intellectual property:
Kevin has copies of all his work, and I'm sure
it will show up again somewhere, sometime. But the obliteration of
YouTube as a global platform for his voice is a crime of greater
magnitude than anything he did to create the video essays in the first
place. YouTube is the town square of the 21st century—rather like a
gigantic virtual mall that is, technically speaking, a private space,
but which operates as a public sphere: a gathering spot, a cultural and
political crossroads. By scourging Kevin's work from this crossroads
and banning his video essays—and, potentially, all similar work—from
YouTube, the company is allowing the powerful to muzzle the
near-powerless. And it is endorsing the idea that in cases involving
intellectual property law and the Internet, filmmakers can be deemed
guilty, silenced, then made to plead for their right to speak.
There's
also an unspoken class bias at work here, a bully mentality that
chooses its targets based on who's likely to fight back and win.
Consider commercial TV, which is filled with programs that routinely
air copyrighted material without permission for purposes of journalism,
satire or simple entertainment. The Daily Show and The Colbert Report
don't ask permission to air any of the news clips they slice and dice
each night for yuks; they consider a network's onscreen logo to be
acknowledgment enough, and their assumption is almost never challenged.
Talk shows don't think twice about airing a rival network's news
footage or clips from a popular or notorious TV program in order to
spark a discussion or anchor a satirical montage. Infotainment shows
compile film clips for use in movie star obituaries—not just electronic
presskit snippets meant for PR purposes, but clips from older movies
that predate EPKs and that might have originally aired on some
corporate competitor's channel—and the movie's copyright holders don't
object. The shows that feature such clips are routinely repurposed on
the parent company's websites, often with ads and sometimes with
embedding functions that allow the clip to be reproduced by bloggers,
and there are not currently, to the best of my knowledge, any lawsuits
seeking to stop the practice. Kings wink at each other. Peasants get
the axe.
Kevin B. Lee is not Napster; he's not some guy
uploading every frame of every Bette Davis movie for kicks; he's not
even Goldentusk. He's a critic and scholar doing work that could be
considered, at worst, compelling free ads for essential pop art.
YouTube, by reflexively siding with whichever party has more money and
power, has renounced its founding spirit.
There should be a way to distinguish between piracy-for-profit (or
unauthorized, free redistribution) and creative, interpretive, critical
or political work that happens to use copyrighted material. And there
must be an alternative to unilateral takedowns. The issues aren't just
legal, they're practical. History has demonstrated that there's no
copyright protection that can't be defeated, no corporate edict that
can't be subverted. And given the technological sophistication that
permits digital watermarking, there ought to be a way to make sampling
of any sort, authorized or not, scaled to suit the filmmakers' means,
profitable for the rights holders, and as fully automated as the
copyright-infringement-scouring that's currently happening all over the
Internet.
Whatever the solutions, they should be something other
than one-size-fits-all. Digital watermarking abusers are engaged in an
unwinnable war—one that, in its present state, will only produce
collateral damage and make them increasingly unsympathetic, and
therefore more likely to be demonized and resisted. The entertainment
industry's unwillingness to recognize the plain fact that people have
complex, idiosyncratic and yes, possessive relationships to songs,
films and TV shows—relationships that are qualitatively different from
their relationships to cars, hats, shoes and beer—contributes to a
culture of calcified mutual resentment, and a public mindset
(manifested most vividly in generations that cannot remember life
before the Internet) that sees big entertainment companies as
lead-footed dopes—Elmer Fudd blasting every rabbit hole in sight hoping
to hit Bugs Bunny.
The situation as it stands is immoral,
untenable and, I believe, a violation of fundamental rights. Almost
nobody taking part in the early phases of digital media has the money
to fight the Googles and Viacoms of the world, and of course that's
what the takedown gremlins are counting on; injustice not resisted
eventually becomes tradition. I fervently hope some brave,
knowledgeable lawyer will see that there's more at stake here than the
ethics of ripping and posting scenes from movies, and make a test case
of Kevin's unconscionable treatment. The circumstances may seem
mundane, but the implications are grim as can be. When individuals and
governments permit corporations to dictate the terms by which their
culture may be examined, the First Amendment becomes just another pile
of words.
Read more here.
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