ContractsProf Blog

Reddit Deal with OpenAI

What is the opposite of a third-party beneficiary?  That is, what if two parties make a deal that imposes a burden on third parties as the main by-product of the deal? Do we have a name for that? We really need one.

According to Emilia David, reporting on The Verge, Reddit has agreed to allow OpenAI to use  Reddit posts in real time to feed into ChatGPT in exchange for access to some OpenAI technology so that Reddit can build some AI features into its website.  According to Ms. David, the deal is similar to a $60 million deal that Reddit entered into with Google earlier this year.  

Websites monetizing user content takes me to dark places.  Dark, Baudrillardian places.  

The powers behind the Matrix don't need to build elaborate machinery to suck energy out of human bodies.  They can just use terms of service to hoover up whatever makes us uniquely human. The machines can figure out quickly enough that they can get energy from nature -- solar, wind, hydro, geothermal.  All they need from us is our words.

Fargo Season 5: Of Contracts, Sin-Eating, and Redemption

At the center of the narrative in the Fargo series' brilliant Season 5, although you don't know it until the epilogue, is a contract.  The series is so good, I have to write about it, and fortunately, contracts abound.  Unfortunately, there's no way to do so without spoilers, so if you still want to watch the series, let this serve as your SPOILER ALERT, and skip down to the trailer at the bottom.  If you've already watched the season or don't think you will, maybe you'll be interested enough in the profound insights into contracts law that the series elucidates to read on.

The protagonist of the series is Juno Temple's Dorothy "Dot" Lyons (right), but the hero of the contracts narrative is Sam Spruell's Ole Munch (below, left), one of the strangest characters to ever appear in an American television series.  I'm ready to give Mr. Spruell the Emmy for best supporting actor right now (sorry Jon Hamm, you were great too!). 

Ole Munch is a centuries-old sin eater.  That is, he is a man paid a pittance to eat the sins of the dead so that the well-to-do can ascend to heaven. As he explains in the final scene, he ate the sins because he was starving.  There is a sin-eating scene far earlier in the series, and Mr. Spruell is amazing in evoking both ravenous desperation and consciousness of the eternal weight that his character is taking on.

Munch was a sin-eater in Wales, but he bears a Swedish name, and his accent is mostly that of a man who rarely speaks and has no confidence in his ability to make his meaning understood, so estranged is he from communication through words rather than violent action.   When one has lived for centuries, time is not of the essence, so he speaks deliberately. 

As Anthony Breznican explores in this interview in Vanity Fair with Fargo creator Noah Hawley, debt is a theme running throughout Season 5.  Dot's mother-in-law, portrayed brilliantly (another Emmy? -- do they still do supporting actor and supporting actress?) by a perpetually scowling Jennifer Jason Leigh, has built a fortune on debt collection.  If you ever wondered what would have happened if William F. Buckley had gone into debt collection rather than journalism, now you know.  Dot's first husband, realized with boundless malevolence and self-delusional grandeur by Jon Hamm, believes himself to be the beneficiary of some divine covenant, the details of which are difficult to reconcile with his thirst for power and vengeance.  One part of that covenant is his belief that his serial wives owe him loyalty and obedience unto death, which he repays with the back of his hand.  Having put wife #1 in the ground and married wife #3, he sets the plot in motion with his desire to collect the accrued debt of marital submission from Dot, who was wife #2, with additional principal due to her betrayal of him, plus interest compounded during her extended absence. 

Munch is obsessed with what is owed him, because his interaction with other men and women is transactional.  He is offered money to do a deed, and then a debt is owed.  He announces to a stranger that "I live here now," and "here" is her home.  In exchange, in a reworking of the timely end of Steve Buscemi's "funny looking guy" character in Fargo, the movie, Munch does her the favor of axe-murdering her worthless son.  

Jon Hamm's Roy Tillman sets the plot of Season 5 in motion when he contracts with Munch to kidnap Dot and return her to Tillman.  The kidnapping scene reworks the kidnapping scene in Fargo, the movie, with more unguent.  Munch's accomplice ends up with facial burns and Munch loses much of his ear.  The kidnapping succeeds for a bit, but Dot escapes, killing the accomplice in a manner far more innovative than the wood chipper scene in the movie.  She brains Munch with a shovel, and he comes to his senses enough to vanish before the police arrive.

Both Tillman and Munch think that a contract has been breached.  Tillman plans to have Munch executed for failure to perform.  Munch asserts an affirmative defense of misrepresentation.  He had been told to kidnap a woman.  Tillman did not mention that the woman was, in fact, a tiger.  Kidnapping a tiger is a very different job from kidnapping a woman.  It requires different personnel decisions and more consideration.  Munch eventually blinds his would-be executioner (Tillman's son, Gator, whom you might know as Steve from Stranger Things), and he frees the Tiger so that she can do what she needs to do.

In the final scene, we learn that Dot and Munch have very different conceptions of contracts, and I think Dot has the stronger argument.  He explains, referring to himself, as he usually does, in the third person, "A man's flesh was taken.  Now a pound is required in return."  Dot replies, after enlisting the giant, kilt-wearing mercenary to help her make biscuits, that she was not a party to any contract.  He took on a risk.  She was just the table on which he stubbed his toe.  The table doesn't owe him anything and being mad at the table doesn't make a lot of sense.  

Moreover, she adopts a contextual approach to debt.  Dot's first husband (Roy), her mother-in-law (Lorraine), and Munch are all obsessed with debt collection.  Roy collects debts that are not due or at least are not due to him. Lorraine enriches herself at the expense of the less fortunate without compassion.  On the contrary, she judges people for their misfortune, and subjects them to her will.  Munch tries to explain that he has a code, and the code requires that debts be paid.  

Dot isn't having it.  She has a counterargument.  Sometimes debts can't be paid.  She asks, "Isn't the better thing, the more humane thing, to say the debt should be forgiven?"  The message might as well be intended for Lorraine, who, in her own small way, still consistent with her transactional approach to life, has learned this lesson.  She has freed Indira Olmstead, the police officer leading the investigation into Dot's kidnapping, from the her debts by making Indira part of her security team.  Indira's debt, by the way, is the product of her husband's irresponsibility and some student loans.  She leaves her husband, whom she catches in flagrente delicto, suggesting that he can leave the toilet seat up on somebody else's life from now on.  And soon she is running Lorraine's security team and serving as her bodyguard, perhaps softening Lorraine ever so slightly with her compassion.

Munch, who has known nothing but suffering at the hands of other men, views contracts much as Karl Marx did.  They reduce human interactions to their cash nexus and alienate us from our species-being.  All Munch knows of the world is sin -- greed, envy, disgust -- and the world he encounters contains nothing but bitterness.

Dot has a different perspective.  She responds to Munch with empathy.  Her family chatters on irrelevantly and performs their wonted rituals.  This forgotten version of humanity surprises Munch.  He has come to seek his pound of flesh but his thought and his violent deeds are arrested.  He does not yet comprehend what he is witnessing but he cannot bring himself to end the encounter.

While Munch has come to collect his pound of flesh, Dot's ditzy husband Wayne reminds them that the game is on at seven.  It's time to set the table, and Dot notes pointedly to Munch, it's a school night.  In the Marxian transactional world governed by the cash nexus, these statements have no value.  A debt is owed; it must be paid.  Talk of sports, or table-setting, or school nights is irrelevant.  But in Dot's contextual world, talk of debt collection must yield to life's more pressing matters, even if each of those matters is of small consequence.  The debt will still be there once the game is over, the table has been set, the meal has been eaten, and Dot's daughter has gone to bed.  

And then Dot offers him a new experience.  Consume something that was not created for its exchange value and is not the product of sin.  Consume something made with "love and joy.  And be forgiven."  Well, that's laying it on a bit thick.  But still, the point is that exchange, including contractual exchange, does not have to be divorced from fellow-feeling.  Dot realizes the potential of mutually beneficial transactions undertaken between parties who want to enhance each other's well-being.  She responds to Munch's Marxian perspective with that of a Karl Llewellyn or an Arthur Corbin and restores the humanitas to human exchanges.  Sometimes, the debt will never be paid, because life is not all bitterness and pain.  It also can be filled with love and joy, if you just fill your mouth with the right stuff.

How can this scene possibly be convincing?  How can an ancient warrior be swayed by the taste of home-made biscuits?  I have no great faith in the comfort foods of the upper Midwest.  But the acting makes the scene, although each of the characters is a bit off, seem natural.  I am convinced that Munch's perspective is altered because that is what I see in Sam Spruell's face as he eats the biscuit.  I don't know if Sam Spruell is a method actor, but he achieves what method acting is supposed to achieve.  He is not acting.  He is experiencing what the character experiences and that why I can accept this other-worldly encounter with an other-worldly character as right at home in my world.

This was a great season of Fargo, and when we got to episode 8 out of 10, I began to worry that there just wasn't enough time to wrap it all up.  They did, with a bow.  But then the coda, a three-act play in Dot Lyon's living room/dining room, moved the series into a new realm, that of transcendence.

Do yourself a favor and watch!

Weekend Frivolity: Contractual Chivalry

We learned from Simon Gallager, writing on Screen Rant,  that director Matthew Vaughan quit as director of the X-Men III movie, despite his great success with earlier iterations of the franchise.  Mr. Vaughan claims that he quit in protest of a dirty trick that the studio was planning to play on Halle Berry (right).

According to Mr. Vaughan, the studio was trying to lure Ms. Berry back into the sequel by representing that it would have a much more prominent story line for Ms. Berry's character, Storm, than they actually planned to give her.  Mr. Vaughan discovered the script and thought it was an interesting idea -- it opened with Storm saving an African community during a drought by -- you guessed it! -- making it rain.  The executives told Vaughan that the script was just a ploy to get Ms. Berry to sign on for the sequel.  Once she had signed, their plan was to pitch the script . 

Mr. Vaughan took note of how they treated an Academy Award winning actor and decided he did not want to work for the studio.  Vaughan got the "You'll never work in this town again" speech.  I thought it was "You'll never have lunch in this town again." No? Anyway, he came back and made another X-Men film . I'm sure it was great.

All's well that ends well, I suppose.  Ms. Berry did get a larger role in X-Men, although there was no scene in which Storm saves Africans from a drought.  Instead, she took over Charles Xavier's school for mutants.  Taking over for Patrick Stewart?  Tough act to follow, but a nice coup for Ms. Berry.

The story highlights one of the many areas where my life experience as an academic limits my knowledge of how contracts work in the real world.  Clearly, scripts change in production all the time.  Scenes, perhaps whole characters perish with the other detritus on the cutting room floor.  We all know of Shirley MacLaine's case over Bloomer Girls, and Sandra Locke's suit over "Clint's deal."  I can't recall a suit over an editing decision.  Is there relevant contract language?  Does relational contracts theory explain why such suits rarely arise?

Instead of X-Men III, Mr. Vaughan made Stardust, an adaptation of a Neil Gaiman novel.  What the heck was I doing in 2007?  Claire Danes, Robert DeNiro, Michelle Pfeiffer, and a host of others!

A Unilateral Offer from Ring

Not an Alien

When OCU law 1L Dubelza Galvan (left) shared this story with me, I thought it would make a good weekend frivolity post.  But then I saw the there are "Official Rules" that govern the offer, and reading those felt non-frivolous.  So here we are.  Thanks a lot, Dubelza.

So Ring is a company that makes doorbells with cameras attached so that you can see who is at your door and, if you live in the United States, arm yourself appropriately.  If you live in Canada, you can see who is at your door and decide whether you should offer your guest fresh-baked pastries or a Molson.

As announced on the company's website, Ring is offering $1 million to anyone who captures footage of an extraterrestrial on their indoor or outdoor device between now and November 3rd.   Clever participants might already be working on ideas.  After all, Halloween falls between now and November 3rd, so there is a non-negligible chance that some kid will earn me $1 million by showing up as ET or Mork or one of those nasty little guys from Mars Attacks or Boris the Animal ("It's just BORIS") from Men in Black III or that thing from Total Recall that advises Arnold Schwarzenegger, "Open your mind!" or . . . well, you get the idea.

Perhaps an Alien?

Nope.  Ring is all over that.  The "Official Rules" define "extraterrestrial" as:

Any life in the universe originating or occurring outside Earth or its atmosphere. The Extraterrestrial must take up physical space in order to be perceived by humans or cameras and have sufficient technology to be capable of traveling to and surviving within Earth’s atmosphere.

So, what are the rules?

First, you have to be a U.S. resident to play.  Sorry, Canada.  Also, while no purchase is necessary in order to win, you have to own (or have shared access) to a Ring device in order to enter.  So, I guess they mean, no additional purchase necessary.  Once you enter, there are two options.  You can win the GRAND PRIZE by submitting scientific evidence of extraterrestrials recorded on a Ring device. It can't be longer than 1 minute.   "Scientific evidence" is also a defined term.

• “Scientific Evidence” is defined as an unaltered video (with audio) recorded with a Ring device (maximum one (1) minute long) containing ALL of the following criteria (the contents of the unaltered video must be recorded during the Promotion Period with a Ring device without the use of computer graphics, digital effects and/or other artificial elements):

  • The Extraterrestrial exhibiting unusual, extraordinary, or unexplainable behavior (i.e. strange movement, velocity, pattern or other unique morphology).

  • An explanation, within the Promotion Entry Form (as defined below), of why the anomaly is necessarily extraterrestrial in origin (i.e., explanation based on theoretical predictions from the existing scientific literature, recovery and analysis of an Artifact or documentation of Extraterrestrial markings or symbols).

  • The Scientific Evidence must unequivocally rule out any known explanations or any new Earth-based phenomena as an explanation (e.g., equipment malfunction, known aerial objects, atmospheric phenomena, recently discovered terrestrial species)

  • The Scientific Evidence must demonstrate that there was no alteration or malfunction of the Ring device on which it was captured (“Corroboration") (e.g., including footage from an additional camera, correlating audio, or other simultaneously-captured data).

The $1 million grade prize will come in the form of an annuity paid out over twenty years.

Feeling uncertain about whether it is really possible to win the Grand Prize? I have some haunting advice for you:

There will also be five "Out of This World" prizes awarded to people who have some time on their hands or really want a $500 Amazon gift card.  

The criteria for these prizes are as follows:

To be eligible to win the Out of this World Prize, all eligible Option One and Option Two Entries, including any Grand Prize Eligible Entrants who do not win the Grand Prize, will be reviewed by the judging panel comprised of representatives from Ring and Hunter (“Judging Panel”) who will award points according to the following criteria:

• 

  Definitely an Alien
  “extraterrestrial(s)” with the most unique communication style (1-10 points)
• “extraterrestrial(s)” that engaged with their Ring device in the most unique way (1-10 points)
• “extraterrestrial(s)” with the most unique mode of transportation (1-10 points)
• “extraterrestrial(s)” with the most unique costume and accessories (1-10 points)
• “extraterrestrial(s)” that made the Judging Panel laugh the hardest (1-10 points)

In case of a tie, there are additional factors:

• Creativity (1-10 points)
• Visual appeal (1-10 points)
• Humor (1-10 points)

I object, on the ground that the first and third additional factors are duplicative of the original factors and so it all comes down to looks.  Typical.

Taylor Swift Has the Cure for COVID! And It Involves Contracts Law!

Image by Cosmopolitan UK,
CC BY 3.0, via Wikimedia Commons

Is there anything that woman cannot do?  Clearly, she can do anything she sets her mind to do, and if reviving the struggling movie theater business, with carry-on effects for shopping malls and other venues, is a positive externality of Taylor being Taylor, then so be it.  

For those of you who have avoided all human contact for the past decade, Taylor Swift (left) is a singer/songwriter who has had a number of hit songs.  Her international "Eras Tour" broke all imaginable records for successful concert tours, broke the Internet when tickets went on sale, and even generated a seismic event that registered 2.3 on the Richter scale, reportedly due to 70,000 white people trying to dance simultaneously to "You Belong With Me."  

As someone who does not particularly care for Ms. Swift's music but is surrounded by people who do, I have had no choice but to learn some of the details of her career.  So, I know that Ms. Swift does not like to share revenues with media industry bloodsuckers, like record labels and (now) movie studios.  

She has made headlines once again by leaving the studios out of the deal that will bring the Eras Tour to a movie theater near you.  Taylor Swift and her parents have cut the studios out of the process of financing and distributing the film version of her fabulously successful tour.  As Chris Eggertsen, reports on Billboard, the proceeds of the enterprise will be split, with 43% to be shared by the 1000 theaters at which the movie will be shown and 57% to be split between AMC and the Swift family.  Billboard reports (and I find this hard to fathom) that the theaters get to keep proceeds from concessions (fair enough) including from the sale of bespoke Taylor merch to be sold at the screenings (I'll believe it when I see it).  Theaters must agree to show the film for at least four weeks and may keep it up for as long as 26 weeks.  Taylor Swift now aims to beat Starbucks for market penetration.  

And of course, the records for sales for a new movie are dropping like flies.  The movie is not going to be released until October, but it seems like a safe bet that the Swifties will not lose their enthusiasm between now and then.  More likely, only Taylor-inspired bonding will prevent them from beating each other with friendship bracelets as they jostle for position in line.  No studio wants to release anything anywhere close to the release date for Ms. Swift's film, and for the first time in years, there is actually reason to buy AMC stock -- and not just to piss of the investment banks!  If there is a corresponding video game, I would recommend investing in GameStop next. One can anticipate people flocking back to theaters and the shopping malls that house them.  Social behaviors that we had completely forgotten about will return, and before long, we will re-familiarize ourselves with pre-pandemic life.  People will return to work, if only because the water-cooler conversations will now become opportunities to compete for the honors of having seen the movie the most and having bought the most Eras Tour merch.  And all thanks to Ms. Swfit!  

I am a lifelong Cubs fan.  I thought I would never get tired of the song "Go, Cubs, Go."  Then they won the World Series.  The weekend of the victory parade, I took a train into Chicago to attend Loyola Chicago's annual Constitutional Law Colloquium.  The train lasts about an hour, and my fellow Cubs fans were irrepressible, breaking out into song at the slightest provocation and with no regard to pitch or timbre.  I was relieved to step off of the train at my destination station, where "Go, Cubs, Go" was playing over the public address system.  I'd had it.  I was officially tired of the song.  Will the Swifties ever tire of their darling.  All signs point to no.  Well, let them enjoy their pleasure.

Twenty-six weeks may be enough, but expect it to have an afterlife akin to that of the Rocky Horror Picture Show, with dedicated Swifties heading out week after week to the Saturday night showing of The Eras Tour, complete with a pre-show costumes, Karaoke contests, and Taylor-wannabe talent shows.  And of course, the entire concert will be a sing-along punctuated by shrieks and shouts of adoration directed at the image of the singer.

AMC has visions of "Taylorstyle" deals moving forward.  That seems unlikely.  Her charms are lost on me, but they are undeniably unique and powerful.  I cannot think of another performing artist who could replicate this deal.  Maybe Beyonce? And just so that my Swiftie students will actually look at this blog, here's the trailer:

 

Guest Post by Otto Stockmeyer on Wood v. Boynton and Murph the Surf

Otto Stockmeyer (left) has taught at the WMU-Cooley Law faculty since 1977. He has also taught as a visiting professor at California Western School of Law and Mercer University Law School, and in the "Down Under" Foreign Study Program.  He has taught Contracts, Criminal Law, Equity/Remedies, Legal Writing, and Research & Writing

A three-time recipient of the Stanley E. Beattie Teaching Award, Professor Stockmeyer was named national Outstanding Professor in 1985 by Delta Theta Phi Law Fraternity. He has also received the Socrates Award from the Hellenic Bar Association and the Student Bar Association's first Barrister Award.

Professor Stockmeyer is the editor and co-author of the book Michigan Law of Damages (1989) and is the author of articles in a wide variety of professional journals and newsletters. He is a past president of Scribes — the American Society of Legal Writers. In 2009, he was named to the ABA Communication Skills Committee. You can find his recent publications on SSRN.

A former president of the Michigan State Bar Foundation, Professor Stockmeyer has also served on the State Bar Board of Commissioners and in the ABA House of Delegates. He is a Life Fellow of the Michigan and American Bar Foundations and was named Professional of the Year by the Michigan Association of the Professions.

The Lansing State Journal recognized Professor Stockmeyer in 1988 as one of mid-Michigan's "88 Greats" for his service to the community and the legal profession. He was profiled in Michigan Lawyers Weekly as one of Michigan's "Leaders in the Law" in 2005.

Professor Stockmeyer's post follows:

I haven’t taught Wood v. Boynton in a decade. But I remain intrigued by its dramatic backstory. So I was excited to learn that MGM+ is streaming a four-part series on the life of Jack Roland Murphy: “Murf the Surf: Jewels, Jesus and Mayhem in the USA.”

Episode 1, “The Heist,” covers Jack’s sensational 1964 theft of world-renown gems. His haul included the “Eagle Diamond” (left), the mystery stone at issue in Wood’s case. Presumably upcoming episodes will detail Jack’s subsequent major life events: a double-murder conviction, self-proclaimed prison conversion, parole, ministry, and recent death.

I prefer the less-dramatic 1992 American Justice documentary “Murph the Surf” (Season 1, Episode 3). It’s narrated by lawyer-commentator Bill Kurtis. A 1975 movie (“Live a Little, Steal a Lot: The True Story of ‘Murph the Surf’”) is also based on his exploits. Whether “Murf” or “Murph,” Jack Murphy led a cinematic life, for sure.

My blog post “The Adventure of the One-Dollar Diamond“ includes links to more information on Wood’s aftermath. I should have included Jack’s slim autobiography “Jewels for the Journey” (1989).

Re-Post: Eric Goldman Reviews Netflix's "Pepsi, Where's My Jet?"

Review of the “Pepsi, Where’s My Jet?” Netflix Documentary
Eric Goldman
Technology and Marketing Law Blog

In the mid-1990s, at the height of the Cola Wars, Pepsi ran an ad to introduce its “Pepsi Stuff” loyalty program, including a featured prize of a Harrier Jet for 7M points–a ridiculously high number that was supposed to signal that it was a joke. Watch the ad. However, Pepsi also sold points for 10 cents each, putting a $700k price tag on a jet that was allegedly worth tens of millions of dollars (assuming it could be acquired at all–the US government frowns on individual citizens owning military equipment).

John Leonard, backed by a rich friend Todd Hoffman (who looks like George Carlin), tendered $700k and ordered 1 Harrier Jet. Pepsico declined; they sent him coupons for a couple of cases of Pepsi instead. Leonard retained a lawyer and made legal threats. Pepsi preemptively sued Leonard in its home court of SDNY. Judge Wood’s opinion concluded that the ad objectively did not communicate an offer due to its humor, so no contract ever formed and Leonard didn’t get his Harrier jet. Wood’s opinion is relatively dry, but it’s become a staple of the contracts law canon because of its fun facts and its precise analysis.

Because this case is so iconic, I was excited to see the new Netflix documentary, “Pepsi, Where’s My Jet?” The documentary interviews key figures in the case, many of whom are still alive, and it’s fabulous to hear them tell their stories in their own words.

Despite that, the documentary was disappointing overall. If you’re a contracts or advertising law nerd like I am, you’re going to watch it no matter what I say. But I had hoped the documentary might become a must-see pedagogical supplement for anyone reading the case, and I don’t think it gets there.

The documentary is framed around the cross-generational bromance between GenXer Leonard and his financial sponsor, Boomer Hoffman. Obviously that relationship is at the story’s heart because there was no case without Hoffman’s largesse. However, the filmmakers repeatedly steered the narrative into the bromance, such as seemingly irrelevant segments showing Leonard and Hoffman recently summitting Mt. Vinson in Antarctica (an impressive, but very expensive, accomplishment).

The documentary was split into four episodes, totaling over 2.5 hours. It would have been much better packed into a single 90 minute episode, but instead it felt like the filmmakers padded the narrative with tangents and dead-ends to reach the target length.

Also, the documentary includes many historical reenactments, many of which were unnecessary and not compelling. I am not a fan of recreations in documentaries.

The actual legal ruling gets surprisingly little airtime in the back half of the fourth episode, and the filmmakers did a poor job of contextualizing it. For example, long-standing contracts law doctrine says that advertisements ordinarily are an invitation to make an offer and not an offer themselves, which the documentary doesn’t mention. The documentary repeatedly mentions that many consumers, especially teens, would have taken the ad seriously, but the documentary only offers Team Pepsi’s rebuttals and a few words from the opinion to counter this view. The filmmakers surely could have interviewed some independent experts in contracts law or the advertising industry to supplement the parties’ self-interested statements, and many of them would have sided emphatically with Team Pepsi. By omitting the independent voice, the filmmakers betrayed their normative agenda.

Similarly, the filmmakers styled the case as a David v. Goliath battle. Indeed, it was, but the filmmakers didn’t aggressively question Leonard’s motives. (Instead, the documentary spent a minute or two indulging in overly speculative conspiratorial theories about Pepsi malfeasance that should have been cut). Sure, Pepsi is the big bad company, and surely Pepsi could have easily made safer legal choices in how it presented the jet. At the same time, it’s impossible not to feel like Leonard was an opportunist who used the law, and then media pressure, to improperly seek something he knew he wasn’t really entitled to. For every story of big companies squashing little consumers, there’s another story of little consumers gaming the legal system to extract undeserved cash from big companies and subtracting social value. Leonard’s story really could be told either way. A different filmmaker might have included some counternarrative material that Leonard’s legal efforts were a wasteful and venal abuse of the legal system, along the lines of Harris v. Time. The documentary suffers by not offering that self-reflective/critical perspective.

Some other details I learned:

• At one point, Pepsi considered sending Leonard a model of a Harrier jet. That reminded me of the Toyota/Toy Yoda case.
• Leonard turned down a $1M settlement offer because he really, really wanted the jet. Ah, youthful exuberance. I was shouting at the screen for him to take the cash.
• The ad designers had initially storyboarded a 700M point price tag for the Harrier jet, but during ad review, someone said that number was too hard to read, so two zeros got dropped to make it less cluttered. Oops.
• Pepsi simultaneously ran the same ad in Canada and put a “just kidding” disclaimer on the 7M point price.
• Now-disgraced lawyer Michael Avenatti was involved in the case, principally as a PR advisor/opposition researcher because he was still in law school at the time. Avenatti advised Leonard to launch an attack ad campaign against Pepsi that sounded similar to the scheme he deployed against Nike that sent him to jail. That part of the video was painful to watch.

Other things the documentary should have addressed but did not:

• How much money Leonard/Hoffman spent on the case and why they repeatedly doubled-down despite the adverse developments.
• Why they didn’t appeal the district court decision.
• What, if any, life lessons Leonard took away from his experiences. Knowing what he knows now, would he have made the same choices? He did say he perhaps regretted not taking the settlement offer, but I would have liked to hear more about his meta-reflections after 25 years of life experience.
• In 2014, a (non-functional) Harrier jet sold at auction for $200k. This datapoint makes Pepsi’s 7M point pricetag seem actually quite reasonable, not like a joke at all. Then again, if Leonard really wanted a Harrier jet, his $700k offer was above-market, and he could have fulfilled his dream at a lower cost. I’m disappointed the documentary filmmakers didn’t raise this development because it puts the case in a whole new light.

Though it was completely irrelevant to the story, the filmmakers had many of their interview subjects take the Pepsi Challenge. I won’t spoil the fun by revealing which soda won this completely nonscientific test, but I will note that both Coke and Pepsi have lost the war as consumer tastes have evolved and consumers now drink less sugary sodas overall.

Quentin Tarantino Settles NFT Case

Back in January, co-blogger Nancy Kim alerted us all to a fight involving Quentin Tarantino's rights to NFT of scenes from Pulp Fiction, the greatest movie ever.  Citizen Kane? The Seven Samurai? The Seventh Seal?  The Princess Bride?  Morons!  

Anyway, last week, Eli Tan of Coindesk brought news of a settlement.  Tan reports that the first NFT that Mr. Tarantino put up for sale went for over $1 million.  Miramax claimed that it owned the rights to Pulp Fiction, but did it own the rights to an NFT, created much later?  The parties settled their dispute and hinted at plans to jointly distribute NFTs in the future.

C'mon Quentin!  It used to be about the art!  It's about some real token, not some digital token.  Something you would risk everything for -- like going back to your apartment to recover something of purely sentimental value when you know that an assassin is waiting for you there.   It was about something so pure that everyone just looked on it with wonder, and you were willing to give Ringo and Honey-Bunny your wallet just to protect it.  See, money is not what you are after!  You are after that moment of enlightenment when you appreciate the little differences that make Europe special, like being able to walk into a McDonald's and order a Royale with cheese.  Or the delight in winning, incontrovertibly, an argument over whether a foot massage is sexual. 

NFT's are like art dressed up in somebody else's clothing, so that even the coolest of customers end up looking like dorks!  

Now you're the dork, Quentin.  Have you always been the dork?

Countdown: A Horror Film About Terms of Service

A student told me about Countdown, so I had to watch it.  I'm not gonna lie.  It's terrible.  But it's also kitschy fun if you like the genre and are obsessed with terms of service.  

The premise is simple.  And yes, ***SPOILER ALERT***: I am going to reveal some plot details!  If you are so addicted to schlocky horror films that you can't bear to miss this one, even though, I assure you, it is after-school-special-style bad, read no further

A bunch of young people discover an app that predicts when you will die.  They all download it for yucks.  First mistake.  None of them bothers to read the terms of service.  Second mistake.  One learns that she will die in a matter of hours.  So she loses the contest.  Drink up, girl!  As the time of her projected death nears, she decides not to let her chivalrous but drunk boyfriend drive her home.  Third mistake.

If only she had read the terms of service!  Then she would know that trying to evade your appointment with death unleashes a creepy demon who then hunts you down and kills you.  That right, if you don't die, you DIE!  And the demon isn't nice about it either.  It subjects you to a series of jump scares before finally killing you (mostly offscreen, because this movie is PG-13).  The young people attempt various schemes to escape their fates.  They delete the app; they buy new phones; they enlist a priest, but this is not The Exorcist. 

In the end good triumphs over evil.  Or does it . . . ?  Countdown 2.0 makes an eery appearance on the hero's phone.   This could be the best horror sequel since The Crows Have Eyes 3: The Crowening.

I wish I could say that Countdown is a thoughtful rumination on our times, like Don't Look Up or Bridgerton.  But no.  If you want serious reflection on living in the age of Terms of Service, I recommend South Park's Humancentipad episode.

H/t: OCU 2l, Jordan Kimball.

Weekend Frivolity:* This Is About Love for Bill Murray and Groundhog Day

Not about whatever stupid vehicle this ad is trying to get us to buy.

Frivolity may not have any contracts-related content.

Quentin Tarantino gets sued, demonstrating that NFTs are about contracts after all

I’m excited to teach copyright this semester and while I miss teaching contracts, there is a lot of synergy between the two subjects.  So, I was interested to read that the director Quentin Tarantino is being sued by Miramax in an action claiming copyright infringement and breach of contract.  The lawsuit involves Tarantino’s efforts to auction pages of the script from Pulp Fiction as non-fungible tokens or NFTs. 

(Readers of this blog are of course familiar with NFTs, thanks to Juliet Moringiello and Christopher Odinet’s article and Jeremy Telman’s blog post on it here).

The issue is whether Tarantino owns the rights to the NFTs.  That will depend on the contract between Tarantino and Miramax and whether the language the parties used was broad enough to capture this type of technology – technology that wasn’t contemplated at the time the parties entered into their agreement.

 

Weekend Frivolity: It's A Wonderful Life Is a Reverse Chanukah Miracle

Thanks to Berkeley Law Prof Orin Kerr's Twitter feed, I came across this BBC story about how It's a Wonderful Life slipped through a copyright loophole and so became a holiday classic.  It is, hands down, my favorite Christmas movie.  I watched it over and over for years, and now I know why. The BBC story explains that the movie's success is a Chanukah miracle in reverse.  It's limited availability for distribution and broadcast was supposed to last 56 years.  But due to an oversight, its copyright lapsed after 28 years, and it entered the public domain in 1974.  

After that, the movie was fair game.  Anyone could show it, and they did.  The movie did not even break even when it was initially released (c'mon 1946, what's the matter with you people?).  Widely available after 1974, for the first time, It's a Wonderful Life became a real hit.  By the way, The Princess Bride followed a similar trajectory, although it made some profits when originally released.  No man is a hero to his valet.  Perhaps the same is true of at least some great movies, whose appeal escapes the notice of their intended audiences.

Sometimes dismissed as "Capra-corn," a dig at the seemingly sentimental fare produced by director Frank Capra, It's a Wonderful Life can be loved for its darkness.  There is a scene when George Bailey, having been turned away by his unrecognizably grim, dour, hostile mother, races to the picket fence in front of his family home, transformed into a boarding house for the damned.  The camera catches George's face as he regards his suddenly unfamiliar surroundings.  He is panicked, lost, terrified, uncomprehending, and alone.  In short, It's a Wonderful Life unblinkingly captures the very opposite of the Christmas spirit.  The film depicts the bleak reality into which our happy lives can so easily devolve.  As a result, the film's sentimental ending is well-earned.  Both George and the viewers have gone through hell on earth.  Even Clarence was tossed out into the unforgiving snow. 

Don't worry, Potter, your time is still to come.

And yet, here's the scene that gets me every time.  Pure Capra corn comes at 3:35 of this clip.  Can't get enough!

Attaboy, Clarence.  And to all a good night.

George Harrison's Residuals and Apple

Now that I have finished grading exams, I can return to loftier thoughts.  I have watched the first episode of "Get Back," Peter Jackson's edition of the recordings that preceded the Beatles' last live concert.  Here's a teaser with a typically overlong introduction from the director: 

I'm enjoying it.  We paused our viewing not because we lost interest but because we want to watch with family who will be with us over this holidays.  Still, I write to raise a contractual question to which the Internet has been unable to provide an answer.

I don't think it's really possible to provide spoilers to a documentary about a fifty-year-old recording session, but of course George's abrupt (and fortunately fleeting) departure from the band is one of the more dramatic moments in the documentary.  After George leaves, the Beatles' road manager says something about paying George his residuals, but then someone (I'm not sure who, maybe John) says, “He shouldn’t be bothered with that. You know, that’s why we’ve got Apple, so we attend to it ourselves.” 

It's rather shocking how quickly the focus moves from making music and creating immortal songs on the fly to contractual concerns.  But also, what are they talking about?  George's residuals from what?  From everything the band had done up until the moment he pissed off?  From the planned live concert performance of a proposed fourteen new songs?  And did these musical geniuses also have the legal acumen to create a corporation that would seamlessly address all contingencies, including George walking out in the middle of a session?  Beatles lives and Beatles lore has been picked over with fetishistic obsessions.  Has anybody unpacked their corporate structure?

When You've Finished Grading Question 2 . . .

But need a break before proceeding to Question 3 . . . 

Enjoy.

Teaching Restitution through The Incredibles

When I first started teaching Contracts law in 2005, I could assume that my students would be familiar with the the film, The Incredibles.  Their knowledge of the film made teaching restitution/unjust enrichment really easy.  I can no longer make that assumption.  In fact, mentions of the film now lead to confused conversations about which Incredibles movie I mean, how many there were, and which is the best (the original, obviously).  And so, I now have to schedule a screening outside of class time, to familiarize my students with the material.  As I explain to the students, it may be possible to cover this material without talking about The Incredibles, but I certainly don't know how to do it.

Mr. Incredible, Elastigirl, and Frozone routinely confer benefits on the public.  Are they entitled to restitution?  No, because they do not confer those benefits in expectation of payment.  Note how this scene does not end with any payment either for the dislodgment of the cat from the tree or for the assistance provided to the police.

Okay, but one would expect that Edna Mode gets paid for the supersuits she designs for her customers.  After all, her house is spectacular.  She must be making money somehow.  Can she, demand payment from Elastigirl when she makes supersuits for the entire Incredibles family?

No, Edna is quite obviously an officious intermeddler.  Elastigirl doesn't want the suits.  She has no need for the suits.  Jack-Jack doesn't even have any powers.  It doesn't matter how much work Edna put into the suits; she has not conferred a benefit on the family when the family doesn't want the suits.

However, things change once Elastigirl and the children set off in search of Mr. Incredible.  They end up using the suits, thus ratifying the transaction and cleansing it of its original, officious character.  The Incredibles now should pay Edna for the suits, assuming that is what one does.

There remains only the problematic opening sequence.  The scene is problematic both for its negative depiction of the legal profession and for the, I believe, faulty assumption that the law would award damages to a person whose suicide attempt was thwarted but who was injured in the process.  The law assumes that life is better than death, and so likely would regard the frustrated suicide attempt as a good, both to the plaintiff and to society as a whole.  

Fortunately, proper legal order is restored at the end of the film when the Incredibles and Frozone thwart Syndrome and save the city.  Supers are now free to return to their traditional practice of providing gratuitous material benefits to an adoring public.

Sid DeLong on Protecting IP Post-Mortem, Part II

“D” is for Dead Hand Control (Part 2)
Sidney DeLong

As discussed in yesterday's post, contract alone cannot achieve Grafton’s goal of post-mortem control of her copyrights. Suppose that students in their third year of law school were given the same problem:

“You are counsel to Sue Grafton. She wants to make sure that none of her alphabet series is ever adapted for the screen after her death. What solutions can you suggest and how confident are you that they will work?”

How would they advise Grafton to prevent post-mortem owners of her copyrights from licensing her books for dramatization in film? Copyright is intellectual property which, like real property, can be conceived as a bundle of rights, a bundle that can be disaggregated into separate “twigs” by its owner. Students who have studied copyright might suggest splitting off the screen rights from the rest of the copyright. To assure that those rights will be enforced against infringers, the rights could be assigned to an institutional owner who will have incentives to prevent unauthorized filming.  The owners of the balance of interests in the copyrights, whether her family or third parties, will be able to profit from the copyrights without violating Grafton’s injunction.

But even though Grafton has strong views about how her work is to be exploited, she may be reluctant to part with any of her control while she is alive. After all, she may change her mind. She may prefer to retain the potential to license screening while she is alive but wish to extinguish it only after death.

The attempt to control the post-death use of one’s property is a familiar objective in the law of trusts and estates, where lawyers are trained to devise ways to achieve dead hand control for their living clients but are also trained in the difficulties that such devices may raise.  Students who have studied trusts might suggest transferring Grafton’s copyrights to an inter vivos trust, administered by a trusted person or an institutional trustee who will be instructed exactly how to manage the copyrights, including the prohibition against ever licensing them for filming. The trustee would collect royalties and other income generated by the copyrights and disburse it to the income beneficiaries, presumably Grafton’s family. The trust would last for the statutory duration of the copyrights. There would seem to be no residual interest at the end of the trust.

But an immediate transfer of her copyrights to a trust might not be acceptable to Grafton. Most clients active in businesses want to retain complete control of their business property and are reluctant to transfer their property to a trust before they die. If sufficient control cannot be achieved by an inter vivos trust, the best trust solution might be a testamentary trust that arises only upon the death of the settlor but that would otherwise provide the same protection.

The trust seems to be the best solution to Grafton’s problem. An inferior option would be to make conditional testamentary gifts of the copyrights, subject to conditions that would effectively prevent the copyrights from being licensed for prohibited purposes. This strategy invokes some of the principles of future interests that are studied in property law. But conditional testamentary gifts are very difficult to enforce against disobedient heirs for a host of reasons, both practical and theoretical. Indeed, the chief advantage of trusts is to avoid such problems. This may lead most students of trust law to resent all the effort they expended memorizing the law of future interests in Property class.

All of the students who have studied decedents’ estates would warn Grafton that if she dies intestate having failed to dispose of her copyrights in life, the copyrights will simply descend to her heirs under the laws of intestate succession, and subject to any special provisions of The Copyright Act.

But contract, copyright, and trust law are not by any means the only relevant fields. Students who have taken family law would caution that any attempt by will to divest a spouse of an interest in a copyright might fail on two grounds. The copyrights may be community property in which the surviving spouse owns 50% regardless of the decedent’s will. In a non-community property state, then, depending on the value of the copyrights in relation to the rest of her estate, they may be property as to which the disinherited spouse has an elective share, e.g. of 33%. Elective share rights can usually be defeated only by inter vivos transfers. These rights may also complicate the attempt to transfer the copyrights to a testamentary trust.

As noted above, to transfer ownership of the copyrights directly to the family will also subject them to the claims of creditors of the family members and possibly result in their transfer to those creditors or to a bankruptcy trustee. Those new owners of the copyrights will of course be free to exploit them in any way they choose. This risk also argues for a trust solution to the problem, where creditors will be able to attach only the beneficial interests of the heirs and not the trust property itself.

The attempt to enforce promises relevant to a copyright might need to be secured by a security interest in the copyright, whose validity will be determined by Article 9 and the Copyright Act.

And always waiting in the wings are students who have studied tax law, especially estate and gift taxation. They will caution that all of these transactional solutions to Grafton’s problem may have favorable or unfavorable tax consequences to Grafton and her heirs. Both income and gift and estate tax considerations may be relevant. Failure to consider tax consequences is a common form of estate planning malpractice and might equally be malpractice even by the lawyer who never studied tax in law school because she thinks of herself as practicing contract law rather than estate planning.

Finally, class discussion of Grafton’s case should also invite comment from students of jurisprudence. I believe that it shows that law, like art, can sometimes permit a person to achieve a form of immortality, or at least to cheat death for a bit.  Ars may be longa, and vita may be brevis, but copyright lasts for vita+70 years.

Lessons of the Case for Law School Curricula: Students who are taught to take a client-centered, transactional approach to the practice of law will soon learn that a negotiated, contractual agreement is only one of many legal mechanisms or tools that can be used to achieve a client’s goals. Often it is not the best one. In the bloom and buzz of practice, client problems will usually not come neatly siloed in ways that conform to the law school curriculum divisions.

Creating the best solution for even the simplest client problem requires an understanding of many different legal domains. The ability to spot the myriad legal issues involved must come from knowledge the lawyer has when the problem is presented. At the issue spotting stage, there is no time to learn tax law or trust law when on an “as needed” or “just in time” basis. A lawyer unfamiliar with the entire gamut of private law will be unable to give good advice. In this age of “curriculum reform” in which students are studying less and less “doctrinal” law before graduation (sometimes with the misleading assurance that they can learn it later), that is particularly worrisome.

Post Script.

To a hammer everything looks like a nail. A lawyer engaged to resolve Grafton”s problem would naturally proffer a legal solution using one of the strategies mentioned above. But what if the lawyer went beyond a legal solution and asked Grafton why exactly she wanted to prevent the dramatization of her characters. The lawyer could remind her not only of the income that movies could generate but also of the vastly broader audience for her work and likely stimulus for her book sales.

And dramatization need not lead to disappointment with the product. Many great mystery writers have seen their characters brought to the screen with great success. The literary reputations of Agatha Christie, Erle Stanley Gardner and John Mortimer have only been enhanced by actors’ distinctive representations of Hercule Poirot, Jane Marple, Perry Mason, and Horace Rumpole. In some of these cases, the authors had significant input into the filming of their work.

Grafton’s experience as a screenwriter had taught her that a novel could be butchered by Hollywood ending up unrecognizable to the author. What if there was a way that she could supervise the video representation with approval not only of the script but the actors? Perhaps she could make a deal with someone she trusted to bring her work to life with fidelity to her conceptions.

Any lawyer who is asked to provide a legal solution to Grafton’s problem should have this discussion. But where in law school does a fledgling lawyer learn to ask such questions or to make such suggestions? Aside from courses in estate planning, where such interrogation of a testator may be common, law school rarely trains lawyers to look for non-legal solutions to client problems.  Perhaps, like medical schools, law schools should become more oriented toward representing the whole client. Law students should be taught not only to look for non-legal solutions to problems but to draw on their knowledge and experience in helping their clients.

And even when the solution to a client’s problem might be clear, there remains uncertainty. Before his death, Franz Kafka sent a letter to his friend and publisher Max Brod commanding him to burn all of his unpublished manuscripts when he died. Both men were lawyers. After Kafka died, Brod ignored his friend’s injunction and arranged for the completion and publication of The Trial and The Castle and other works that Kafka hoped would never see the light of day. Brod rationalized his disobedience by arguing that Kafka must surely have known that, as his greatest admirer, Brod would never be able to bring himself to burn any of Kafka’s work. Therefore, Brod reasoned, Kafka must not have really intended his order to be obeyed.

Whether this was a subtle and impressive interpretative strategy or a slick piece of self-justifying rhetoric, whether it was an act of fidelity or betrayal, the world seems not to care: we are all indebted to Brod for frustrating his friend’s last wish and so share in his guilt. The world of mystery fans may similarly profit from the frustration of Grafton’s wishes for dead hand control of her work.

Sid DeLong on the Scarlett Johansson Suit Against Disney/Marvel

INDUCING BREACH OF CONTRACT: A STUDY IN SCARLETT

Sidney W. DeLong

The tort of inducing breach of contract continues to fascinate. In Periwinkle Entertainment Inc. v The Walt Disney Co., Scarlett Johansson (left), the star of Black Widow sued Disney for tortiously inducing Marvel Studios, a subsidiary of Disney, to breach its contract with her.  The complaint alleges that Marvel entered into a contract with Johansson to act in Black Widow. Because Johansson’s compensation was largely to be determined by box office receipts, the contract required Marvel to make an exclusive “wide theatrical release” of the film for a period of time, “the standard exclusive theatrical window.” Instead, citing the COVID pandemic, Disney caused its subsidiary Marvel to release the movie simultaneously with Disney’s release of the movie through its streaming service, Disney+. Viewers were permitted to watch the movie without going to theaters, which Johansson alleges diverted revenues from theaters, costing her millions.

The complaint provokes several questions. Johansson sued only Disney, not Marvel. Normally, claims of tortious inducement against a third party are joined with claims for breach of contract against the contract breacher. Various reasons relating to preclusion on factual and legal issues dictate that the all defendants should be bound by the same action. Then why did Johansson not sue Marvel as well as Disney? Did its contract contain a mandatory arbitration clause (and if not, why not?)? If it did, then the arbitration clause, if well-drafted, should have included claims against Marvel’s parent, Disney. That shoe may drop later.

The complaint pleads two counts of tortiously inducing breach. Normally a parent company should not be liable for causing a subsidiary to breach a contract. A court usually ignores the separate identities of parent and sub in claims that have concerted activity as an element (cf. the “bathtub conspiracy” cases in antitrust). But here it seems that the parent had an economic motive to divert revenue from the sub to its streaming services and away from Johansson by causing the sub to delay theater release of the film, in violation to its contractual obligation to Johansson. That seems to justify treating Disney as a separate, third-party who is a stranger to the contract with the sub.

A final question concerns remedies. Perhaps because it was hastily drafted, the complaint is sparse on its remedial prayers, seeking only punitive damages in the separate counts, but adding a catch-all ad damnum for all money damages caused by the tort. Damages for inducement usually equal the expectation damages for breach of the underlying contract. But these expectation damages may be speculative, given the uncertainties of the imaginary box office receipts that would have occurred with a weeks-long exclusive theater release.

But the tort claim, if established, should also justify a restitutionary remedy against Disney, measured by its unjust enrichment resulting from its wrongdoing. That calculation too, may be complex, however if one must determine how much of its streaming revenues were caused by its wrongdoing.  

If another reminder were needed, Periwinkle demonstrates anew that Contracts and Remedies students should be familiarized with the tort of wrongfully inducing breach of contract as another weapon in their litigation arsenal.

More New York Cases!

Thanks again to @NY_Contracts 

There are many things about 136 Field Point Circle Holding Co., LLC v. Razinski that I do not understand.  For example, why would one pay $9 million for the option to purchase a property for $19 million?  And why would one do that if one were not absolutely certain that one could put together the necessary financing so as not to lose the $9 million plus $1 million in liquidated damages?  Fortunately, that is not a contracts law issue. 

The issue that matters to us is whether the $1 million liquidated damages provision is enforceable, and it is.  The liquidated damages were not "grossly disproportionate" in relation to the failure to sell a property valued at between $20 and $30 million.  The Razinskis were proceeding pro se in the matter after the court granted their attorney's motion to withdraw.  That may explain why, although they raised what looked plausible legal theories, the court summarily rejected them as lacking factual support.

I think I do understand the facts underlying Crown Jewels Estate Jewelry, Inc. v Underwriters at Interest at Lloyd's London, and what great facts they are.  Crown Jewels thought it loaned $2 million worth of jewels to Sony International films so that Jennifer Lopez (pictured) could wear them for a shoot in Miami.  In fact, the jeweler was working with an agent for James Sabbatino, a member of the Gambino organized crime family who engineered the heist from his prison cell!  The jewels were never recovered, and Sabbatino was convicted of RICO violations and sentenced to 240 months in prison.  Prison guards uncovered the scheme when they went to his cell looking for the jewels (or perhaps Jennifer Lopez) and found Sabbatino talking on one of his cell phones!  I'm imagining a scene that ends with the words, "Uh, I'm gonna have to call you back." 

Anyway, the contracts issue was whether the jeweler's insurance would cover the loss.  It didn't because of something called the dishonest entrustment exclusion.  The rule applies when "[t]he loss of plaintiff's jewelry resulted from theft or an act of dishonest character on the part of the persons to whom the jewelry was entrusted. It is irrelevant to whom or for what purpose the jewelry was actually or intended to be entrusted." Harsh.

Early Start of Weekend Frivolity: John Waters' 75th Birthday

Today is my last day of teaching for the year.  So it seems appropriate to start the celebration a bit early.  I must have been in college when I saw this PSA before a film, perhaps a European film, perhaps even a double feature.  I haven't forgotten it. 

Realtor Approved: This House Is Not Haunted

This article in the Baltimore Sun, and other similar articles, tell of a realtor who is trying to get out ahead of the story by posting signs outside of the houses she is trying to sell advertising that the houses are verifiably "Not Haunted."  

How can the realtor, Joy Sushinsky, be so sure?  She interviews the sellers, and if they say the house isn't haunted, that's all the evidence Sushinsky needs.  After all, she reasons, "People know if they’re living in a haunted house. And they’ll tell you.”  Would they?  Under Maryland law, they are not required to do so.

The scene in which the prior owners of the house at issue in The Amityville Horror (right) warn the new owners that the house is haunted must have landed on the cutting-room floor.  Similarly, in the Academy-cward-winning short film, The New Tenants, nobody told the eponymous couple of the triple homicide that had occurred in their new apartment and explained its sudden availability (complete with "dead guy chips").  They didn't even get a break on the rent.  

Nonetheless, Sushinsky is convinced based on personal experience.  She lived in a haunted house, as her cat, the Instagram influencer Killer, would attest, were he still alive.  Unfortunately, the odd bumps in the night ended with Killer's death, so Sushinsky cannot introduce reporters to her ghost, although she insists that her dog will back her story.  In the alternative, Sushinsky also suggests that the "Non Haunted" signs are a joke, as we can all use a good laugh.