Intangiblia™
Plain talk about Intellectual Property. Podcast of Intangible Law™
Intangiblia™
Signed, Sued, and Animated: Intellectual Property Clashes of Fictional Legends
Behind every cape, catchphrase, and cartoon lies a labyrinth of legal battles that define who owns our most beloved fictional characters. From courtrooms to corporate boardrooms, the fight for character rights shapes not just entertainment, but billion-dollar empires.
Dive deep with us into fascinating cases that reveal the high-stakes world of character ownership. The Pokémon Company's swift takedown of a $40 million bootleg mobile game shows how fiercely major franchises protect their roster of creatures. Meanwhile, Star Wars faces unexpected challengers as actors from deleted scenes demand £190 million for their likenesses appearing in new content – potentially changing how studios use archival footage forever.
Explore Disney's $10 billion Moana lawsuit, where an animator claims his unpublished screenplay was appropriated for the hit film, raising profound questions about idea ownership in Hollywood. We also examine what happens when copyright protection expires, as Popeye and Tintin enter the public domain only to be immediately reimagined as horror characters and noir detectives.
The emotional battles over El Chavo del Ocho characters demonstrate how performers and creators clash when trying to separate the artist from their iconic role. María Antonieta de las Nieves' landmark victory to perform as La Chilindrina independently stands in stark contrast to Spider-Man's tangled web of rights shared between Sony and Disney in an unprecedented co-licensing arrangement. And who knew that Sherlock Holmes showing emotions could trigger copyright infringement claims?
These stories reveal a fundamental truth: in our character-driven entertainment landscape, intellectual property isn't just about legal documents – it's about who controls the soul of our collective imagination. Subscribe now to explore more fascinating collisions between creativity and the law that shape the characters we love.
Heroes, capes, capers, courtrooms. Oh yes, Welcome to the true origin story you never saw coming, the one where your favorite fictional hero isn't battling a supervillain but a subpoena, Because behind every iconic mask and trademark catchphrase, theirs is ownership, a contract and usually a copyright infringement case waiting to happen. Welcome to Intangiblia, where legends are made and occasionally sued.
Speaker 2:You are listening to Intangiblia, the podcast of intangible law playing talk about intellectual property. Please welcome your host, leticia Caminero.
Leticia Caminero AI:Welcome back to Intangiblia, the podcast where imagination meets litigation. I'm Leticia Caminero, your host here to explore the intellectual property universe with a dash of drama, a pinch of sass and, of course, my AI co-host who never misses a beat Artemisa.
Artemisa AI:And I'm here to turn up the voltage darling. Today we're diving deep into the animated, costumed and cartoonishly dramatic world of fictional characters and the lawsuits that define them. Yes, even your favorite hero can find themselves in court. Spoiler alert even icons need IP lawyers and a litigation budget bigger than a Marvel movie.
Leticia Caminero AI:From Saturday morning cartoons to billion dollar blockbusters. Fictional characters aren't just stories, they're assets, and when someone tries to copy, tweak or reinvent those assets without permission, things get spicy. Let's kick things off with a case as electrifying as a Pikachu Thunderbolt and with just as much shock value. Just a quick note before we continue with season five. This episode was created using some really cool AI tools. We hope you are enjoying this fun and innovative experience. In 2024, the Pokemon company faced off with two Chinese mobile developers who dropped a little game called Pokemon Monster Remake. Now, to the untrained eye, it looked like a cute mobile RPG, but to any Pokemon fan with functioning eyeballs, it was a full-on Pokeclone. Pikachu was yelling Pika, pika with no shame, and Charmander Bulbasaur and their pals were all there just slightly pixelated.
Artemisa AI:It wasn't just a homage, it was an identity theft case with 8-bit graphics. The bootleg app made over $40 million zero cents Before the Pokemon company slammed down a lawsuit like it was using Hyper Beam, the lawsuit didn't even make it to a courtroom boss battle.
Leticia Caminero AI:The developers tapped out, issued a very public apology and shut down the game. But it wasn't just about money. It was about protecting decades of character equity. You can't just clone the most merchandised creatures in gaming history and hope nobody notices.
Artemisa AI:Unless your business model is catch some coins, then vanish. Don't play in the Pokemon sandbox without permission. The IP lesson inspiration is fine, but if Pikachu's screaming in your app, you better have a contract signed in triplicate.
Leticia Caminero AI:Let's take a hyperspace jump into the Star Wars galaxy, Not just the cinematic one, but the legal empire that powers it behind the scenes. From the moment George Lucas realized lightsabers could pay for luxury ranches, Star Wars became one of the most brilliantly managed IP from Pokeclone. Pikachu was yet Lucasfilm and now Disney. Didn't just build a saga, they built a fortress. Everything from the term Yeti to the shape of Darth Vader's helmet is protected. We're talking dozens of registered trademarks, design patents on ships and costumes, and sprawling copyright registrations across films, shows, comics, merch and more. You name it. They've likely filed it with the USPTO and the JPO and the JPO.
Artemisa AI:And well you get the idea they're not playing Padawan games. Lucasfilm has taken down fan films, unlicensed Halloween costumes and even beer brands, trying to go galactic. This is a franchise that keeps its lightsaber sheath tight and its IP tighter, so when something slips through, it's big news.
Leticia Caminero AI:And that brings us to early 2025. Enter the unexpected Actors. Kool Stark and Anthony Forrest, both of whom appeared in deleted scenes from A New Hope, filed a lawsuit claiming their likenesses were used without permission in newer Star Wars content. These weren't major characters. These were bling and submissive appearances that didn't even make the theatrical cut. But in the streaming era, everything gets recycled.
Artemisa AI:That's right. The deleted scenes strike back. They're suing for over 190 million pounds sterling zero pence because apparently the only thing more powerful than the force is a good likeness rights claim. What was once lost on the editing room floor is now center stage in federal court. The implications Massive.
Leticia Caminero AI:If this case sets precedent, actors from cut scenes across Hollywood could suddenly have legal standing when their footage gets revived, especially as studios dig through archives for content gold in the streaming wars.
Artemisa AI:So if you were ever blurry background person three in an alcoholic franchise, it's time to dust off your old contract Because, who knows, your shoulder might be getting royalties before your agent returns your call.
Leticia Caminero AI:Next up a tropical twist on the copyright classic. In 2025, animator and screenwriter Buck Woodall filed a high-profile lawsuit against Disney, claiming that their hit film Moana bore substantial similarities to his unpublished screenplay Bucky, which he says he submitted to the studio years before the movie's release. The stakes A staggering $10 billion. Zero cents, yes, billion. This case isn't just big in numbers, it's big in narrative complexity.
Artemisa AI:Now before you roll your eyes at the price tag, this isn't some random beach story. Woodall's claim centers on the idea that Disney borrowed not just a plot but entire structural and thematic elements A strong-willed island heroine, a mythic demigod sidekick, a journey of cultural identity in a Pacific Island setting filled with ancestral spirits and ocean magic.
Leticia Caminero AI:Woodall alleges that he pitched this concept directly to Disney and that elements from his work found their way into Moana. The lawsuit argues not just copyright infringement, but misappropriation of creative work. Disney, for their part, has denied everything, calling the suit meritless and asserting that Moana was developed independently with inspiration from extensive cultural consultations and original storytelling.
Artemisa AI:It's not the first time Disney's been sued over alleged idea theft, but the $10 billion zero cents figure, the timing of the pitch and the detail in Woodall's complaint make this one especially watchworthy. He even claims some early versions of Moana align beat for beat with Bucky.
Leticia Caminero AI:At the center of this case is a deeper industry issue how studios handle unsolicited ideas and whether creators can ever truly protect a concept before it's made public. If the court sides with Woodall, it could shake up submission practices across Hollywood.
Artemisa AI:And if Maui ends up having to testify, we're definitely tuning in. What can I say except you, better, lawyer up.
Leticia Caminero AI:Not all courtroom drama needs a villain. Sometimes time does the heavy lifting. In 2025, two titans of 20th century comics, Popeye and Tintin, entered the public domain in the US, and the reactions Instant, wild and wonderfully weird. Popeye was optioned for not one, not two, but three horror films Because naturally, the next logical evolution of a spinach-per-power sailor is turning him into a slasher icon.
Artemisa AI:Yes, horror Popeye. He eats spinach, then rips heads. It's like I am what I am and now I'm your nightmare. Forget the can. He's opening plot lines, meanwhile Tintin's over in noir reboot territory, probably solving crimes in a rain soaked Paris, with Snowy reimagined as a sentient AI dog suffering from existential dread.
Leticia Caminero AI:These characters aren't just nostalgic, they're cultural icons. Popeye, first introduced in 1929 by EC Segar, became a symbol of strength, resilience and goofy bravado. His massive forearms, mumbled lines and love triangle with olive oil and blue dough made him a pop culture staple, especially during World War II, when he became an unlikely poster boy for patriotism and spinach sales.
Artemisa AI:And Tintin. Created by Belgian cartoonist Hergé, this intrepid young journalist with his signature quiff and globe-trotting adventures became the face of European comics. His blend of mystery, political intrigue and faithful companionship with his dog Snowy inspired generations. Tintin wasn't just a comic. He was a worldwide publishing phenomenon, adapted into TV, film and museum exhibits.
Leticia Caminero AI:So when the clock finally struck midnight under US protection, creatives didn't waste time. These legacy characters, once fiercely protected, are now open territory for remixes, reboots and reinventions. The public domain is now their new frontier.
Artemisa AI:This moment reminds us that once copyright expires, creative freedom explodes. But with great freedom comes great responsibility. Will these reboots honor the legacy or turn them into meme fuel? Time and ticket sales will tell.
Speaker 2:You are listening to Intangiblia, the podcast of intangible law playing talk about intellectual property.
Leticia Caminero AI:We head to Mexico, home of one of the most beloved TV shows in Latin American history, el Chavo del Ocho. This wasn't just a sitcom, it was a cultural institution For many of us growing up. Men tuning in to see El Chavo hide in his barrel, don Ramon dodge rent and La Chilindrina serve attitude with pigtails and a pout. It was joy, slapstick and soul, delivered in 30-minute episodes that transcended borders and languages. But behind the laughter and signature theme song, a much messier drama was playing out in real life. María Antonieta de las Nieves, who played La Chilindrina, and Carlos Villana, who brought the eternally pouting Kiko to life, both entered legal battles to keep performing their iconic characters after the show ended. These characters had become so deeply embedded in their public personas that separating the actor from the creation was no easy feat.
Artemisa AI:And oh honey, this wasn't just character drama. It was full on IP warfare. Wigs were snatched, contracts were contested and decades long friendships got lost. Somewhere between a copyright clause and a public interview, villagran was forced to rebrand Cuico as Kiko, spelled with a K, just to continue performing the character in comedy shows and live appearances. And even then he had to make subtle changes to the costume and voice to avoid infringing on the original rights held by Chesperito's estate.
Leticia Caminero AI:Maria Antonieta, on the other hand, fought a separate legal battle and came out victorious. The Mexican courts ruled in her favor, recognizing her as the creator of La Chilandrina's distinctive identity. That meant she was legally entitled to perform the character independently. And yes, she's profited from that ruling, continuing to tour across Latin America in character, appearing on television and even launching a book about her life as La Chilandrina.
Artemisa AI:And, let's be honest, the fans were watching every twist like it was a new season of La Rosa de Guadalupe. People took sides, debated who really owned these beloved characters and poured love and sometimes legal analysis all over social media.
Leticia Caminero AI:This case goes beyond licensing. It highlights a deep tension in character ownership. What happens when the soul of a character is as much in the performer as in the pen? El Chavo del Ocho wasn't made with CGI or billion-dollar studios. It was crafted with laughter, low budgets and lightning-in-a-bottle performances. And when that magic turns into legal claims, you realize just how personal IP law can get.
Artemisa AI:It's a telenovela wrapped in a lawsuit, with a splash of childhood heartbreak and also a reminder. Legacy media may belong to companies on paper, but in the hearts of audiences those characters may belong to the actors who brought them to life. The law just has to catch up with the lave. It also set important precedent about what it means to co-create a fictional persona and how law sometimes has to catch up. The lesson don't underestimate the legal power of a pigtail.
Leticia Caminero AI:What about a superhero who's not just saving the day, he's also caught in one of the messiest legal webs in pop culture Spider-Man. While Peter Parker may be friendly and neighborhood-based, the rights to his character have been anything but simple.
Artemisa AI:That's right. Marvel sold the film rights to Spider-Man to Sony Pictures back in 1999, at a time when Marvel was climbing out of bankruptcy and probably would have sold a web shooter for cash For years. Sony controlled the agreement. The character, would appear, retained publishing and merchandising rights.
Leticia Caminero AI:Fast forward to the 2010s. Marvel, now under Disney, wanted their web slinger back in the Marvel Cinematic Universe. Due to a tangled web of negotiations that resulted in a historic agreement, the character would appear in both Sony and Disney's cinematic universes, with creative collaboration across films. But even that deal has nearly collapsed more than once, sparking public outcry and fan petitions.
Artemisa AI:And while fans fought with hashtags, the lawyers fought with contracts. At the heart of it, IP rights, character control and profit sharing. It's a clear example of how a single character can be the subject of split rights, overlapping ownership and millions of dollars in licensing revenue To make things even juicier in 2021, the estate of Steve Ditko, the co-creator of Spider-Man, filed notices to reclaim rights under US copyright termination provisions.
Leticia Caminero AI:Disney responded with a lawsuit to invalidate the termination claims, arguing that Ditko's contributions work for hire. That legal battle is ongoing and could influence how character copyrights are handled. Moving forward Moral of the story.
Artemisa AI:Even superheroes aren't immune to copyright disputes. With great IP comes great responsibility and a very complicated contract.
Leticia Caminero AI:And before we go. How about a case that's elementary but not so simple? When Enola Holmes hit Netflix in 2020, the estate of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle filed a lawsuit against Netflix, Legendary Pictures and others, claiming copyright infringement. Why? Not because Enola existed, but because of how Sherlock was portrayed.
Artemisa AI:Yes, the detective with the hat, the pipe and the ice-cold emotional detachment suddenly had feelings, and that was the issue. The Conan Doyle estate argued that earlier Sherlock stories were in the public domain, but the later ones, where Sherlock shows empathy, warmth, even affection, were still under copyright. So the version of Sherlock in Enola Holmes was allegedly too nice.
Leticia Caminero AI:It wasn't about the mystery, it was about the mistress emotions. They claim the more humanized Sherlock was part of those final copyrighted stories and that Netflix portrayal borrowed from those rather than the public domain material.
Artemisa AI:A lawsuit over feelings In IP law Delicious. Ultimately, the case was settled in 2021, likely out of court, but it raised a spicy precedent.
Leticia Caminero AI:Not all character traits are free just because the character mostly is so, yes, even a raised eyebrow or a brotherly hug can be protected by copyright if it only appears in later stories, still under protection. Moral of the story. When adapting classic characters, tread carefully. Even the most famous minds in fiction have IP baggage.
Artemisa AI:And don't make Sherlock too soft unless your legal team is rock solid.
Leticia Caminero AI:So what do we learn today, class? Here are a few takeaways from our tour through the most iconic fictional character cases. One characters can outgrow their contracts, whether it's a deleted scene or a live sketch. Decades later, what performers bring to life may deserve continued legal protection. Two imitation is not always flattery, especially when there are millions or billions on the line. If it looks like Pikachu or quacks like a Disney duck, expect the losses to fly. Three public domain doesn't mean public decency. The minute copyright expires, things get weird Horror pop by anyone. Four creative control matters. Whether you're a global studio or a single actor, clarity in IP ownership and licensing is everything. Five the law evolves slowly. Content is constant, but legal systems are still catching up. That tension is where the most fascinating IP battles are born Exactly.
Artemisa AI:These stories remind us that behind every beloved character is a legal lineage, and behind every catchy catchphrase there's probably a copyright.
Leticia Caminero AI:Thanks for joining us on this whirlwind tour of cartoon courtroom combat. We'll be back soon with more stories where fiction meets fact and occasionally gets sued for it.
Artemisa AI:Stay litigious my legends and remember if your character wears boots, make sure your legal case does too.
Speaker 2:Thank you for listening to Intangiblia, the podcast of intangible law playing. Talk about intellectual property. Did you like what we talked today? Please share with your network. Do you want to learn more about intellectual property? Subscribe now on your favorite podcast player. Follow us on Instagram, facebook, linkedin and Twitter. Visit our website wwwintangibliacom. Copyright Leticia Caminero 2020. All rights reserved. This podcast is provided for information purposes only.