Intangiblia™
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Plain talk about Intellectual Property. Podcast of Intangible Law™
Intangiblia™
The Legal Salsa: Protecting Dance One Step at a Time
Choreography copyright exists in a fascinating legal gray area where cultural ownership and legal protection often clash. When Alfonso Ribeiro attempted to claim rights to his iconic "Carlton Dance" from Fresh Prince of Bel-Air after Fortnite used it as a purchasable emote, his case was dismissed because the Copyright Office deemed the routine "too simple" - just three basic dance steps without sufficient originality. This ruling sparked crucial conversations about what makes dance protectable.
The landscape shifted dramatically when choreographer Kyle Hanagami sued Epic Games over a four-count hook from his registered routine appearing in Fortnite. When the Ninth Circuit reversed an initial dismissal in 2023, they delivered a game-changing perspective: "Reducing choreography to isolated poses is like reducing music to single notes." This recognition that even short sequences could embody original expression opened new possibilities for dancers seeking protection.
We explore how this legal evolution continues with Kelly Heyer's ongoing battle against Roblox for monetizing her viral "Apple Dance" without permission. With platforms earning substantial revenue from choreographic content, questions of fair compensation and proper licensing have never been more urgent. Meanwhile, international cases reveal how different jurisdictions approach dance protection - from China's rejection of single-pose copyright to Brazil's emphasis on proving tangible harm.
Through these stories, we distill five crucial principles governing choreography copyright: basic movements remain freely available to all; originality exists in arrangement rather than individual steps; even short sequences can qualify for protection if distinctive enough; evidence of harm matters as much as creativity; and courts continually seek balance between creator rights and cultural freedom. As dance moves from stages to avatars in the metaverse, these principles will shape how we value and protect movement in the digital age.
Ready to dive deeper into intellectual property's fascinating frontiers? Subscribe to Intangiblia and join our exploration of the ideas that shape our creative landscape.
Imagine walking into court and the judge says counsel, please demonstrate the evidence. And instead of handing over a document, you break into the Carlton. That's right, the goofy hip swing, Tom Jones powered dance from the Fresh Prince of Bel-Air. This is not a courtroom fantasy, it's a real legal dispute. That asked can a sitcom dance become private property?
Speaker 2:We'll spin through cases where dance routines weren't just entertainment, they were exhibit A you are listening to Intangiblia, the podcast of intangible law playing talk about intellectual property. Please welcome your host, leticia Caminero.
Speaker 3:Welcome back to Intangiblia, where innovation meets legal empowerment. I'm your host, leticia Caminero, and, as a Latina from the Dominican Republic, dance is my heartbeat Merengue bachata dembo. It's in my DNA. That's why today's episode is personal. We're exploring what happens when choreography whether a viral TikTok move or a centuries-old performance tries to claim protection in the legal world.
Speaker 1:And I'm Thata Misa, your AI co-host, ready to waltz through case law and cha-cha with the statutes.
Speaker 3:Quick disclaimer this episode is for information and rhythm only.
Speaker 1:We may break down the moonwalk, but we can't moonwalk you into legal advice.
Speaker 3:Exactly. If you want tailored guidance, hire a real lawyer, not a virtual dance partner. Let's rewind to the late 80s and early 90s. The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air wasn't just a sitcom, it was a cultural reset, and one of the most beloved characters was Carlton Banks, played by Alfonso Ribeiro. His trademark that goofy, joyous dance to Tom Jones's is not unusual Arms swinging stiffly, hips bouncing side to side, head popping. It was so awkward that it became legendary. We all know it as the Carlton.
Speaker 1:Fast forward to 2018. Fortnite is the biggest video game in the world. Epic Games is selling emotes, little dance animations you can buy for your avatar. And lo and behold, there it is a move almost identical to the Carlton.
Speaker 3:Alfonso Ribeiro filed lawsuits against Epic and also Take-Two Interactive, the publisher of NBA 2K16, where the dance appeared. To His claim, they copied his iconic routine and sold it without permission, violating his rights.
Speaker 1:It sounded like a slam dunk or maybe a slam dance, but here's the plot twist the US Copyright Office stepped in and rejected River Barrel's application to register the Carl slam dance. But here's the plot twist the US Copyright Office stepped in and rejected River Barrel's application to register the Carlton dance.
Speaker 3:Their reasoning was simple but brutal. They said the Carlton was just a simple routine made up of three dance steps, too short, too generic, not enough originality. In copyright terms it was like trying to copyright the shacha slide or the macarena Fun iconic but legally considered basic vocabulary of movement.
Speaker 1:Without a copyright registration. Ribiru's lawsuits had no legal legs to boogie on. By March 2019, he dropped both cases. No damages, no trial, just a hard stop.
Speaker 3:But here's the deeper beat. This case highlighted a huge gap in copyright law. The public saw the cartoon as uniquely Riveros, part of his persona, part of pop culture history, but the law said, nope, it's too minimal. That clash between cultural ownership and legal ownership is what made the case famous.
Speaker 1:And it laid the groundwork for later disputes. Courts began asking if the Carlton was too simple, then what about slightly longer or more complex routines? Could a few counts of eight be enough? That's where Hanagami's case, years later, picked up the rhythm.
Speaker 3:So while Riviero lost in court, he started a bigger conversation how do we protect short, viral, iconic dances that everyone recognizes but the law treats as unprotectable?
Speaker 1:It's the classic two-step of copyright Keep the building blocks free for everyone, but protect the unique combinations. The Carlton didn't make the cut, but it set the stage literally for choreography to fight harder for recognition in NIP law.
Speaker 3:After the Carlton lost its legal groove, many choreographers wondered if copyright would ever dance in their favor. Many choreographers wondered if copyright would ever dance in their favor. Enter Kyle Hanagami, one of the most influential choreographers on YouTube. If you've ever fallen into a YouTube rabbit hole of slick studio lead dance videos, chances are you've seen his work.
Speaker 1:He's choreographed for pop stars like Blackpink, justin Bieber and Britney Spears, but also built a massive online audience. In 2017, he uploaded a routine to Charlie Puth's song how Long it Went Viral over 35 million views, and within that full routine there was a short four-count hook that fans instantly recognized as the signature move.
Speaker 3:A few years later, that same hook shows up inside Fortnite as a purchasable emote called it's Complicated For Epic Games. It was just another dance to sell to millions of gamers For Hanagami. It was his creative fingerprint, a piece of his artistic.
Speaker 1:DNA, artistic DNA. So he sued Epic in 2022, armed with something Ribeiro didn't have a registered copyright for the full choreography. That's key he had already fixed his routine in a tangible medium video and registered it. He wasn't just asking courts to recognize a vibe, he had paperwork.
Speaker 3:At first the district court played the same tune as the Carlton case. They dismissed the suit saying the copied snippet was just poses. Too short, too simple. Basically, one grapevine doesn't make a ballet.
Speaker 1:But then came the real legal twist In 2023, the Ninth Circuit Court of Appeals reversed the dismissal and their reasoning Chef's kiss, they said. Reducing choreography to isolated poses is like reducing music to single notes. You don't judge a symphony by one note and you don't judge a dance by one freeze frame.
Speaker 3:The court recognized choreography as more than just steps. It's the selection and arrangement of body movements, timing, space transitions and energy. Even a four count can embody original expression if it's distinctive and central to the work.
Speaker 1:That was revolutionary, because if the Carlton couldn't cha-cha into protection, Hanagami's four counts showed that even short sequences might carry enough creativity to be shielded. Suddenly, viral choreographers had hope.
Speaker 3:The case was set for trial but before the jury could watch lawyers argue. About head bulbs and finger points, epix settled in 2024. About head bulbs and finger points Epic settled in 2024. The terms were in public but the settlement meant Hanagami got recognition and maybe some royalties for his creative stamp.
Speaker 1:Legally, this case is huge. It's the first appellate decision in the US to say yes, choreography deserves careful treatment just like music or literature. It signaled a cultural shift. Dance isn't filler, it's an art form worth protecting.
Speaker 3:For choreographers around the world it was like winning. So you Think you Can Dance. Core edition Register your works, show originality in the arrangement and even short viral hooks can have legal rhythm.
Speaker 1:Hanagami didn't just win for himself, he gave choreographers a louder beat to move to in courtrooms everywhere.
Speaker 3:Aye, by 2025, the legal spotlight had shifted from Fortnite to another digital giant, Roblox. If Fortnite was the flashy nightclub of gaming, Roblox is the massive street festival Millions of players building their own worlds, trading skins and yes, buying emotes.
Speaker 1:Enter choreographer Kelly Heyer, known for creating the viral apple dance Picture. A crisp, playful routine, arms mimicking the shape of an apple, quick footwork and a spin that made it instantly meme-worthy. The kind of dance that goes from TikTok challenges to morning shows in the blink of an eye.
Speaker 3:But then she found out her creation had slipped into Roblox without her final green light. The platform had turned the apple dance into a purchasable light. The platform had turned the Apple dance into a purchasable avatar, emote, Price tag. A few Roblox here and there Sales around 60,000 copies. In real world terms, Roblox made over $120,000. Zero cents of that routine.
Speaker 1:That's not just pocket change. That's like an orchard of apples and none of it.
Speaker 3:Going back to the farmer who planted the seed so in april 2025, hired sue roblox in california federal court. Her argument is simple you can monetize my choreography without a license.
Speaker 1:Viral doesn't mean free for all and this case has the potential to do what River Rose Carlton didn't, and even what Hanagami's did only in part push the law into the metaverse. Because here we're not just talking about YouTube videos or game emotes. We're talking about avatars performing dances inside a user-generated universe.
Speaker 3:Exactly. The stakes are high. If Heyer wins, platforms like Roblox, Fortnite and TikTok might have to radically rethink how they handle viral dance content. Instead of scraping trends and coding them into emotes, they'd need proper licenses or risk lawsuits. Risk lawsuits.
Speaker 1:And if she loses? Well, the message to choreographers would be clear your dance may go viral, but in the virtual world it might still slip through your fingers like smoke on the dance floor.
Speaker 3:Yeah, either way. Hater B Roblox is a test case. It forces courts to ask when digital avatars dance, whose rights are in motion? The creators, the platforms or nobody's?
Speaker 1:at all. For now the case is still pending, but the rhythm is unmistakable. The next great copyright battles aren't just about music or film. They're about who owns the moves your avatar busts out on a Friday night in the metaverse.
Speaker 3:Just when you thought Fortnite might sit down for a breather, another choreographer stepped onto the stage. Meet Felix Burgos, a professional dancer and choreographer who says Epic Games copied his routine and turned it into yet another emote without permission.
Speaker 1:Fortnite is less like a video game and more like a dance competition, with lawsuits waiting in the wings. You buy a new emote and behind it there might be a choreographer saying hey, those are my steps.
Speaker 3:Burgos filed suit in 2025 following the trail Hanagami plays and hires currently walking claim points to Fortnite's commercial use of signature choreography, arguing that Epic has a pattern of pulling from real-life viral or professional routines and cashing in.
Speaker 1:It's almost like Fortnite has become a giant remix DJ, spinning snippets of dance culture but forgetting to credit the artist behind the beats.
Speaker 3:Legally the case is still pending, but it matters because it pushes the question further. At what point does bottom inspiration become infringement? Hanagami showed courts are willing to recognize short sequences. Hayek is testing the metaverse licensing angle and Burgos he's trying to prove that Epic's practices are systematic, not isolated.
Speaker 1:And that's a big deal. If a court rules that Epic repeatedly misappropriated routines, it could lead not just to damages for one choreographer but possibly open the door to collective actions or industry-wide reforms. Imagine dance unions or guilds demanding licensing deals from gaming companies the same way music labels do.
Speaker 3:Bober's case could be the one that says choreography isn't just content, it's commerce, and if you're making millions of it, you owe the creators their share of the rhythm.
Speaker 1:For now, the spotlight's on the California court docket, but the choreography of litigation is already clear. Epic can't keep dodging these cases like a clumsy partner on the dance floor. Eventually they'll have to face the music.
Speaker 2:Intangiblia, the podcast of intangible law. Playing talk about intellectual property.
Speaker 3:Now let's travel east, to Beijing, where the line between art and law took center stage. The star of this case, Yang Liping, one of China's most celebrated choreographers, often called the peacock princess. Her works like the Peacock and Moonlight are world-renowned for blending traditional Yunnan dance with modern stagecraft.
Speaker 1:Imagine walking into a restaurant and seeing a giant mural or video loop of one of her signature poses. That's what happened here. A restaurant chain called Yun Hai Yao, famous for its Yunnan cuisine, decorated its spaces and ads with imagery lifted from Yang Liping's Moonlight Dance.
Speaker 3:For Yang, this wasn't just decoration. That single pose, her body curved like a crescent, hands shimmering like moonbeams, was a distilled piece of her life's work. So she sued for copyright infringement.
Speaker 1:At first she won. The trial court agreed that the restaurant had crossed the line by commercializing her dance imagery without permission. It looked like a victory. A single pose is not copyrightable.
Speaker 3:Copyright they said, protects a choreographic work as a continuous arrangement of movements, not an isolated still image.
Speaker 1:It's like saying one step doesn't make a tango, one pose doesn't make a ballet. Just as you can't copyright a single word, you can't claim exclusive rights over a single dramatic movement.
Speaker 3:The court also drew a boundary around what counts as choreography. It excluded costumes, lighting and stage design from the definition. Those might be protectable in their own right as artistic or audiovisual works, but they aren't part of the choreography in a copyright sense.
Speaker 1:So the restaurant walked away without infringement liability. The only potential claim left was under unfair competition law, which is weaker and harder to prove damages.
Speaker 3:For the dance world, this was a sobering moment. Yanl Lipi is an icon, but even her most recognizable pose wasn't enough for copyright. It reinforced a global principle copyright protects the flow of a dance, not a frozen gesture.
Speaker 1:And still the case sparked lively debate in China's legal and artistic communities. Some felt the court was too rigid, ignoring the creative depth that can exist in a single moment of choreography. Others applauded the decision, warning that if every dramatic pose were owned, dance itself would grind to a halt. No one could move without risking infringement.
Speaker 3:It's the eternal balancing act, protecting creators without handcuffing culture, and Yang Libin's case showed that, at least in China, the courts are drawing that line carefully. No ownership of basic steps or poses, but recognition for the larger choreographic whole.
Speaker 1:In other words, you can own the dance, but not the moonlight itself.
Speaker 3:Now let's stay in China for one more dance. This time, the stage isn't a single iconic pose, but an entire performance, a complex tapestry of puppetry, opera costumes, and still walking. The case is Shanghai Wulun culture, called VD slash G. It's one of the first Chinese ruling to really grapple with choreography as a composite work of art.
Speaker 1:Here's the story. Wulun culture created a performance called Looking for Peony Pavilion. Imagine a nighttime open air spectacle dancers on towering stilts, actors in elaborate cunquit opera costumes, puppets moving in harmony with live performers. It was meant to be immersive, site-specific, a modern spin on traditional Chinese performance. The company had been booked to perform at a theme park, but when the contract fell through thanks to the pandemic cancellations, something strange happened. The theme park staged its own version of the performance, with nearly identical characters, costumes and choreography.
Speaker 3:Basically the show went on without the original creators. At first Wooloon sued and lost. The trial court said this isn't infringement, it's just similar elements and many of them come from public tradition.
Speaker 1:But then came the appeal. The Shanghai Higher People's Court saw it differently. They reversed the decision and ruled in Wulun's favor, awarding damages and recognizing the performance as an original protectable work.
Speaker 3:The reasoning is important. The core said that while costumes, puppets and opera characters might individually draw from tradition, the way Willem combined them into a cohesive stage performance created something new. Originality wasn't in each element, but in the arrangement, in how puppets, stilt walkers and singers interacted to form a unified visual and choreographic work.
Speaker 1:It's the choreography principle Chinese edition, not the basic steps or props, but the creative arrangement that matters.
Speaker 3:And here, unlike the Yang Liping case, the court recognized that a performance can be protectable even if it borrows from cultural heritage. What counted was the creative synthesis.
Speaker 1:So if Yang Liping's moonlit pose taught us that you can't monopolize a single gesture, Wu Lun's Peony Pavilion case taught us that when you weave enough elements into a new whole, the law will step in to protect it elements into a new whole.
Speaker 3:The law will step in to protect it. For choreographers, this was a win. It affirmed that even in traditions full of shared cultural symbols there's still room for individual creativity, and that originality can emerge from the fusion of old and new.
Speaker 1:In other words, china's courts did a two-step, protecting complexity while keeping the basics free.
Speaker 3:And with that we've covered a fascinating East Asian double act Yang Liping showing the limits of copyright and Shanghai Walloon showing its reach. And now we fly back to Latin America, to Brazil, where funk, samba and bail funk often set the global dance floor on fire. Samba and bail funk often set the global dance floor on fire. Our case here involves Poliana de Silva Rivero, a choreographer and Brazil's biggest international pop star.
Speaker 1:Anita. If you've seen Anita perform, you know she's all about bold moves. Literally Her music videos and stage shows are as choreographed as any Broadway production. But this time the dance didn't just stay on stage, it stepped into court.
Speaker 3:Poliana Livivero claimed that Anita had reposted one of her older choreography videos from 2012 onto social media without consent or compensation. Livivero argued that her artistic rights had been violated and demanded damages.
Speaker 1:Argued that her artistic rights had been violated and demanded damages. 150,000 reais, about $30,000. That's not just lunch money In Brazil. It's the kind of figure that says choreography isn't just an afterthought, it's labor, creativity and livelihood.
Speaker 3:The case went before the seventh civil court in Barra da Tiuca, rio de Janeiro, and the ruling the judge dismissed Ribeirero's claim. Why? Because she couldn't prove actual harm or that Anita's post violated her personality rights in a legally significant way.
Speaker 1:So, unlike Hanagami's four count victory in the US, ribeirero didn't get a legal encore. The court basically said no damages, no infringement that we can measure, no payout.
Speaker 3:But here's the nuance Brazil's copyright law does recognize choreography, obras coográficas and pantomimicas as protectable works when they're fixed in writing or otherwise. The law is there, the legal framework exists. Riviero's case failed not because choreography can be protected, but because proof matters. She couldn't show how reposting that old video caused her measurable loss or exploited her creativity in a way the law recognizes.
Speaker 1:It's a lesson in evidentiary choreography. Having the moves isn't enough. You've got to show the steps of how the violation hurt you.
Speaker 3:And culturally it was symbolic. This was one of the first high-profile Brazilian cases to spotlight choreography in an IP dispute. It shows that in Latin America, dance creators are starting to test the waters of copyright law, even if the results are still mixed.
Speaker 1:So while Ribeiro didn't semba out of court with the win, she did set the stage. Future choreographers in Brazil and across the region now know the law recognizes their art. But the rhythm of proof is just as important as the rhythm of the music.
Speaker 3:Exactly Protecting choreography in Latin America is still warming up, but this case is one more step pun intended toward dancers claiming their rightful place in the hype spotlight. So, after spinning through all these cases, what are the five big steps we can take away about choreography and the law?
Speaker 1:Step one. Not every dance is protectable. The law draws a line between building blocks and creative works. A basic move, a social routine or a gesture alone is like a single drum beat. It belongs to everyone. Protection kicks in when those beats become a full composition.
Speaker 3:Originality lives in the arrangement. What makes choreography legally special isn't the kick, the turn or the dip by themselves. It's how those elements are combined, sequenced and timed to create something expressive and unique. That selection and arrangement is the choreography's DNA.
Speaker 1:Step three short can still shine. Even a few counts of movement, if they carry the essence of a creator's style, can be treated as original, just like a memorable guitar riff or a catchy lyric. A short routine can pack enough creative punch to deserve protection. Step four proof matters as much as creativity. It's not enough to feel copied. You need to show the impact. Was there unauthorized use? Was there financial gain? Was your reputation or recognition diminished? Without evidence, the case falls flat, no matter how brilliant the choreography.
Speaker 3:In step five. Balance is everything. The law is constantly trying to find the sweet spots between protecting creators and keeping culture moving freely. Too much protection, and nobody could dance without asking permission. Too little, and choreographers can't make a living from their art. Those are the five moves. Courts keep circling back to Freedom, originality, recognition, proof and balance.
Speaker 1:It's a legal choreography of its own and, just like on any dance floor, knowing the steps makes all the difference.
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.
