Stories within Stories – Who Owns the Copyright?

By admin on December 20, 2025

Term project by Dylan Nouri

Birdman or (The Unexpected Virtue of Ignorance)1 is my favourite movie of all time. The 2015 Best Picture winner features Riggan Thomson, a washed-up Hollywood actor who used to play the titular Birdman in a series of exciting, but superficial, action movies back in the 90s. Decades later, in an effort to become relevant once more and to reinvent himself as a “serious” actor, Riggan writes, directs, and stars in a theatrical adaptation of Raymond Carver’s 1981 short story collection What We Talk About When We Talk About Love.2 The story follows Riggan over the course of the play’s disastrous opening week as he discovers what it means to be an artist in a world that seems to only know him as the guy in the bird costume.3

I love the movie for many reasons. The unique cinematography that makes the whole film seem like it was done in one shot (a technique repeated by the same director Alejandro G. Iñárritu in The Revenant4 and others like Sam Mendes’ 19175 and the recent Netflix series Adolescence);6 the theme of an artist wrestling with their own malaise to try and create something meaningful; how the casting is a meta commentary on the actors themselves. But one reason of interest here is the use of the story-within-a-story trope. The movie takes place in and around a Broadway theatre during opening week of Riggan’s adaptation of Carver’s novel, and we see snippets of that adaptation at various points in the film. Having taken Intellectual Property Law, this made me curious – what are the copyright implications? If I wanted to adapt Carver’s novel into a play, and I copied elements of the performances, staging, lighting, sound design, and blocking from Birdman’s version, have I breached their copyright? Who actually owns the copyright in Birdman’s adaptation of Carver’s stories?

The concept of a story within a story is not new. One of the oldest and most famous examples is Shakespeare’s Hamlet. The young Danish prince tries to coax his newly-married mother and uncle into confessing their murder of his father. He puts on a theatrical performance of what he calls The Mouse-Trap, a story of a king murdered in his sleep by his brother pouring poison in his ear before marrying the queen. Hamlet says: 

“… the play’s the thing / Wherein I’ll catch the conscience of the king.” 

The play receives mixed reviews, with the Queen saying “The lady protests too much, methinks.”

Anton Chekhov’s 1896 play The Seagull also features a play within a play. In an attempt to impress his actress mother Arkadina, the young Treplev directs a strange and surreal rambling monologue that receives equally mixed results. The mother and son even recite Hamlet to each other before the show begins. 

In viewing these latter two examples through a Canadian copyright lens, the answer is rather simple. Shakespeare died in 1616, and Chekhov in 1904. Applying even our modern Canadian copyright terms to these works, the term for copyright would have long expired by this point.7 At least for their original works, everything created by these two authors is in the public domain. If the 2025 film Hamnet8 (which I am eagerly awaiting a chance to go see) includes the entirety of Hamlet’s fictionalized version of The Mouse-Trap, copyright would have no say in the matter.9 

But what about Birdman? Or, more specifically, Riggan Thomson’s theatrical adaptation of Raymond Carver’s novel in Birdman?


Carver himself died in 1988, well within the 70 year term after an author’s death for copyright to still exist in his original work.10 As we know, section 3 of the Copyright Act gives an author the exclusive right to reproduce their work in whole or in substantial part, as well as what we have called “derivative rights.”11 Specifically, section 3(1)(c) provides that the author of a novel has the exclusive right to convert it into a dramatic work by way of performance in public or otherwise.12 Copyright Act section 3(1)(e) provides that the author of a literary work has the exclusive right to reproduce, adapt and publicly present the work as a cinematographic work.13

Which leads to the question, is Birdman infringing on Carver’s copyright? While in the story of the film Carver’s book is adapted into a theatrical production, in the reality of our world I think this would simply constitute the adaptation of the novel into a cinematographic work under section 3(1)(e). However, while the overall plot of the film revolves around this in-universe theatrical adaptation of the novel, the actual amount of the play that we are shown as viewers of the film is rather minimal. Depending on how you count it, only about 10-15% of the film is dedicated to this theatrical production, with the rest taking place backstage or elsewhere. It might well be the case that the Cinar “substantial part” test is not made out.14 Notwithstanding that, any infringement might be covered by fair dealing as well. The parody purpose might be made out, if we can say the expression of mockery or humour is directed towards Hollywood culture itself.15 Alternatively, satire might be made out as the purpose, given the film’s overall satirical commentary on its subject matter.16 And while the commercial nature of the dealing might negatively impact some of the fairness factors like the purpose and character of the dealing, given the small amount of the novel that was adapted and the likely positive effect on the original novel’s market, the dealing here could be said to be fair.17

Practically speaking, the producers of Birdman almost definitely just got a licence to use Carver’s work in their movie. But let us assume for a moment that the adaptation does not quite reach the level of infringement. We now have Carver’s written collection of short stories, and Birdman as a cinematographic version depicting a theatrical performance of those stories. If I were to produce my own theatrical adaptation of Carver’s work, and I used much of the same costumes, lighting, blocking, and acting choices as found in Birdman, would I be breaching both copyrights? Copyright Act section 3(1)(c) would almost certainly apply regarding my theatrical performance of Carver’s book, since I would be turning the story of his novel into a performance for the public.18 But the producers of Birdman might struggle to make out an infringement of their film version in my adaptation. They might first struggle to prove I took a substantial part of their work. Alternatively, the “scènes à faire” or “genre” exception for copyright infringement might save me. If a court can find that a helicopter rescue scene is a “mandatory” part of any zombie story, I think the argument that using substantially similar costume pieces and other thematic choices simply falls under the genre of any story set in mid-20th century America.19

As a final thought, an outlandish possibility might be that the characters themselves own the copyright in the “works” they have “produced.” Perhaps Hamlet owns his own copyright in his theatrical performance of The Mouse-Trap. Maybe Treplev owns his own copyright in his surreal play. And maybe the fictional Riggan Thomson himself owns the copyright in his adaptation of Carver’s book. This possibility seems fantastical and unworkable, but this thought experiment illuminates some of the problems in AI owning its own copyright under our current laws. As we understand it now, copyright in a work generally lasts for the life of the author plus 70 years.20 This is perfectly workable for human authors, but how would that apply to a character? Where does Hamlet exist, and can he ever be said to die? Would such a copyright never expire? And how would one go about obtaining a licence from Hamlet, or Treplev, or Riggan? These characters are not autonomous beings but are entirely at the whim of those true authors who control them. The works they “produce” also have as their true authors the real-life people controlling them. In these ways, AI owning its own copyright gives rise to similar problems. How would a copyright term work for AI produced works? And how would one go about obtaining a licence to use such works? As it stands now, AI does not have its own “thoughts” nor does it make its own “decisions” the same way a human does. At its most basic level it simply follows its coded instructions. AI is at the whim of those true authors who control the AI, but the crucial difference being that those authors may have played no part at all in creating the work that came out of the AI. An AI could theoretically write and produce a play that no human has ever or could ever think up on their own. Should the AI receive copyright in that work? Is an AI owning its own work equivalent to Hamlet owning The Mouse-Trap? Should our law provide a way for this to happen? Let me know what you think.

  1. (2014) Produced by Regency Enterprises et al., directed by Alejandro G Iñárritu. ↩︎
  2. R. Carver (Knopf, 1981). ↩︎
  3. Image from https://www.20thcenturystudios.com/movies/birdman-or-the-unexpected-virtue-of-ignorance. All subsequent images are stills from Birdman, except for the shot of Hamlet and Horatio below. ↩︎
  4. (2016) Produced by Regency Enterprises et al., directed by Alejandro G Iñárritu. ↩︎
  5. (2019) Produced by DreamWorks Pictures et al., directed by Sam Mendes. ↩︎
  6. (2025) Produced by Warp Films et al., directed by Philip Barantini. ↩︎
  7. Copyright Act, RSC 1985, c C-42 [Copyright Act] at s 6. ↩︎
  8. (2025) Produced by Hera Pictures et al., directed by Chloé Zhao. ↩︎
  9. Image from https://www.rsc.org.uk/hamlet/past-productions/in-focus-gregory-doran-2008. ↩︎
  10. Copyright Act at s 6. ↩︎
  11. Copyright Act at s 3. ↩︎
  12. Copyright Act at s 3(1)(c). ↩︎
  13. Copyright Act at s 3(1)(e). ↩︎
  14. Cinar v Robinson, 2013 SCC 73 [Cinar]. ↩︎
  15. Copyright Act at s 29; United Airlines v Cooperstock, 2017 FC 616. ↩︎
  16. Copyright Act at s 29. ↩︎
  17. CCH Canadian Ltd. v Law Society of Upper Canada, 2004 SCC 13 [CCH]. ↩︎
  18. Copyright Act at s 3(1)(c). ↩︎
  19. Capcom co. LTD. et al v The MKR Group, Inc., (ND Cal 2008) (US). ↩︎
  20. Copyright Act at s 6. ↩︎

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