[1] IANAL

EDIT: s/That/That's/

If I make a collage of other people's works, the other works still belong to them, but the way I put them together belongs to me. Actually, this doesn't seem terribly "nuanced".

It's an interesting comment on our society that it prefers to attribute this type of artistic work to the performer, rather than the actual writer. Perhaps future generations will see MLK simply as the man who read Stanley Levison's great speeches, or Obama as the actor who brought Jon Favreau alive. We give props to Yo-Yo Ma for a great performance of Bach, too, but we don't talk about "Ma's fugue." And there's a very well-developed system for distinguishing between composition and performance copyrights...

I always have the same reaction when I see a quote attributed to an actor in a film rather than the writer of the film, too. Similarly comedians (like Bob Hope) are often attributed for the work of gag writers.

It's an interesting that this seldom happens in theatre, music or literature but often happens in film, comedy and speeches.

I wonder why this is? Is it simply that we assume live speakers to be speaking off-the-cuff and the same translates to film? If so then why don't we do the same for Theatre?

Speechwriters are largely unknown, at least relative to the "performer" -- the same goes for comedy (let's say stand-up comedy since it's differentiated from theater and film in your list), and even film, quite often. On the converse, when you see a performance of "Hamlet", who's better-known? The high school kid bemoaning Horatio, or Shakespeare? I think it's just a convenient shortcut for people to attribute a quote to a performer rather than original author, in cases where the original author may be difficult to discern.

I mean, I can go to imdb.com and find out who wrote the screenplay for "Air Force One", but that still doesn't tell me for sure who originated the line "Get off my plane!" Harrison Ford may have ad-libbed it, or the director may have added it, for all we know.

Thus far I guess our society hasn't found it that necessary to create a culture of strict attribution.

For theater, part of the reason may be that most theatrical productions are performed by numerous actors. Just think of how many Hamlets there have been over the years. Even modern theater is usually performed by numerous groups. Given this, it's pretty easy to say that the "definitive" work is the actual written play. However, when it comes to movies the "definitive" work is seen as the performance by the one actor that was in the movie.

I think that varies by genre. It's certainly true around pop music. But I don't think so much for, say, metal.

On the other hand, having recently watched a few episodes of VH1's "Clasic Albums" series (at least I think that's what it was), I was really surprised to see the amount of creative input that came from the album's producers. I was surprised to see that the melody of Kiss's "Beth" was written by the producer, and that Bob Rock did so much with Metallica (unfortunately?) in building the songs for The Black Album, albeit it out of riffs written by the band.

It happens all the time in music. Songwriters are seldom as well-known as performers, and you could argue that they do the lion's share of the "authorship" of a given song. Most of them arrange the music and write the lyrics. It's a rare instance where a songwriter becomes prominent enough, in his or her own right, to rise to the fame and fortune of his or her star performer. For every Quincy Jones or Leonard Bernstein, you have 100 songwriters and producers laboring in obscurity behind big-ticket artists. (In fairness, though, highly successful songwriters earn residuals on their work, and thus tend to be handsomely rewarded. They get the fortune, if not necessarily the fame or the popular attribution).

Theatre is an interesting exception to the general rule. Some of it is a function of time. We have every reason to believe, for instance, that William Shakespeare was less famous in his day than were the best-known actors who performed his work. But since there was no technology around back then to record the performances for posterity, the only things that survived were the written works -- attributed solely to the playwright.

The rise of credit for performer, rather than writer, probably has a lot to do with the rise of the recording and media industries.

In fairness, any truly great screenwriter or director will tell you that performers really do contribute enormously to the final product. A great screenplay is a great screenplay, but the finished film is a substantially different piece of work. A screenplay is to a film what an outline is to a paper, or what a wireframe is to a website. It's critical, but it's highly theoretical and open to myriad different interpretations. The interpretation that ended up on film, in this case, is the work of multiple "authors."

Theater, music (I'll assume we're not talking about "popular" music, but something more like classical music here), and literature tend to have known authors, and tend to have a wide variety of performances. (Although literature is weird to include in this list, I think).

Film, comedy (since it's differentiated from theater and film here, let's say stand-up comedy) and speeches have known performers. Authors in film are sometimes relatively well-known, but I think attributions to actors rather than characters in films aren't that common.

Also, King improvised the "I have a dream" and "Let freedom ring" parts--based on previously existing phrases.

This page shows the differences between the prepared and delivered remarks: http://xroads.virginia.edu/~public/civilrights/a0129.html

The principle that the ghostwriter does not exist is certainly a well-known principle. It may even be a legal principle. The Supreme Court may endorse it unanimously - the Pope, himself, declare it infallibly correct.

This doesn't necessarily make it a true, valid, good or appropriate principle, however. For instance, there is no real trace of this species of professional ventriloquist in any century but the 20th - and very little before the middle 20th. The first US president to use ghostwriters routinely was FDR, and his listeners were by no means regularly reminded of the practice.

In previous eras, the idea that any public figure, other than an actual actor, would be reciting someone else's words, would have been thought ridiculous and pathetic. Pitt the Younger didn't employ a speechwriter. Nor did Gladstone, Cromwell, Lincoln, Elizabeth I, etc, etc.

There's nothing new about speechwriting. Antiphon of Rhamnus(480–411 BC) was a professional speechwriter. Calling them ventriloquists entirely misses the point. The speaker is the one responsible for the words. He doesn't read whatever is put in front of him. He directs the speechwriter to write what the speaker wants to say and is responsible for accepting, rejecting, or modifying it.

George Washington and Andrew Jackson did read others words as their own. Although Lincoln wrote his own speeches, he circulated drafts for comment and incorporated ideas from those comments.

Jackson was notoriously illiterate. Washington was a stuffed shirt whose brain was largely provided by Hamilton. These are examples of the 20th century avant la lettre - neither statesman would have admitted the practice. Dishonorable behavior is not precluded in societies with strong honor codes - as we can see from Dr. King's own academic record.

"The point of this article is to make clear Watson was not the author of the speech. The sentiments of the speech, that is, the core of its authority and authorship, were mine. I had discussed with Watson on dozens of occasions how non-indigenous Australia could never make good our relationship with indigenous people until we came clean about the history."

"written" and "drafted with assistance" arn't quite the same thing. Though imo it's a silly point regardless.

There was an interesting interview with one of them on British TV last year and he said as much particularly he claimed the "I have a dream" part.

Here's Jones' own recollection of the process (http://nexoscapital.com/articles_pdf/TheManWho_06-04.pdf). With some cuts:

When King headed to Atlanta just days before the march, Jones and Levison stayed in New York to craft the speech. They titled it "Normalcy -- Never Again." After three drafts, they got a copy to King, who made crucial substantive changes. Then, on the evening before the event, they all rendezvoused in the Willard Hotel, in Washington, DC. King, in essence, held court in the lobby and listened to all his key advisers' suggestions. "Martin kept saying, 'Clarence, are you taking notes?' Jones recalls. And I said, 'Yes.' We both kinda rolled our eyes at each other. The other leaders were determined to tell Martin what to say and how to say it.'

"I visited Martin in his hotel suite that evening," Andrew Young remembers. "Martin was working away, editing the speech text, desperate to find the exact right word for every sentence. Clarence was coming and going, giving Martin encouragement and ideas."

By five A.M., King's speech had been mimeographed and was being passed out to the press. When informed two hours later of the document's dissemination, Jones put an immediate halt to it. "I called Martin in his room and said, 'You know, this could be a major speech, and I'm concerned that you are protective of the ownership of this. So we've got to be sure it's not published... don't give up the copyright.' Little did I anticipate that my act of moderate wisdom would be deemed as the most prescient service I rendered for King."

Jones roots around his office and eventually produces the original 1963 copyright application for the "I Have a Dream" address. Jones had ensured that the speech would not become part of the public domain but would instead belong to King and, eventually, his heirs. "Whenever oral recordings or republications of the speech are sold without permission from the King Estate," Jones boasts, "a lawsuit occurs."

When King finished the speech, he came over and shook his cohort's hand. "You was smoking," a euphoric Jones told him. "The words was so hot they was just burning off the page!"