By: Raymond J. Kayal III
Every January 1st, Public Domain Day opens a time capsule of creative works to the global creative commons. In 2026, the United States will see works made in 1930 enter the public domain under the ninety-five-year term established by theCopyright Act of 1976. This treasure trove includes Dashiell Hammett’s The Maltese Falcon, Agatha Christie’s The Murder at the Vicarage, William Faulkner’s As I Lay Dying, and the first Nancy Drew mystery. Early Disney cartoons, including The Chain Gang and The Picnic, which introduced Pluto, will also become available.
But Public Domain Day reveals a legal paradox: this seemingly global event is highly jurisdiction-specific. In the European Union, 2026 marks the entry of works by authors who died in 1955, most notably Thomas Mann, under the life-plus-seventy years framework. Australia, which synchronized its term with Europe in 2005, follows the same timeline. Meanwhile, jurisdictions across Africa and Asia apply the Berne Convention’s minimum of life-plus-fifty, and will see the works of authors who died in 1975 pass into the public domain. The event therefore shows that rather than having one unified global creative commons, we have a system of overlapping yet distinct public domains.
The Berne Convention for the Protection of Literary and Artistic Works, adopted in 1886 and administered by WIPO, remains the foundation of international copyright. Its core principles—requiring equal national treatment, ensuring automatic protection, and establishing independence of protection—mean authors gain foreign protection. Thus, a work may remain protected abroad even if it has entered the public domain at home.
Yet Berne sets only minimum standards. Article 7 requires protection for life-plus-fifty years, but states are free to go further. The European Union did so by deciding on life-plus-seventy, while the United States adopted a hybrid model. The Copyright Act of 1976, replacing the 1909 Act, granted life-plus-fifty (later extended to seventy) for individuals, but a flat ninety-five years from publication for many earlier or corporate works. The TRIPS Agreement incorporated Berne standards into WTO law while preserving these crucial differences.
The result is a patchwork system where identical works face different fates across borders. Authors who died in 1955 enter the European and Australian public domain in 2026, while U.S. releases are determined by the date of publication rather than the death of the author. Public Domain Day is therefore a global celebration but one observed on different calendars.
Felix Salten’s Bambi, a Life in the Woods illustrates this fragmented system perfectly. Published in Vienna in 1922 and Germany in 1923, Bambi would become free to use in Europe in 2016 as Salten died in 1945. Under the U.S. system, however, the 1928 English translation was subject to the ninety-five-year-from-publication rule. It entered the American public domain only in 2022. There was significant litigation in Twin Books v. Walt Disney Co. highlighting the complications of foreign publication under the 1909 Act, which delayed recognition of its status in the United States.
However, Disney’s 1942 animated adaptation remains under copyright until at least 2038. This has now created three distinct legal entities for the same story: free to use in Europe in 2016, tied up in the States until 2022, and bound by the Disney adaptation for the coming decades. For comparative law, Bambi showcases how the Berne Convention merges principles, but not results, and how the public domain cannot be viewed as one singular global common.
Other international works exemplify that same point. Tintin, created by Belgian artist Hergé, is already public domain in the United States under our ninety-five-year rule; however, it will not enter the European public domain until 2054 as Hergé died in 1983. Popeye, introduced in 1929 by E.C. Segar, entered the U.S. public domain in 2025, but his protection lasted longer in Europe under the life-plus-seventy rule, even though speculation persisted about when Popeye’s spinachfixation would enter the public domain. These divergences produce what might be called “dual citizenship” for intellectual property; in some cases, characters are simultaneously public and proprietary depending on the jurisdiction.
These discrepancies in international copyright law coupled with creative filmmakers has spawned the birth of the so-called “Twisted Childhood Universe.” Beginning with Winnie-the-Pooh: Blood and Honey in 2023, followed up with a sequel a year later, the Twisted Childhood Universe expanded in 2024 with Peter Pan’s Neverland Nightmare and Bambi: The Reckoning. The British production company Jagged Edge has built a franchise of horror movies reimagining childhood icons. The selling point of each of these movies is to take a familiar childhood character and reimagine if they were the stars of their own horror slasher movies. Among film critics, these movies have not fared well, yet the novelty of seeing Winnie-the-Pooh chase after people with a knife has captured the public’s attention.
These films are legally possible because the source texts have entered the public domain, but the filmmakers must carefully avoid the protected expressive elements added by later adaptations. Winnie-the-Pooh cannot wear the red shirt that Disney made famous, Bambi cannot borrow Thumper or Flower, and Peter Pan has to save Tinkerbell from a poison, not a bomb.
In Europe, Bambi had been free to use since 2016, allowing these British producers to begin planning long before the American expiration in 2022. Public domain availability has become a staggered affair, and filmmakers exploit European law to develop projects while awaiting the U.S. release. Distribution strategies must navigate national boundaries. A film may be lawful in London yet cannot be released in New York, or vice versa.
The Twisted Childhood Universe encapsulates both the power and the limitations of public domain. It empowers independent creators to reimagine classics in their own new and unique way. These reinterpretations often push characters in directions contrary to their creators’ original vision, forcing new artists to navigate a constantly shifting legal landscape. It also shows why corporate lobbying has diminished: trademark, branding, and cultural relevance continue to secure value even as underlying copyrights expire.
When Congress enacted the Sonny Bono Copyright Term Extension Act in 1998, Disney led the charge to successfully argue for an additional twenty years. Many predicted that similar lobbying would occur as Mickey Mouse neared expiration in 2024. None did. From a legal perspective, an extension would be futile, as corporations have discovered that trademarks, contractual provisions, and derivative production allow them to preserve brand exclusivity without further copyright extension. Public opinion has shifted decisively in favor of public domain, making additional expansion politically costly, potentially estranging many who view corporations like Disney or Warner Brothers as having a chokehold on media.
For the foreseeable future, public domain will continue to be a fragmented international system. In the United States, every January 1st marks a new wave of material that will flow as the ninety-five-year term progresses. In Europe, the life-plus-seventy rule ensures that each year brings a new group of authors. In other jurisdictions, the Berne minimum of life-plus-fifty remains dominant. For creators, this provides both opportunity and risk. Works may be free to use in some parts of the world, while being completely off limits in others. For corporations, expiring works no longer contain threats. After nearly a century of brand identity and character association, even if their copyright expires, the identity they gave their characters will not.
“Public Domain Day” is therefore not a single global event; instead, it is a mosaic of works and titles entering the cultural commons shaped by treaties, statutes, and politics. For attorneys, it is both bread and butter—sustaining new projects and scholarship—and blood and honey, a reminder that intellectual property is contested, fragmented, and reinterpreted across borders.
