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🕑 Added 2025-08-06 17:00:18 +0000 UTCChapter 421: He Can’t Stir Up Trouble!
Miramax was just an indie film company with shallow pockets. Even scraping the bottom of the barrel, they could only muster $75 million.
Peter Jackson, though, was thrilled. For the first time, he’d get to helm a big-budget commercial project!
Sure, $75 million to shoot two films back-to-back was peanuts.
Soon, the scripts were ready—The Fellowship of the Ring and The Two Towers.
But then Miramax reassessed the project. To pull off these two movies, they’d need at least $140 million!
Harvey Weinstein had connections, resources, and know-how—but no cash.
He turned to Disney’s president, Joe Roth, got a hard no, then went to Michael Eisner.
Eisner was ice-cold.
No way was he letting Miramax dive into big-budget blockbusters to compete with Disney’s main studio. He stuck firm: $75 million max, not a penny more!
Harvey Weinstein was crushed.
He’d already sunk $10 million into pre-production.
At that point, his only option was the last resort—hand the project off.
Project handoffs were common in Hollywood.
Miramax’s The English Patient and Shakespeare in Love came from transfers. Pulp Fiction and Good Will Hunting were secondhand pickups too—and they’d all turned into gold.
Harvey knew The Lord of the Rings had potential, but with the money crunch threatening to kill it, he had to find a new buyer.
“Back then, Harvey set three brutal conditions. First, any company taking it had to pay $12 million within 24 hours. Second, the Weinstein brothers had to be credited as executive producers. Third, Miramax would get 5% of the global box office, and Saul Zaentz, who owned the Rings rights, would get another 5%.”
Bob Shay shrugged, his tone casual, but you could see the gleam in his eyes he couldn’t hide.
Taking on a project this massive with such steep terms took serious guts from whoever made the call!
“At the time, two companies were in the running—New Line and PolyGram. That record label had been churning out hit films and was hooked on the movie game. But then PolyGram’s cash flow tanked, they went bust, Universal Music snapped them up, and New Line was the last one standing.”
Dunn nodded. “So… you’re the one who agreed to take on The Lord of the Rings?”
Bob Shay grinned. “Peter Jackson was a nobody back then—no box office wins on his resume. The fantasy and epic vibes demanded top-notch CGI, and shooting back-to-back meant a sky-high budget. New Line had never tackled anything this big before, but I said yes anyway.”
“And you upped the budget too, right?”
“Yep. The Lord of the Rings is a trilogy of books—why squeeze it into two parts? A three-parter was the way to go. For this unprecedented project, we budgeted over $270 million.”
Dunn smirked. “$270 million for three movies isn’t exactly a fortune. You know James spent $200 million on Titanic alone!”
Bob got serious. “It’s different! Titanic was shot in the U.S. The Rings trilogy was made in New Zealand—better tax breaks, cheaper labor. $270 million there is like $400 million here!”
Dunn smiled faintly, not arguing, but his mind was elsewhere.
The Lord of the Rings hadn’t hit theaters yet, but anyone who’d seen the cuts knew Peter Jackson’s work was going to shine!
Even that shoddy, panned animated version from 30 years ago made decent money. A polished, effects-heavy take like this? No question—it was a slam dunk.
The unsung hero behind it all? Harvey Weinstein.
Without his initial $10 million-plus investment and his wrangling with agencies, producers, and studios, the Rings project wouldn’t exist.
“I won’t deny Harvey Weinstein’s talent, but I can’t stand the guy,” Dunn said, not bothering to hide his thoughts.
Barry Meyer frowned. “Harvey’s not Brett Ratner. Right now, you can’t touch him. Neither can I!”
Dunn shrugged nonchalantly. He’d already mapped out his plan.
Bob Shay piped up, remembering something. “Oh, and when Harvey handed off The Rings, he tacked on an extra condition. If New Line ever does The Hobbit, he gets a cut too.”
Dunn gave him a sly look. “Simple fix. If Saul Zaentz picks a new partner, New Line’s deal with Harvey falls apart.”
Bob’s face tightened, his eyes flashing with unease as he stared at Dunn.
This guy wasn’t eyeing The Hobbit and planning to snatch it from New Line, was he? That’d break Hollywood’s code!
Barry Meyer’s brow furrowed too.
If Dunn stepped in personally, with his golden reputation, Saul Zaentz might actually ditch New Line for Dunn Films.
Dunn laughed. “Relax, I’m not about to poach a friend’s prey.”
The rights to The Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit were a mess—Saul Zaentz, Harvey Weinstein, New Line’s film rights, MGM’s distribution rights, and the Tolkien Estate’s 7.5% profit share…
The tangled web of ownership would seriously gum up tie-in projects.
Future lawsuits over profit splits were practically guaranteed.
By contrast, Dunn was more intrigued by the TV rights for The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings!
Back in the day, Tolkien sold the film rights, but the TV rights stayed put, controlled by the Tolkien Estate—clean and free of messy disputes.
Flash forward to 2017: Amazon shelled out a jaw-dropping $250 million for the global TV rights to The Rings!
It was only 2001 now. Dunn was keen to scoop up the TV rights for The Hobbit and The Rings, plus any related adaptation rights, in one neat package.
If he could snag The Silmarillion too, even better!
With The Rings still unreleased, even if they asked for the moon, the price wouldn’t be sky-high.
…
Lately, Dunn had been grinding, drafting outlines for scripts—mostly big-name TV shows from the future—then registering them.
Beyond that, he’d tasked his copyright team with snapping up book rights on the market. The crown jewel? A Song of Ice and Fire.
But George R.R. Martin wouldn’t budge. He didn’t think current effects tech could do his vision of Westeros justice.
“Fine, if he won’t sell, we’ll hold off. Once New Line’s Rings drops, he’ll see what today’s CGI can pull off,” Dunn said.
He called in his copyright head, Manola Dargis, and gave her a new mission. “I want the TV rights to The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings!”
Manola, already clued in on these classics, jumped in. “That shouldn’t be tough. The film rights to The Hobbit and Rings have been floating around forever—little Tolkien’s lost control, so there’s no point clinging to the TV rights. But The Silmarillion? That’s a clean slate, all his. Getting that one’s going to be a slog.”
Dunn nodded. “The Silmarillion—if we can grab it, great. If not, no sweat. It’s a beast to adapt anyway.”
Manola nodded, then perked up with a smile. “Oh, I saw the Juno cut. Ms. Portman’s got a shot at some awards.”
Dunn shook his head. “I know her acting—it’s still a bit green. But with some maneuvering, an Oscar nod should be doable.”
It was the “9/11” year, and war was looming.
Next year’s Oscars pulling off at all would be a miracle. The picks would lean hard into political correctness—Black actors for Best Actress and Actor. Juno’s feminist streak fit the vibe too.
“But…” Manola hesitated, glancing at Dunn. “I’ve heard some rumors.”
“Rumors?”
“Some industry vet’s unhappy about the Oscars getting too young and kid-friendly—especially with you and Ms. Portman as poster children. You nabbed Best Adapted Screenplay last year; she got Best Supporting Actress. Word is, next Oscars might shake things up.”
“Industry vet? The Academy wouldn’t float that kind of talk!” Dunn paused, then it clicked. His eyes sharpened. “Wait—Kirk Douglas?”
Manola shook her head. “Just hearsay. You’ve got the connections—dig into it.”
Dunn snorted, unimpressed. “The tide’s the tide—he can’t control the Oscars! With political correctness in full swing, A Beautiful Mind is this year’s frontrunner.”
“But what about Ms. Portman? Even if Juno doesn’t snag her Best Actress, she deserves a nomination. She shouldn’t lose a shot over outside noise.”
“Relax, we’ll deal with it after Juno drops, closer to awards season. No rush.”
Dunn’s face was calm, but his vibe turned chilly. “I’d love to see some old-timer try to stir up a storm!”
Chapter 422: Acquiring Universal? Too Small a Vision!
After more than a month of recovery, the impact of the "9/11 incident" on the entertainment industry had finally faded.
In the new week, Dunn received the latest report faxed over from Comcast.
Last week, the TV network gained over 2.1 million new subscribers, pushing the total past 14 million!
Across North America’s premium cable market, even the combined subscriber base of HBO and Showtime couldn’t match that!
Last night, Band of Brothers aired its fifth episode, sparking another ratings surge.
Titled "Crossroads" and directed by Tom Hanks himself, it was a standout. The main reason? It brought a ton of fresh techniques to the table.
Sure, Hanks borrowed the structure from Saving Private Ryan, but in a series format, it still felt inventive.
The cinematography was top-notch too. The episode kicked off with shaky, wide shots paired with amplified off-screen breathing, building intense suspense and setting the tone for a massacre-like victory tinged with reflection.
"Crossroads" was a clever title—literally the battle’s location, but also a nod to Captain Winters’ inner conflict. The combat scenes weren’t heavy, but the series’ first group bayonet charge delivered raw brutality. The near-silent charge sequence, with almost no narration, was especially brilliant.
Tom Hanks might not be a full-time director, but after working with legends and co-creating Saving Private Ryan, his skills behind the camera outshone most TV directors.
His segue into the next episode was a highlight too.
The company’s dwindling supplies and the defeated Allied soldiers’ grim mental state hit hard. Winter loomed, and the distant glow of artillery fire signaled the Battle of the Bulge was coming!
With a titan like Hanks steering the ship, Band of Brothers reclaimed its premiere-level heat. Average viewership hit 14.87 million, with a peak of over 18 million U.S. households tuned in at once!
The buzz was back!
In a sluggish off-season for movies, this miniseries became the entertainment media’s biggest focus.
DreamWorks had good news too—the overseas rights for Band of Brothers were selling like crazy!
Every country paid $2 million per episode, non-negotiable!
The U.K. and France shelled out over $30 million each.
So far, international sales topped $180 million!
As a major shareholder, Dunn Pictures was in line for a hefty cut.
Once the first run wrapped and DVDs hit the shelves, the real goldmine would open up!
"How much did Band of Brothers make in its original run? $700 million? $800 million?" Dunn mused in his office, his memory hazy but his grin unstoppable.
That grin wasn’t just about the show’s success. A big name was about to step into the picture—Jack Welch!
Months back, Dunn and Welch had chatted a few times. Back then, Welch doubted the TV network could break through HBO and Showtime’s grip.
But facts don’t lie—content drives traffic, and Dunn’s calls were spot-on.
After the explosive run of Six Feet Under, The Shield, The Grinch, and Band of Brothers, the network’s North American user base had surpassed HBO and Showtime combined!
Jack Welch had to keep his word. He was joining Dunn Pictures as a strategic advisor.
Dunn’s strength was foresight—dominating content and reading market trends. But when it came to managing a company and crafting big-picture strategies, he was green.
With Jack Welch, the world’s top manager, guiding him, Dunn Pictures would be on the right track.
Lately, Dunn had dug into Welch’s background.
The old guy lived large. After retiring, he divorced his first wife, aiming to enjoy his golden years with a young, gorgeous woman.
Say what you will—he had style and ambition!
But his ex-wife was a lawyer with serious game. She hit him with every legal trick in the book, walking away with $180 million and half his properties.
Stuck funding his lavish life and new bride, Welch had no choice but to launch Jack Welch Consulting, advising big corporations to keep the cash flowing.
Their meeting spot? The racetrack at the International Golf Club.
Dunn rolled up fashionably late with his new flame, Anne Hathaway, and spotted sixty-something Jack Welch galloping across the field on a sleek black horse.
Anne’s jaw dropped.
Dunn just chuckled. "Still kicking strong—full of fire!"
"Can you ride?" he asked her.
"I—"
Her timid stammer told him she was scared. He smirked, waved over a staffer, and had them bring a tall chestnut horse. Hoisting her up, he climbed on behind, guiding them at a slow pace.
"Wow, this feels… like the first time I rode a bike!" Anne squealed, thrilled but stiff as a board, her cheeks flushed.
Dunn held the reins with one hand, the other around her waist. "Honestly, this is only my third time too. But these trained horses? Easy to ride."
Anne shook her head. "Nah, I’ll stick to golf. It’s way more relaxing. This is too intense—makes me feel like I can’t breathe."
Ten minutes later, they ditched the horses for the golf course.
Compared to the racetrack, the green was the real spot for deal-making.
"Every time I see a report on TA Network, my heart skips a beat," Welch said, swinging hard before glancing at Dunn. "You pulled it off. I’m shocked—and happy for you."
Dunn took a casual swing. Young and sharp-eyed, his ball flew farther. "I’m young—got more drive!"
Welch shook his head. "Drive’s part of it, but your instincts and market sense are razor-sharp. That’s your edge, even with your chaotic management."
Dunn’s face darkened.
Anne, after a few swings, paused, staring over in surprise.
Was this a dig at Dunn?
No way!
To her, Dunn was unstoppable!
Just a few offhand words with Barry Meyer, and he’d crushed rising director Brett Ratner. That kind of power was intimidating.
Plus, living with a bunch of women at the hillside estate showed her Dunn’s wild side.
Over in the lounge area, Dunn bristled. "Dunn Pictures’ results are killer! I’d even bet we’ll be Hollywood’s top earner this year!"
Never Sinking, Mr. & Mrs. Smith, A Beautiful Mind—all box office champs in their slots.
Welch shook his head. "The numbers are great, thanks to your films. But the management’s a mess—unclear roles, redundant staff. That’s undeniable."
Dunn froze. Bill Mechanic had flagged this too.
When Dunn Pictures started, they’d bulked up fast, hiring tons of people. Especially Dunn’s "sunglasses crew"—his go-to team from the system. Most were brilliant but lopsided talents.
They were tech wizards, not managers.
As founding members, though, they had seniority and slid into leadership roles—setting up inevitable problems.
"Firing or demoting the founding team is a rite of passage for any startup," Welch said, eyeing Dunn. "You’re ruthless with rivals, but too soft on your own people. That’s not business."
Dunn sighed. "Bill—Bill Mechanic, our president—used to work at Twentieth Century Fox. Tough guy, ran a tight ship, but his team ganged up and ousted him. Since joining us, he’s flipped—smooth, diplomatic. He doesn’t want the dirty work anymore."
With Bill playing nice and Dunn holding back, underqualified founders clogged the management ranks.
Worse, Bill was a producer at heart—a technical guy. He couldn’t match the interpersonal and strategic chops of a Barry Meyer, Tom Rothman, or Ron Meyer.
Welch waved it off. "Fine, I don’t know Dunn Pictures well enough yet. I’ll visit a few times, get the lay of the land, then advise you. For now, let’s tackle something bigger."
"What?"
"Your money!"
"Huh?"
Dunn blinked, startled, staring at him. "My money? What about it?"
Was this guy fishing for a paycheck before even signing on?
Welch caught his look and glared. "I mean the cash you made in the stock market! How are you planning to grow Dunn Pictures’ empire with it?"
Dunn scratched his head, sheepish, then leaned in, lowering his voice. "Next step—buy Universal Studios!"
"Universal?" Welch mused. "Vivendi’s been on a tear lately—stronger than the Japanese firms were a decade ago."
Dunn grinned mysteriously. "Yep. That’s why Sony’s bleeding cash and Panasonic’s on the brink."
Welch, a business genius, knew Vivendi’s reckless U.S. buying spree amid a stock crash and economic downturn was suicidal. He nodded. "Universal’s brand’s solid. Decent value there."
Dunn’s lips twitched. This was Universal Studios!
A Hollywood titan!
But Welch’s tone? Casual, dismissive.
Then again, compared to General Electric, which Welch once ran, even Vivendi—let alone Universal—was small fry.
He had every right to shrug it off.
"And then?" Welch asked.
"Then what?"
"That’s it? Just Universal? Your vision’s too narrow!"
Chapter 423: Every Empire Has Its Limits
Dunn wasn’t buying Jack Welch’s take.
It seemed the success of the TV networks still hadn’t convinced this old-timer that content was king. Universal Pictures didn’t just have a solid distribution pipeline—it had over 1,500 film copyrights and a treasure trove of Hollywood resources. That was real wealth!
“Mr. Welch, if you think the TV network’s success was a fluke, what about last year’s Disney-Time Warner clash? Without Who Wants to Be a Millionaire’s massive pull, Time Warner might’ve crippled Disney’s TV network.”
Dunn was referencing a headline-grabbing story from last year.
It started with AOL eyeing Disney for a merger. But Michael Eisner dismissed AOL’s stock as inflated junk, tossing in some sharp jabs for good measure.
So AOL pivoted, pulling off a century-defining merger with Time Warner—$165 billion in play!
Time Warner traded real assets for AOL’s stock. Their big shareholder, Ted Turner, even bragged to The New York Times, “This merger’s got me more excited than my first time 42 years ago!”
It was the talk of the town.
Michael Eisner panicked. The fallout with AOL threatened Disney’s TV network ties with Time Warner!
Disney’s TV reach spanned the U.S., but antitrust rules meant no single operator could handle its massive network alone.
With fewer users, Disney could exclusively license to Comcast for a lower cut.
But its broader network had to be split up among multiple operators—including Time Warner Cable.
Sure enough, just as Eisner feared, Time Warner yanked Disney’s signal, leaving 3.5 million households unable to watch Disney channels through their service.
Disney’s stock tanked, and its image took a hit.
Disney offered to switch those users to Comcast or RCN, but it barely helped.
Then came the game-changer: Disney’s ace show, Who Wants to Be a Millionaire, rolled out a celebrity Q&A series!
Families, caught in the crossfire of the two giants, missed out on this blockbuster program and kicked up a storm of protests. Even lawmakers’ kids joined in, sparking high-level attention.
In the end, Time Warner caved, swallowing over 30 “unequal terms” from Disney. Michael Eisner’s clout held strong despite Dunn’s relentless pressure, keeping him a Hollywood titan!
Time Warner’s Richard Parsons issued a public apology, admitting, “No PR department in the world can outmuscle a show like Millionaire.”
That’s the power of content!
One hit show nearly saved Disney single-handedly.
How much content did Universal have?
Was that small potatoes?
To Dunn, Jack Welch still didn’t get the heart of the entertainment game.
Welch waved a hand, his voice rich and steady. “You’re missing my point. I’m not talking content—or even business. I said this is big-picture stuff. I’m talking vision.”
“Vision?”
“Call it a goal, if you like.”
Dunn’s face lit up with realization. He got it.
Jack Welch was worried.
Dunn’s net worth was soaring past $15 billion—no stopping that!
On the Forbes list, he’d crack the top 15, easy!
That kind of fortune could let Dunn live lavishly for generations.
For a grizzled vet who’d hustled a lifetime, it might not raise eyebrows. But Dunn? He was young—too young—with a future brimming with possibilities!
And uncertainties.
A weathered old-timer might handle that kind of cash. But a kid short on experience and wisdom? That much wealth could easily send him spiraling.
Even Dunn, with two lives’ worth of perspective, had floundered after cashing out big from the stock market. He’d even lost focus on his own film, A Beautiful Mind.
Life needed a goal!
Without one, no drive—just drifting into a haze of excess and ruin.
That’s what Jack Welch was getting at.
Dunn went quiet for a moment, his voice softening. “Truth is, my goal’s never changed. I want to rule Hollywood!”
“Hm?”
“Back in ’96, I was just a nobody assistant in a film crew. Then I got lucky, started Dunn Films, put out My Big Fat Greek Wedding, Wedding Crashers, and Spider-Man. For a while, I was on top—outshining even the big studios.”
Dunn reminisced slowly, a flicker of struggle in his eyes. “You’ve probably heard I clashed hard with Disney. But what you don’t know is that Disney was just the tip of the iceberg.”
“Twentieth Century Fox was boxing me in. Time Warner’s media was pushing bankruptcy rumors, eyeing Harry Potter’s rights. Universal, my so-called partner, held back on Spider-Man promo and made me foot the bill. Columbia tried to strong-arm Marvel’s hero rights. Paramount was circling my animation studio like vultures.”
He’d never shared this with anyone. Back then, the pressure was crushing. Disney’s ban was the public face, but behind it? A storm of schemes.
This was the first time he’d opened up. “Everyone thought I was some reckless, loudmouthed punk, dumb enough to take on Disney. Hmph! If I didn’t fight, Dunn Films would’ve ended up another DreamWorks—dead! Fighting might’ve killed me, but sitting still was just surviving. I didn’t want to scrape by—I wanted to carve a path through the siege with my own hands!”
“Luckily, I played it right.”
“I put on a mask, acted clueless, and went head-to-head with Disney. With the other five giants, I played nice, teamed up with Michael Ovitz, pitched a co-investment plan, and won people over. I aimed all my fire at Disney. You saw the result—Disney used Millionaire to make Time Warner blink. I used Spider-Man to flip the table!”
Jack Welch nodded. Back then, he’d seen the papers full of snark—calling Dunn brash, stupid, cocky, and delusional.
But even a short chat showed Welch this kid’s maturity and smarts were way beyond his years.
Dunn’s words finally painted the full picture of that chaotic, cutthroat mess.
“So you want to dominate Hollywood—make all those bastards who screwed you, openly or not, kneel at your feet?” Welch grinned, his eyes gleaming with approval.
Dunn shook his head, his gaze steely. “Competition’s just business—no right or wrong. Warner, Sony, Paramount, even Universal—I don’t hold grudges. I’ve even worked with Fox on a bunch of projects. But I’ve got a blacklist. The ones who kicked me when I was down and humiliated me? Not one of them gets off easy!”
Back in the day, Jack Welch faced heavy bureaucracy and seniority games at GE, getting a raw deal.
When he took charge, his first move was layoffs—framed as “reform.”
Every jerk who’d stepped on him or played power trips over his head? Fired!
So he got Dunn’s mindset. “So your goal’s power?”
Dunn owned it, speaking freely. “Since forever, what do men chase? Wealth, power, women! I’ve got the cash, I’m not short on women—what I need now is power! Hmph, you know Kirk Douglas? That fossil, retired for 20 years, still thinks he can challenge me!”
Welch chuckled, shaking his head. “Either way, having a goal’s good. Just don’t forget—power’s a bottomless pit.”
Dunn thought it over. “I might invest in some companies, but I won’t meddle—just invest. My empire’s staying in the media sandbox.”
Welch looked at him deeply, eyes full of respect.
A kid worth over $15 billion, clear-headed, grounded, driven, and idealistic—not just talk, not chasing fantasies. That was rare.
More importantly, he grasped that every empire has its limits!
Even Napoleon, unstoppable at his peak, thought endless expansion was the key—until Waterloo hit.
No one wins forever.
Invincibility isn’t about charging ahead endlessly—it’s knowing when to stop, turning back to dominate your turf, crushing any upstart who might outshine you.
For Dunn to see that so young? Impressive.
“Your goal’s power—I get it,” Welch said with a nod, a smile tugging at his lips. “So what’s Dunn Films aiming for? You’re not planning to buy Universal, are you?”
Dunn laughed heartily. “Of course! Universal’s just step one. Down the road, there’s bigger fish—like that NBC network you had your eye on. I’m pretty interested.”
Welch shook his head. “Not enough. Nowhere near enough!”
Chapter 424: I Want to Change the Whole World!
A wise elder in the family is like a treasure.
Meeting a mentor like Jack Welch was Dunn’s good fortune.
Dunn watched him quietly, listening intently.
Jack Welch began, “You’ve probably heard about my philosophy when I ran General Electric—the ‘number one or number two’ rule. In global competition, every GE division had to be the top dog or runner-up in its field. If not, we’d cut it loose.”
Dunn frowned. “That’s tough in media. It’s already an oligopoly. Even with News Corp pushing Fox Network, it can’t shake the big three. Hollywood’s split between six giants too.”
Welch grinned. “So you figure you’ll buy Universal Studios, become a movie oligarch, then snag NBC to rule TV?”
Dunn nodded honestly. “I can’t see another way. Money alone won’t crack this.”
Welch said, “The method’s fine, but your thinking’s off.”
“Tell me more.”
“Companies and entrepreneurs chase the same thread, but their missions can clash—sometimes completely! Dunn, you’re after wealth, women, power—no shame in that. But a company’s purpose can’t be so selfish. Dunn Pictures is growing, employees piling up. You need a strong, righteous, universal belief to unite them.”
Dunn shrugged. “What, like slogans? Google’s ‘don’t be evil’ didn’t do much—they’re running bid rankings now.”
He’d seen too many hollow corporate catchphrases in his past life—empty noise like, “Customers first, teamwork, embrace change, integrity, passion, dedication.”
This wasn’t some pyramid scheme brainwashing. Could a few buzzwords really fire up a company?
Welch straightened. “That’s Google’s mess-up. A company’s core is mission, action, results. Let me give you an example.”
“There’s this water treatment company. Their mission was, ‘We do water treatment—it’s great.’ Not exactly thrilling, and a bit goofy, honestly. New leadership came in, spent three months digging, and zeroed in on a project from six years back. It saved water for clients and kept them off the EPA’s fine list.”
“With that, they redefined the mission: ‘We deliver clean water, boost client profits, and promote a sustainable world.’ They even put up a public screen in the office showing how much water they saved globally each day.”
“That got people pumped! Employees started telling everyone how their work—saving water—was saving the world. What a grand, thrilling mission! They poured passion into it, pushing sales to save the planet, and profits soared.”
Dunn’s eyes widened, nearly laughing. “You’re saying a businessman’s mission is to change the world?”
Welch shook his head. “A businessman’s mission is to make money! But slap a ‘change the world’ label on it, and you’ll make more. Edison sold himself as an inventor, Gates pushed personal PCs—same game, different skin.”
Dunn tossed out some American humor. “Guess we owe Edison big time. Without him, no Hollywood today.”
Welch looked awkward.
Edison’s rep wasn’t spotless, sure, but he founded GE—Welch’s ancestor of sorts. Dunn’s jab stung a little.
Dunn chuckled to smooth it over. “I get it. Personal ambition hides behind a shiny wrapper. A compelling concept drives a company’s spirit. A dreamy shared vision gets everyone fired up.”
Welch nodded. “I don’t come to Hollywood much, but it feels stale, lifeless—like some creaky old geezer. Total opposite of Silicon Valley’s buzz and hustle.”
Dunn frowned, mulling it over. “Entertainment’s just movies, music, TV—maybe theme parks and games. Where’s the lofty concept to dress that up?”
Welch locked eyes with him. “Don’t you want to rule Hollywood? It’s been decades—power’s locked in place. To break that and rise above, you’ve got to smash the status quo! If you don’t know how to change the world, start with changing Hollywood!”
“Change Hollywood?”
Dunn’s eyes popped, his heart pounding. It hit him hard.
Reborn into this life, he wasn’t here to coast. He wanted to leave his mark on Hollywood.
Changing Hollywood? Now that was an exciting hook!
He’d already shaken things up—introducing “portfolio investing” to revamp decades-old film financing, reworking the Marvel and Pirates universes, founding Rose Pictures to push women’s rights, and dragging premium cable TV from the fringes into the mainstream.
The future held even more to transform!
Welch watched Dunn light up and smiled. “Hollywood’s too old, too stuck. Like you said, retirees from 20 years back still pull strings. That’s unfair. The current setup’s pissing plenty of people off—that’s your glue for Dunn Pictures!”
Dunn took a deep breath, spine stiffening, brimming with swagger like he could command the skies. “Alright, I’ll change the world—starting with Hollywood!”
Welch laughed heartily. “That’s the spirit! Once your company goes public, you’ll see why this ‘change the world’ bit matters. Traditional firms max out at 20 times earnings. Tech? 80 times, 100, even 200! Why? Changing the world means toppling the old guard—it’s a golden child with endless potential!”
Change could come from anywhere—methods, content, channels. First, you need a rallying cry.
Back at the office, Dunn stewed all afternoon and came up with: “New Order, New Model, New Force, New Hollywood!”
Bill Mechanic gaped, stunned. “Dunn, what are you up to?”
Dunn, buzzing, said, “Lately, I’ve noticed the staff’s adrift. Me being filthy rich might’ve thrown them off—no direction, no chase, just sinking with me. This is Dunn Pictures’ new spirit—to pull everyone out of the fog and fight again! We’re aiming big—building a new Hollywood world!”
Bill’s lips twisted, brows knitting. “Dunn, this isn’t a joke!”
“You think I’m kidding?”
Dunn was half-amused, half-annoyed. Vision-wise, Bill couldn’t hold a candle to Welch.
Welch saw Dunn as the next Edison, Rockefeller, Morita, Bezos, or Gates—a legend who’d rake in billions and reshape the world, a timeless business icon.
Selfish gain meets public good—that’s the perfect life.
Bill, though, was still stuck in Hollywood’s bubble, fretting over backlash from Dunn’s bold moves.
Dunn waved it off grandly. “DreamWorks threw out a similar line when it started. It wasn’t the dream that failed—Katzenberg and Spielberg just didn’t have the chops! The Big Six crushed them. I’ll rise above. They bent under pressure—I’ll fight to the end!”
After two years with Dunn, Bill knew this tone meant no arguing. He sighed. “If you do this, the old guard’ll hit back.”
Dunn sneered. “The Big Six? Everyone but Disney’s our partner.”
Bill countered, “Studios care about profits, not order. I mean the shadowy bunch calling the shots behind the scenes.”
Dunn spat out a crude jab. “Those old fossils?”
Bill’s forehead creased.
He’d come up as a producer—technically part of that old guard.
“Hollywood’s a business, but it’s bogged down by non-business crap. Why? It’s darker than the White House or Wall Street! Markets should be about profit, serving consumers—not kissing the rings of those decrepit has-beens!”
Dunn was fired up. Old-timers like Kirk Douglas kept popping up to lecture him. He’d bitten his tongue before—now he was done.
“Forget them. Today’s studios lean on giant media conglomerates, under insane profit pressure, and ignore those geezers more and more. Their real sway’s down to the Oscars. I’m young—don’t need a big personal trophy yet.”
Best Director was Dunn’s shot at a solo award, but at his age? Too soon.
“Bill, in a few days, I’m pumping a fat stack into Dunn Pictures—$7 billion, at least!”
“$7 billion?”
Bill’s eyes bulged.
Dunn waved him off. “Set it up. I want Company and Dolby Laboratories locked down fast. Oh, and send Vivendi an invite—make it crystal clear: I’m buying Universal!”
Chapter 425: Raise the Flag, Rally the Troops
Overhauling the film and TV industry wasn’t like flipping the internet or tech world upside down—it couldn’t be a clean break. Change had to start small, bit by bit.
Even new concepts in film leaned on cutting-edge tech: 3D, giant screens, holograms, VR, multi-screen setups, streaming platforms.
Bottom line? Tech was still the ultimate game-changer!
Companies like IMAX and Dolby Laboratories were the future of movie tech.
IMAX, born in 1967, specialized in high-def giant screens. After decades of growth, it had teamed up with major theater chains to build over 75 cinemas across North America.
Headquartered in New York, it went public on NASDAQ in 1994. Current stock price? $103. Market cap? $64 million.
Acquiring Dolby Labs, though, would be trickier—it was privately held.
Founded in 1965 in San Francisco, Dolby focused on audio—think noise reduction and surround sound systems.
Lucky break: Dr. Dolby was getting old and in poor health. He needed to settle his affairs fast.
If Dolby stayed private and passed to his son, U.S. inheritance tax would hit hard!
So, two options: sell the company or take it public.
Only cash or stocks could be passed to heirs via trusts or charities.
But going public wasn’t on the table short-term. Dolby had solid cash flow, no debt—too clean. Low debt made stock financing messy and impractical.
In short, both IMAX and Dolby posed acquisition challenges, but with the right price, it was doable.
“No way Universal’s up for grabs!”
Bill Mechanic shot it down instantly.
Dunn grinned. “Vivendi’s riding high right now—they’d never sell Universal. We just float the rumor, tip off the feds, and feel out Vivendi’s stance.”
No country wanted its media in foreign hands—Rupert Murdoch even took U.S. citizenship for that reason.
If the feds caught wind Dunn wanted Universal, they’d roll out the red carpet.
In Dunn’s original playbook, snapping up IMAX and Dolby wasn’t on the radar. But with a new goal to shake up Hollywood, tech had to be locked down.
Both companies had sky-high potential anyway.
Imagine blending IMAX’s giant screens with Dolby Atmos—Dolby Cinema! That’d be next-level movie magic.
Dunn was headed to the Chicago set at Fox Studios when he spotted a freshly decorated quote on his company’s first floor. It lit a fire in him:
“New Order, New Model, New Power, New Hollywood!”
The revolution started now!
Chicago had been filming for over a month. With newbie director Rob Marshall at the helm, executive producer Kathleen Kennedy had been on set nonstop, swamped.
The second she saw Dunn, she griped, “Big boss, I signed on at Rose Pictures part-time! You’re piling way too much on me. Juno to Resident Evil, The Hours to Chicago—I’m busier than a full-timer!”
Dunn caught the smirk in her tone—she was happy, just riffing in that American humor way. He laughed, “What, you doubting my commitment to women’s rights? I’m proving it to you! Oh, and haven’t you heard? Gone Girl’s gearing up too—Rose Pictures is on it.”
Kathleen shook her head, turning serious. “Dunn, I don’t think that’s smart. Rose Pictures is small—cranking out a few films a year is plenty. No need to overdo it. Pushing women’s rights takes time, not a rush job.”
Dunn said, “You’ve heard the company’s new strategic slogan, right?”
“New Order, New Model, New Power, New Hollywood—yeah?” Kathleen gave him a half-smile.
Dunn shot her a thumbs-up. “Exactly. You get my vision. Hollywood’s suffocating women—I’m dying to change that.”
Kathleen eyed him, teasing, “If you mean it, you might have to stop playing the field.”
Dunn puffed up, all righteous. “The big picture comes first!”
Inside, he cracked up.
Equality wouldn’t cramp his style!
Worst case, even if Hollywood’s women rose up, refusing to trade favors for roles, killing the casting couch…
There was always the modeling world.
That place was a dark goldmine.
His charmed life wouldn’t take a hit—gold-diggers were everywhere!
Especially in America’s money-worshipping culture.
Kathleen mulled it over. “Gone Girl can get a tentative greenlight, but we’ll shoot after the new year—Rose shouldn’t juggle too many films. Also, I think my work here’s basically full-time now.”
“Oh?”
Dunn’s eyes lit up.
Kathleen was Rose Pictures’ president, but she still ran Kennedy/Marshall, the production company she owned with her husband.
“Frank and I have been on the phone every night, talking it out,” she said, pausing to lock eyes with Dunn. “We agree—your vision’s our goal too!”
Now Dunn was pumped.
Was this his call to arms, answered by the masses?
Kathleen Kennedy and Frank Marshall were Hollywood’s elite producers!
Dunn swallowed hard. “You and Mr. Marshall want to join Dunn Films?”
“Can we?”
“Yes! Hell yes!” Dunn slapped his hand down, then hesitated. “But Kathleen, I don’t know Frank well. You, though—I know your talent. Running Rose full-time? That’s beneath you.”
Skill-wise, Kathleen outshone even Marvel’s president, Nina Jacobson, yet she was stuck with tiny Rose Pictures—overqualified.
Kathleen tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, smiling. “No biggie. As a woman, I love Rose’s mission.”
Dunn nodded, lowering his voice. “Kathleen, you know I made a killing in the stock market. I’ve funneled $7 billion into Dunn Films. Let’s team up—you, me, Frank—and do something huge!”
“$7 billion?”
Kathleen gasped, shock all over her face.
She was tight with Steven Spielberg—she knew DreamWorks launched with three heavyweights plus Allen Paul’s cash, totaling just $1 billion.
That alone had rocked Hollywood.
But Dunn? Ruthless. With Dunn Films debt-free and raking in profits, he still dumped $7 billion into it!
What was he plotting?
Kathleen’s heart raced. This cemented her faith in Dunn’s resolve, guts, and killer instinct!
What DreamWorks couldn’t pull off, Dunn Films just might!
Dunn clapped her shoulder. “I told you—I’m building a new pattern, a new order in Hollywood. Trust me, you’ve made the right call!”
Her pulse jumped at his words. She took a deep breath. “Hollywood needs a shake-up. DreamWorks flopped, but that doesn’t mean the old system’s invincible!”
Dunn grinned, nodding toward Catherine Zeta-Jones dancing her heart out on set. “What about her? She say anything lately?”
Kathleen knew about Dunn’s beef with Kirk Douglas. She shook her head. “She’s all in on acting—never mentions family stuff.”
She dropped her voice. “Honestly, Michael Douglas is decent—good rep. He’s visited the set a few times and hinted at smoothing things over with you through me. It’s old man Douglas—he’s got some beef with you.”
“Beef?” Dunn’s lip curled, amused. “Not a misunderstanding. I chewed him out over the phone that time.”
“What?”
Kathleen’s jaw dropped.
