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🕑 Added 2025-07-02 16:32:39 +0000 UTCChapter 310: Director Scott
Ridley Scott was well aware of the bad blood between Dunn and Jerry Bruckheimer, and it put him in a tough spot.
He didn’t want to cross Dunn, but he loved the script for Black Hawk Down!
He’d even had several in-depth talks with Jerry Bruckheimer, tossing out ideas about casting and script structure.
“I’m already involved in the film’s early prep,” Ridley said, hesitating as he chose his words carefully.
In terms of experience, he had decades on Dunn. But status? Dunn was a titan in Hollywood.
Connie Nielsen sat there, listening to their exchange, feeling like she was on pins and needles. Her mind was reeling.
What was going on?
This was the Ridley Scott—the legendary director!
Sure, Dunn was a big deal, but Ridley was a veteran. Wasn’t it a bit much for Dunn to question him in this almost threatening tone?
She had no clue about Dunn’s real clout in Hollywood.
As a director, even with three global blockbusters over a billion dollars under his belt, Dunn wouldn’t have the standing to lecture Ridley Scott.
But…
Dunn had another card up his sleeve: he controlled Dunn Films and Legendary Pictures!
These were two of the hottest, most buzzed-about studios in Hollywood right now!
With that kind of “big boss” status, he could absolutely talk down to Ridley Scott.
“Signed the contract yet?”
“Still negotiating.”
Dunn smirked. “Then it’s not a done deal, right? Ridley, you know I’ve got a solid relationship with the British film scene. I’ve worked with new directors like Sam Mendes, Christopher Nolan, and Danny Boyle. Plus… The Chronicles of Narnia and the Harry Potter series? Those are my projects.”
Ridley nodded, letting out a small sigh. “Still… Black Hawk Down is a great story.”
Dunn grinned, his tone loaded. “Ridley, lately… war movies seem to be popping up everywhere. That’s not exactly mainstream, you know.”
Ridley froze for a second. At sixty-something, with all his life’s wisdom, he caught the hint in Dunn’s words.
“Ha, I get it,” Dunn went on, smiling. “Black Hawk Down is a solid story, and I’m sure you’d make it a knockout. But the timing’s off. You’ve got Pearl Harbor in May, Windtalkers in October—back-to-back war films. People might get tired of it.”
Just then, presenter Janet McTeer took the stage to announce the Best Actor in a Drama. Tom Hanks beat out Russell Crowe, snagging the Golden Globe for Best Actor!
Not great news for the Gladiator crew, but Ridley didn’t flinch. He was too busy mulling over Dunn’s words, one eyebrow twitching. “So, what kind of genre do you think fits the current trend?”
He’d figured it out.
Dunn’s tight with the British film crowd—there’s no reason he’d pick a fight with Ridley out of the blue. Even with his beef with Jerry Bruckheimer, this wasn’t some petty power play.
Approaching him at the Golden Globes gala? This wasn’t just about Black Hawk Down.
Dunn smiled. “Right now? Action sci-fi’s where it’s at!”
Ridley’s eyes narrowed, and it clicked. “You mean superhero movies?”
Dunn nodded. “No need to spell out how huge Spider-Man was. Fox’s X-Men did pretty well too. Word is, Warner’s gearing up to reboot the Batman series.”
“Those kinds of films need a massive budget,” Ridley said coolly.
Dunn grinned wider. “Of course! Fact is, for a great project—a great movie—I’m never stingy. Cameron’s Unsinkable got $200 million. Burton’s Pirate League? $140 million. Scorsese’s New York Storm hit $120 million.”
Russell Crowe didn’t win Best Actor, and the Gladiator team was quietly consoling him.
But Dunn and Ridley? They had bigger fish to fry.
“I’ve never directed a blockbuster like that,” Ridley admitted.
“That’s just regional bias and a lack of opportunity,” Dunn shot back.
“What’s your pitch?” Ridley asked, his face serious as he studied Dunn.
Dunn smiled. “Spider-Man 2 is in the works. I’d like you to direct—and maybe co-produce.”
“Spider-Man 2…” Ridley shook his head. “That’s a tall order. I don’t think anyone can step out of your shadow.”
“Why step out?” Dunn countered, unfazed. “Spider-Man—and the whole Marvel Avengers lineup—already has its tone set. No need to reinvent the wheel. Just tweak the details within the framework.”
Ridley’s face soured a bit.
No director—especially a big name like him—wants to live in someone else’s shadow.
“Ridley,” Dunn pressed, “you’re a commercial director. Box office is the ultimate measure. Honestly, your past films… their numbers haven’t been stellar. Even Gladiator won’t crack $500 million worldwide. But Spider-Man? It’s a contender to rival Star Wars.”
“I’ll think about it,” Ridley said, brushing him off.
Dunn glanced at the stage, where Steven Gaghan was picking up Best Screenplay—Dunn’s only nomination, gone. But the Golden Globes were small potatoes to him; he didn’t care.
“Ridley, Spider-Man 2 is a big challenge, no doubt. But… I’d love to see you become the third director in history with a single film grossing over a billion globally.”
That was a juicy carrot—immortality in the history books!
Ridley perked up. “Third? There are already two?”
Dunn tapped his chest. “Besides me, there’s James—James Cameron.”
“You’re off, aren’t you?” Ridley said, surprised.
Dunn laughed. “Past films, sure, no dice. But… don’t forget, come May, his new one, Unsinkable, hits theaters.”
Ridley chuckled, shaking his head. “Dunn, you’re too cocky!”
Dunn shrugged. “Confidence comes from strength.”
“Don’t forget, Pearl Harbor’s in the same slot!” Ridley, ever the polite British gentleman, couldn’t stand Dunn’s swagger and threw some cold water.
Dunn’s face twisted with disdain. “Ridley, Unsinkable has James Cameron directing and me producing. You really think Jerry Bruckheimer and Michael Bay—those two clowns—can take me on?”
Clowns?
Ridley’s expression shifted, unconvinced.
“Forget it,” Dunn said, waving it off. “Wait till it’s out. You’ll see—Jerry Bruckheimer’s not some wizard! You’ll be glad you ditched him for me today.”
“Hold up!” Ridley blinked. “When did I agree to work with you?”
“You’d turn me down?”
“Well…” Ridley faltered.
“Come on, no waffling. Do me a favor—give me some face. Spider-Man 2’s yours!” Dunn clapped Ridley’s arm, acting like it was a done deal. “Oh, and congrats in advance—Gladiator’s taking Best Picture!”
Ridley shook his head again. “Dunn, you’re too sure of yourself!”
“Don’t believe me?” Dunn shot him a sly grin. “You’ll see soon enough! And when you’re holding that trophy, I hope you’ll make up your mind quick.”
Natalie pouted when Dunn returned. “Your screenplay award’s gone!”
Dunn smiled. “Steven winning’s fine. He wrote Traffic—it’s a win for Dunn Films too.”
“But I wanted you to win!” Natalie grumbled.
Dunn took her hand gently. “Doesn’t matter if I win or not. As long as you do—that’s your first Golden Globe!”
Three years back, Dunn had snagged Best Director for Titanic. With his status now, he didn’t need Golden Globes to boost his rep.
“I heard… Tom Cruise is presenting?” Natalie’s face twisted oddly.
As last year’s Best Supporting Actor, tradition had him presenting this year’s Best Supporting Actress.
“That’ll be fun,” Dunn said, nearly cracking up. He couldn’t wait to see Tom Cruise’s face when Natalie took the award from him—probably a mix of anguish and bitterness.
But they’d underestimated Tom’s professionalism.
When Natalie, unsurprisingly, won Best Supporting Actress at the 58th Golden Globes and stepped up, Tom flashed his signature smile—like they’d been buddies for years.
The Best Director race, though, dropped a bombshell. Ang Lee’s eastern martial arts flick Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon beat out Steven Soderbergh, who’d nabbed two nods for Traffic and Erin Brockovich. The night’s biggest upset.
Crouching Tiger also snagged Best Foreign Language Film, topping a stacked field.
And the big finale—Best Picture, Drama? The epic Gladiator!
Ridley Scott led his crew onstage for the win. Before his speech, his gaze locked onto Dunn.
Dunn met his eyes, tapped his chest, and beamed with unshakable confidence.
Chapter 311: The Crime Writer
Sitting in the car, Dunn watched Natalie happily fiddling with her Golden Globe trophy, unable to put it down. He couldn’t help but chuckle. “Is it that big a deal? It’s not like you’ve never seen one before.”
“How could it be the same?” Natalie shot him a look and huffed. “The one at home is yours. This one’s mine!”
Dunn snatched the trophy from her hands, a little annoyed. “What’s this ‘yours’ and ‘mine’ nonsense? Even you’re mine!”
Natalie’s cheeks flushed. She glanced nervously at the driver up front and gave Dunn a playful shove. “Stop talking nonsense!”
Still, there was something about his bold, commanding vibe that secretly thrilled her. Her body softened, and she leaned into his arms.
Dunn wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Juno’s about to start filming, right?”
“Yeah, the 27th. It’s coming up fast,” Natalie replied, her eyes half-closed, her voice lazy and relaxed. “Oh, by the way, Kate’s joining the cast too!”
“Kate?” Dunn paused, surprised. “Not Cate Blanchett, right?”
“Yep, that’s her! Didn’t Rose mention it to you?”
Dunn was genuinely shocked. “She did, but… it’s just a small supporting role. I didn’t think she’d take it.”
Natalie pursed her lips and said softly, “What’s so surprising about that? It’s a project you’re personally involved in. I bet she’d do it for free if you asked.”
“Well, I guess my influence is pretty impressive,” Dunn sighed, sounding a bit helpless.
But it wasn’t that simple.
Juno, starring Natalie Portman, had a modest budget of just $8 million. It lacked big-name stars and tackled a feminist theme, which didn’t scream box-office gold. For Cate Blanchett to join the cast, she was clearly doing it as a favor to Dunn—playing a supporting role to boost Natalie’s spotlight.
Favors like that come with a debt to repay!
Of course, Dunn was already deeply tied to the Australian film scene, so a small favor like this could just be considered interest on that connection.
Natalie suddenly thought of something and asked, “Hey, didn’t you say Charlize Theron and Penélope Cruz were moving in with us?”
“I pushed it back. Once you head off to shoot, I’ll have them come over. For now… my main job is keeping you company.”
“Oh, please!” Natalie let out a playful scoff. “You’re just sweet-talking me. Don’t think I don’t know—sure, you’re with me at night, but the second you’re off work in the afternoon, you’re sneaking into Rose Byrne’s room!”
Dunn grinned mischievously and lowered his voice. “Well, you didn’t agree to join in. How about… tonight, I bring Rose over, and the three of us—”
“Get lost!” Natalie cut him off flat-out.
Dunn tried to coax her gently. “Come on, this is your first Golden Globe! Shouldn’t we celebrate?”
Natalie huffed, “Celebrate for me? Please, this sounds more like your kind of celebration.”
Dunn’s eyes lit up. “So you’re okay with that kind of celebration? Then when I win an award next time—”
“No way!” Natalie pinched his waist hard, her voice teasing but firm. “Don’t try to trick me into saying yes. That’s not happening! You need to respect me—I’m not like those other girls!”
“Alright, alright, you’re different!” Dunn quickly pulled her close, kissing her hair softly.
Man, he thought, this is going to be a long road!
The hottest commercial film of 2000 was, without a doubt, Spider-Man, raking in over $1.26 billion worldwide. Coming in second was Tom Cruise’s Mission: Impossible 2, with a global box office of $540 million.
Now that Mission: Impossible 2 had wrapped its theatrical run, a report from The Hollywood Reporter about the film sent shockwaves through the industry.
Tom Cruise’s paycheck for the movie included a $20 million base salary plus a 10% cut of the global box office. That meant he pocketed a whopping $74 million from this one film alone!
That figure blew past Keanu Reeves’ $56 million from The Matrix, Jack Nicholson’s $60 million as the Joker in Batman, Bruce Willis’ $65 million from The Sixth Sense, and Tom Hanks’ $71 million from Forrest Gump. Cruise was now, hands down, Hollywood’s number one earner!
But Mission: Impossible 2 meant even more to actors in Hollywood.
In the past, films like Batman, Forrest Gump, or The Sixth Sense had relied on lower upfront salaries paired with box-office profit shares because of tight budgets. Mission: Impossible 2, though, had a solid budget. Cruise’s 10% cut wasn’t just because he held the rights—it was a testament to his star power.
Times were changing.
Before, only big producers and famous directors could negotiate hard with studios. But Mission: Impossible 2 marked a shift: Hollywood’s top stars were now on the same level.
Actors’ paychecks were climbing, and there was no stopping it!
The trend started with A-listers and was trickling down to first-tier actors, even spreading from male stars to female ones.
As the underdogs rose, the grip of the big bosses and industry giants on Hollywood was weakening.
For Dunn, this was good news!
Chaos breeds heroes!
If Hollywood were just a stagnant pond, how could a newcomer like Dunn rise up and take over? Stirring the waters, fishing in the murk—that’s where the real opportunities lay!
With feminism as a politically correct ace up his sleeve, Dunn could still navigate the world of actresses with ease.
“Boss, here’s the report you asked for!”
Isla Fisher handed over the financials for Never Sinking, her voice sweet and syrupy.
Dunn glanced at her with a smile. “Something up?”
“Look at the files first—I’ll tell you after,” she said. Today, Isla was wearing a chiffon dress with a low neckline, showing off her fair, full curves. Her red lips were striking, tempting his imagination.
“You little tease. Wait a sec… nah, tonight. Natalie’s off filming, so I’ll deal with you properly then!”
“Hmph, don’t forget Rose is Australian too. We’ll team up against you!” Isla smirked playfully.
Dunn laughed heartily and skimmed the report.
Lately, Never Sinking had been burning through cash. After reading, he realized the bulk of the spending was overtime pay for the crew.
The schedule was brutal. Key team members, including James Cameron, were surviving on four or five hours of sleep, eating fast food, and pouring everything into post-production.
Hollywood’s films ruled the world, and its work ethic was just as legendary.
Setting the report down, Dunn let out a long sigh. If Never Sinking flopped, fine. But if it hit big at the box office… James Cameron would definitely need a few years off.
The pressure he’d been under was insane—rivaling even Titanic. A long break would be well-earned.
“Alright, spill it. What’s up?” Dunn stretched and beckoned her over.
Isla stood in front of him, speaking slowly. “Gone Girl is selling like crazy, right? And it’s got that feminist, crime vibe. I’ve been getting tons of invites to book clubs and discussion groups, even some talk shows.”
“You met some big-shot writer?” Dunn looked at her curiously.
“I did meet someone, but not a big writer—a journalist,” Isla said softly.
Dunn frowned. “A journalist?”
Isla nodded seriously. “He’s a crime reporter named David Simon. He mostly writes crime stories for The Baltimore Sun. To gather material, he often rides along with Baltimore PD’s homicide unit. He’s got a treasure trove of crime cases and details.”
Dunn’s gaze shifted, now tinged with surprise and admiration.
When did this girl get so savvy?
With Gone Girl blowing up, Isla had become a minor celebrity in literary circles. Had her whole perspective leveled up too?
Crime case files were pure gold for film and TV adaptations!
Movies were tricky—too dark, and they’d clash with political correctness, leaving many stories untouchable. But TV was different. Dunn knew the game: in the American TV market, crime dramas were king!
And this David Simon she mentioned, writing crime pieces for The Baltimore Sun? His storytelling chops were probably solid. Calling him a crime writer wouldn’t be a stretch.
Maybe…
Chapter 312: The Wire
Dunn hadn’t expected that Isla Fisher, through her own connections, could actually bring help to Dunn Pictures. He sincerely praised her, “Isla, you did great!”
Isla Fisher’s cheeks flushed slightly, a hint of shyness in her expression. “I… I wasn’t sure if I was doing the right thing, so I came to ask your opinion.”
“You absolutely did the right thing!” Dunn waved his hand confidently, looking at her with satisfaction. “David Simon, huh? Alright, set up a time for him to come by. I’d like to meet him.”
When it came to talent, Dunn was never stingy with his time.
“Now? Isn’t that a bit rushed? Gone Girl just hit the market,” Isla said, her eyes widening.
Dunn paused, confused. “Huh? What does this have to do with Gone Girl?”
“It’s totally related! I’ve got to handle the book’s promotion, and… well, I was hoping to take a break for a bit. I’m not in a hurry to start writing a new book…”
“Wait a second!”
Dunn raised a hand, completely lost. “Isla, what are you talking about?”
Isla blinked slowly, explaining in an unhurried tone, “Gone Girl is a crime story, right? And now I’ve gotten to know a bunch of crime writers. If we get David Simon’s help, he could definitely bring better ideas and real, solid case experiences to our next book!”
Dunn’s eyes rolled back, and he nearly fainted.
So this was Isla Fisher’s grand plan!
He couldn’t help but laugh and groan at the same time.
He’d thought she’d grown, that her vision had expanded, and she was ready to contribute more to the company. But no—her little scheme was all about her own writing career.
“What’s wrong? Did I say something dumb?” Isla fluttered her big eyes, looking innocent as ever.
Dunn was speechless.
His other assistant, Reese Witherspoon, made time to act, networked with tons of people, and tirelessly pulled resources toward Dunn Pictures. She was even learning producing skills—clearly operating on a whole different level.
Dunn had even considered giving Reese a VP role at Rose Pictures in a few years.
But Isla Fisher? Well… she was probably destined to stay a warm-the-bed assistant for life.
At least her writing skills were decent enough to moonlight as an author.
“Ahem…” Dunn cleared his throat. “So, Isla, have you ever thought about taking David Simon’s material to the script department for a film or TV adaptation?”
“Huh?” Isla gasped, covering her mouth. “Would that work?”
“Why wouldn’t it?”
“Well, a lot of crime stories are pretty dark. They don’t really fit for movies.”
Dunn sighed, a little exasperated. “If they don’t work for movies, turn them into a TV series! Haven’t you read the script for Six Feet Under? That’s got some serious edge.”
“Oh… right…” Isla muttered to herself. Suddenly, her eyes lit up, and she smacked her forehead as if it all clicked. “Wait, I remember now! David… he told me he’s been working on a script based on crime stories he’s experienced. It’s called… oh yeah, The Wire!”
“The Wire?”
Dunn’s pupils shrank, his expression shifting as something clicked in his mind.
David Simon… crime writer… The Wire…
No way. Another future HBO legend?
In the years to come, HBO would dominate the world with its polished productions, and a big part of that was their bold, dark crime series.
And behind those shows stood a crime genre expert: David Simon!
Right now, HBO was far from the powerhouse it’d become. Like many niche cable networks, it was still a scrappy operation, lacking its own production arm and mostly relying on leasing content.
But now, Dunn had snagged Alan Ball, and David Simon had just popped up…
“Dunn, did I mess up?” Isla wasn’t clueless. She seemed to realize her approach to this had been a bit narrow and self-serving.
Dunn burst out laughing, stood up, pulled her into a hug, and planted a kiss on her. “Mess up? Not at all—you’ve earned a gold star! David Simon… if he’s interested in the film and TV world, tell him to come by. As long as he’s got talent, I’m all in!”
Last year, Dunn Pictures invested in two TV series. Six Feet Under was already wrapped, and Band of Brothers was set to finish by the end of April.
Now, with a gem like The Wire in his hands, it was time to shake up Tarz TV with some strategic reforms and industry adjustments.
In early 2001, HBO’s TV network hadn’t yet established a dedicated production division. Its profits were modest, and it was still figuring out its business model.
It wasn’t until they teamed up with DreamWorks, Sky TV, and others to co-invest in Band of Brothers—and saw it blow up—that HBO locked in its premium-content strategy.
But Dunn had swooped in and snatched Band of Brothers. Now it was time to cut HBO off at the knees with a new business approach.
Dunn called a top-level meeting on the TV division.
Attendees included Dunn Pictures President Bill McNick, VP West Cotton, TV Production Head Moritz Eckhart, Deputy Head Alan Ball, Market Analyst Andrew O’Hare, Tarz TV Network President Tony Granmo, Tarz Station Chief Martin Donwen, and writers Jonathan Nolan, David Simon, and Deacon Whistler, among others.
“There are 100 million households in North America—a massive audience! Yet niche cable networks have never properly tapped this market. Not HBO, not Showtime—none of them have over 10 million subscribers. Our Tarz network? A measly 3 million. To me, that’s an embarrassment!”
Dunn didn’t hold back, firing off his opening salvo.
At its peak, HBO had half of North America’s households subscribed, raking in over $2 billion a year. This was a goldmine waiting to be cracked open.
Tony Granmo shook his head. “Boss, I’ve got to disagree. We’re not like those cheap basic cable channels. Fox Family has over 80 million users nationwide, but we’re targeting a different crowd.”
Martin Donwen chimed in, “Exactly. Tarz may only have 3 million subscribers, but we’re the third-largest niche cable network in the U.S. And we’ve been around way less time than HBO or Showtime.”
Andrew O’Hare wasn’t having it. “Tarz launched in 1994—‘less time’? Come on, where’s your ambition? Dunn Pictures started in 1997, and now in Hollywood, who’d dare call us a newbie?”
“That’s not the same!”
“What’s—”
“Enough!” Dunn cut them off sharply, his face stern, his gaze like a hawk sweeping over Tony Granmo and Martin Donwen. “I know you’re both Tarz veterans, and I like promoting from within to keep management stable. But if the leadership doesn’t satisfy me, I won’t hesitate to shake up Tarz’s staff. Got it?”
Tony Granmo and Martin Donwen exchanged a glance and nodded reluctantly.
Tarz’s HQ might not be in Hollywood, but Dunn’s ruthless reputation had spread far and wide—some said he outdid even Disney’s Michael Eisner!
Eisner had shareholders and a board to answer to, but Dunn? His power was unchecked.
When you’re eating someone else’s food and taking their money, sometimes you’ve got to swallow your pride and bend.
“What’s Tarz’s monthly subscription fee right now?”
“First month’s free. If you sign up for six months, it’s under $3 a month. For a full year—”
“Stop!” Dunn frowned, cutting in brusquely. “That’s way too cheap! What’s the difference between us and those bargain-bin channels? We’re a premium cable network—no ad revenue from businesses, no decent subscription fees from users. How’s the station supposed to make money?”
Tony Granmo hesitated. “We’ve done market research. Unlike HBO and Showtime, we don’t have big media conglomerates backing us. Without a price edge, it’s tough to break into the market.”
Bill McNick sighed, shaking his head. “The last thing a company should do is get stuck in a price war. Competition isn’t about price—it’s about product!”
Andrew O’Hare nodded. “Exactly. Why’s Dunn Pictures growing so fast? Forget the external factors—it’s because our films are top-notch. That’s the real key!”
Tony Granmo gave a bitter smile. “I get that content is huge for a network, but… the best movies and shows always go to HBO or Showtime first. They’ve got deeper pockets and bigger audiences. We can’t compete.”
Alan Ball grinned. “If we can’t buy it, we’ll make it ourselves!”
Moritz Eckhart, head of Dunn Pictures’ TV production, had always played second fiddle to the film division in terms of power and prestige.
But now, with Dunn dead-set on revamping and turbocharging the TV side, his moment had arrived.
“I’m with him! Alan’s Six Feet Under is done, and I’ll say it loud and proud: this $20 million series blows every TV show from the last few decades out of the water!” Moritz declared with total confidence.
Tony Granmo blinked, stunned. He’d heard rumors but figured they were exaggerated. “Wait… you really dropped $20 million on a TV show?”
Martin Donwen looked just as shocked.
Tarz’s base in Colorado—low taxes, pro-media policies, perfect for up-and-coming networks—kept them a bit out of the Hollywood loop.
Moritz laughed heartily. “$20 million’s nothing! Ever heard of Band of Brothers? Produced by Steven Spielberg, Tom Hanks, and our boss himself—that one’s got a $120 million budget!”
The Dunn Pictures execs couldn’t help but chuckle.
Behind that laughter was a swell of bold, fiery pride!
