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Chapter 167: Boss Dunn’s Ambitions
🕑 Added 2025-05-11 18:11:13 +0000 UTCEven if Sophie Marceau had left Dunn thoroughly satisfied, he wasn’t about to gamble a $100 million blockbuster on a whim. Beyond their quid pro quo arrangement, what really mattered was Luc Besson’s recommendation and the production team’s approval. Luc, a Frenchman with big dreams, was often called the “French Steven Spielberg.” Getting his shot at a $100 million A-list production for the first time, he naturally wanted as much creative control as possible.
Dunn had locked in Mel Gibson as the male lead, and the Aussie superstar was more than happy to team up with Dunn Pictures. For Luc Besson, shaping the film to his vision hinged on the female lead. His compatriot—and Dunn’s latest fling—Sophie Marceau was the obvious choice.
The movie, Mr. & Mrs. Smith, was an action flick, and Mel Gibson, an action icon, was a perfect fit. Sophie had done war and action films before too; with some firearms training, she’d nail the role. But there was a snag in Dunn’s original story. The Smiths, married for years and working for rival U.S. assassin groups, somehow didn’t know each other’s secrets? And their organizations didn’t either? It didn’t add up.
So Luc reworked the script with a spatial twist: Mr. Smith was American, tied to a U.S. outfit, while Mrs. Smith was French, linked to a French one. Tensions between the two nations’ groups eventually dragged the couple into the mess. The screenwriting and production teams at Dunn Pictures loved the tweak—it patched the plot holes and left room for a sequel.
The production folks also pointed out that filming heavily in France could score big tax rebates. Like Germany and the UK, France offered film incentives, though theirs were stricter—requiring local shooting, production, and hiring French talent. With Sophie as the lead and Luc’s revised script, they could snag at least $10 million back from France.
Luc, alongside Dunn Pictures’ marketing, writing, and production teams, had overruled Dunn’s original blueprint—effectively challenging his authority. But Dunn was thrilled. Mr. & Mrs. Smith might be a big name, but it was still a commercial flick with shaky logic. He’d busted his hump to build a unique review process at Dunn Pictures, and this film proved it was paying off. His past efforts weren’t for nothing.
So, for this project, Dunn let go of the reins. At an internal meeting, he laid it out firmly: “Keep the film’s vibe—romantic, funny, action-packed, sexy, with sharp performances and killer visuals. The writing and production teams need to nail that. Everything else? Let Luc run with it. Adding a dash of French flair amid the big clashes could be a nice touch.”
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Dunn tossed a thick stack of faxed papers onto his desk, rubbed his tired eyes, stretched lazily, and let out a helpless sigh. These were financing requests Scott Swift had sent over for Dunn Capital from the past couple of weeks. He’d pored over them for two hours, eyes glazing over, and hadn’t spotted a single company he recognized.
“With tens of thousands of tech firms out there, how’s a guy supposed to strike gold?” Dunn shook his head bitterly, his hopes fading.
Isla Fisher strolled over and poured him a coffee. “Worn out?”
“Ugh,” Dunn groaned dramatically.
“Want me to cancel your next thing?” she asked.
“What’s that?”
“The kickoff for Dawn of the Dead.”
To her, a $1.5 million horror flick didn’t seem worth the big boss’s time.
Dunn sat up straight. “That’s today?”
“Yeah, at noon.”
“Get ready—we’re going!”
“No need, right? Even Mr. Mechanic isn’t bothering.”
Isla’s point was clear: if Bill Mechanic was too busy to show, why would Dunn lower himself? Sure, he’d written and produced it, but it was just a B-movie.
Dunn stood, grinning as he patted her shoulder. “You’re missing the potential here. Sure, the movie’s got legs, but I’m even more excited about the director.”
“Zack Snyder?” Isla’s eyes flickered with doubt. A music video guy—worth this much attention?
---
The whole Dawn of the Dead project—from script to greenlight to shooting—had taken less than two months. When Dunn showed up, Zack Snyder was floored, rushing forward to shake his hand. “Mr. Walker, you actually came yourself?”
“I’m the producer, aren’t I? Had to be here.” Dunn smiled, then shook hands with Glenn Morgan, head of Rampage Studios. “Everything on track?”
Glenn nodded cautiously. “So far, so good. We’ve got a full plan. Barring any surprises, we’ll wrap in three weeks.”
“Three weeks?” Dunn’s eyes lit up as he turned to Zack. “You can pull that off?”
“Absolutely!” Zack promised with conviction.
Dunn laughed. “Perfect! If it goes smooth, we’ll hit theaters around Halloween. It’ll scare the pants off America!”
Glenn chimed in with some flattery: “Zack’s been studying hundreds of horror films lately—really putting in the work. With your script, I’ve got high hopes for this one.”
“Hundreds of horror films?” Dunn’s face grew serious as he locked eyes with Zack. “Don’t let those ‘70s and ‘80s B-movies box you in. Trust yourself—and trust my eye. You’re as good as any horror maestro out there.”
Zack’s mom was a painter, and he’d grown up studying oils with her. That carried over to his films—bold, textured visuals straight out of a canvas. It was the kind of style that thrived in the DVD and VHS markets.
In another life, Zack Snyder and Christopher Nolan were Warner’s twin titans of commercial cinema. Zack couldn’t touch Nolan at the box office, but total profits? Neck and neck. How? Peripheral sales. Nolan’s Dark Knight trilogy might’ve won acclaim, but in the Blu-ray and cable TV game, Zack’s stuff—like 300—reigned supreme. Even after Nolan’s Batman saga cemented his legend status, plenty of fans still swore Zack was the king of comic book adaptations. His visuals just screamed “comic.”
Dunn didn’t want Zack diluted by other films, losing that personal flair. Horror thrived on DVDs, tapes, and niche cable channels—and those same markets adored his heavy, tactile shots. Put those together, and what kind of fireworks would you get? Dawn of the Dead’s DVD and VHS sales might even rival Dunn’s own Titanic.
Zack stammered, mouth opening but no words coming out.
Dunn sighed, his tone earnest. “Zack, have some confidence. Forgot what I told you? I’ve got your career mapped out—and I’ll lay it on the table: after this, it’s 300. Then a bigger-budget horror flick. After that, I’m pushing you into the mainstream. Next stop? A-list blockbusters.”
Zack sucked in a breath, voice trembling. “Dunn, I… I’ll nail this film, I swear.”
“Stick to your style—like those ads you used to do. I love that bold, textured look.”
“Got it!” Warmth surged through Zack as he looked at this boss—younger than him yet brimming with faith. It felt like a soothing balm washing over him. Being trusted? Damn, that felt good.
Glenn Morgan, Rampage’s prez, couldn’t help but envy Zack’s luck. Hollywood was drowning in talent, but opportunities were scarce. Beyond raw skill, it was all about timing. Outside the geniuses, roles made actors and films made directors—that was the real deal. No question, Zack had found his champion.
“Oh, Glenn,” Dunn said, shifting gears, “has Rampage set up its distribution arm yet?”
Dunn had a deal with Universal to handle Dunn Pictures’ releases, but low-budget horrors like this fell to Rampage. Unlike blockbusters that hit thousands of screens at once, cheap scare-fests started in specialized horror circuits. Good box office meant more theaters; bad meant fading into obscurity. It was low-risk, low-cost, and simple—small indie outfits could manage it. If a film took off, theaters would come knocking for prints themselves.
Glenn scratched his head. “Distribution arm? It’s just five folks I oversee. Two handle print copies with the studio, three hustle with the horror chains. Nothing fancy.”
Dunn mulled it over. “Formalize it. Rampage is going to grow, and a proper distribution wing builds experience. Down the line, if we’re releasing low-budget arthouse or sci-fi, we might even pull staff from there.”
Glenn blinked, then nodded quickly. “Got it!”
Everyone in the company knew their young boss had sky-high ambitions. And now? It was crystal clear. This guy wasn’t just gunning for big commercial hits—he wanted a piece of the small-budget pie too.
