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Chapter 182: Unstoppable!
🕑 Added 2025-05-16 17:16:03 +0000 UTCIt was late, but Tom Rothman still hadn’t clocked out. He was waiting for news.
Today was <Spider-Man>’s preview screening.
In Hollywood, niche films like artsy dramas or horror flicks get test screenings, while blockbusters like this get previews.
Both share a goal: build buzz. It’s a marketing play.
For a big commercial flick you’re confident in, a preview lets die-hard fans, critics, and media kick off the word-of-mouth, setting up a positive vibe for the official release the next day.
If it takes off, theaters might tweak showtimes or screen counts in your favor.
But if the buzz flops? The fallout’s brutal. Take <Pearl Harbor>—its preview pulled in a measly $5.5 million, with reviews so bad Paramount’s months-long hype campaign crumbled overnight.
So, Twentieth Century Fox played it safe with <Me, Myself & Irene>—no preview, just a full North American release on June 24th.
Now, Tom Rothman needed to know: what’s the word on <Spider-Man>? He’d planted a mole at the premiere.
Half an hour later, his assistant rushed in. “Boss, we’ve got something!”
Tom leaned forward, tense. “How’d it go?”
The assistant hesitated, shaking his head. “Not great.”
Tom’s heart sank, his face darkening. “Spit it out!”
“During the screening, the laughs never stopped. Twice, the whole crowd stood up and clapped.”
The assistant peeked at Tom, saw his grim expression, and dropped his gaze. “After it ended… things got a little wild.”
“Wild?” Tom’s eyes lit up. “Comic fans pissed off or something? Any fights?”
A scandal like that? Fox’s PR could spin it into a storm.
They’d already cleared the air with Disney—no smear campaign against <Gone in 60 Seconds> came from them.
So who was behind it?
They couldn’t pin it on Columbia’s powerhouse Amy Pascal. First guess? Dunn Walker.
<Gone in 60 Seconds> was toast—two days in, barely $6 million. A total disaster!
Tom Rothman wasn’t about to follow Disney’s lead into the ditch.
The assistant’s face twisted, shaking his head hard. “No, it’s… the fans were too into it. They wouldn’t let the crew leave! Dunn Walker, James Franco, Jessica Alba—they had to come out for three curtain calls, and the crowd still wouldn’t quit. Applause just kept going.”
Tom had shot to his feet, buzzing with hope. But at that, his face went ashen, and he slumped back into his chair.
The audience’s reaction? That’s the real proof of a movie’s worth.
Nonstop cheers, endless curtain calls—no way a few paid shills could pull that off. This was genuine fan love, a shared emotional high.
Dunn’s past hits—<Titanic>, <The Sixth Sense>, <The Matrix>—all had killer reps and box office domination.
That’s the Dunn movie brand: guaranteed gold.
Now, with this “out-of-control” premiere, tomorrow’s entertainment pages were about to explode.
<Spider-Man> was unstoppable!
Tom Rothman leaned on his desk, deflated. At 46, he suddenly looked a decade older.
Skill-wise, he could hold his own—founding Fox Searchlight proved that.
But against Dunn? He always felt shackled.
Play nice with Dunn, and Tom had climbed to Fox’s top spot. Cross him? Setbacks every time.
Either way, he had to prep now.
If a slick action flick like <Gone in 60 Seconds> got crushed under <Spider-Man>’s wave, what chance did <Me, Myself & Irene> have with its shaky test buzz?
Failure was locked in. Time to find a fall guy.
Tom took a deep breath, his eyes narrowing as he studied his assistant.
The guy froze, barely breathing under the stare.
“Jimmy, starting tomorrow, dig into West—West Cotton, got it?”
The assistant blinked, then it clicked. “Boss, you mean… But West’s a rock star. Everyone sees it—the board loves him.”
Tom’s face hardened. “Nobody’s perfect! Eleven years at Fox—from distribution deputy to head of distribution and global marketing? He’s screwed up somewhere. Find it. Nail this, and I’ll get you a spot in distribution.”
The assistant’s eyes sparked. “Consider it done!”
…
“Hey, you gonna get up or what?”
Natalie, in pajamas, hugged a stack of newspapers, glaring at Dunn sprawled asleep on the bed. She chucked the papers at him, pissed.
Too much!
Last night, Dunn brought home Adriana Lima and Alessandra Ambrosio—two Victoria’s Secret stunners—plus his new pal Charlize Theron and old flame Sophie Marceau.
Three of the four were models, used to the chaos. Sophie? Open-minded as ever. Dunn sweet-talked and hustled all four onto one big bed.
It went on till past 3 a.m. before he finally crashed next to Natalie, wrapping her up and snoring away.
Dunn rubbed his eyes, bleary, catching Natalie’s fuming vibe. Guilt hit—he’d gone overboard last night, way too wild.
“Morning, babe.”
“Morning? It’s ten!” Natalie yanked off his blanket, spotted his chiseled frame, and huffed, tossing it back. “Put on some pajamas!”
Dunn grinned, sitting up and pulling her into a hug. “Come on, sweetheart, don’t be jealous. Oh? All these papers—good news?”
Natalie squirmed. “See for yourself!”
Dunn played coy. “I’m still half-asleep, eyes blurry. Read it for me?”
“Why should I?”
“Because… I’m your man. That enough?”
“Shameless!”
She pounded his chest, annoyed, but grabbed the papers anyway, picking out the big ones.
“They say your movie redefined superheroes. It’s not about sacrifice—it’s about responsibility. You showed everyone heroes are human too, with regular lives they can’t just power through when they’re fighting evil.”
“<Spider-Man>’s called the cornerstone of superhero films—solid, steady, unflashy, like the World Trade Center’s foundation, carrying the era’s weight. You pulled it off. Sure, it’s got Hollywood’s usual blueprint, but its heart opened a new chapter for comic book movies.”
“Then there’s… ugh, forget it, they’re too over-the-top. I’ll skip that one!”
“No, come on, let’s hear it!” Dunn cut in, grinning.
Natalie rolled her eyes, grumbling. “They’re just sucking up to you. Says you’re unstoppable—<Titanic> was a box office legend, you rebooted Star Wars, and now <Spider-Man>’s redefining comic films. You’re changing Hollywood, building a new era… It’s gross, total nonsense!”
Dunn laughed hard—she was adorable. He couldn’t resist peppering her face with kisses. “Nonsense? Nah, that’s straight facts to me!”
“Hmph! Arrogant jerk!”
“Still mad?” Dunn hugged her from behind, softening his tone. “Box office numbers in yet?”
“Yeah, faxed over this morning.”
“How much?”
“$29.45 million.”
Dunn’s jaw dropped. “How much?!”
Natalie finally cracked a smile. “You big dummy, you heard me—$29.45 million!”
Dunn sucked in a breath.
That’s a shocking preview haul!
Sure, later years would see previews hit $40 million-plus, but this was 2000!
Tickets averaged $5.39 now—ten years later, they’d climb to $7.89.
$29.45 million for a preview didn’t top <The Phantom Menace>’s record, but that was Star Wars—a decades-long American obsession. Its release even saw over 2 million people skip work, costing $300 million in losses.
<Spider-Man>? Just a first stab at a superhero flick from Marvel Studios, riding Dunn’s rep alone!
Could it, like <Star Wars>, birth its own hero culture?
<Gone in 60 Seconds> limped to $6 million in two days. <Spider-Man>? Nearly $30 million in one preview night. The gap’s insane!
No question—this summer, <Mission: Impossible 2> was just the appetizer.
The main course? <Spider-Man>!
Marvel Universe’s debut was charging in with unstoppable force—like the NASDAQ bubble crash.
Irresistible!
Uncontainable!
Unblockable!
