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Chapter 180: The True Superhero Movie
🕑 Added 2025-05-16 17:15:16 +0000 UTCIn some ways, John Woo and Michael Bay are cut from the same cloth.
Both broke into Hollywood with action flicks, jumping straight into big-budget territory—tens of millions—and nailing it right out of the gate.
Michael Bay had <Bad Boys>, <The Rock>, and <Armageddon>. John Woo countered with <Hard Target>, <Broken Arrow>, and <Face/Off>.
Both have snagged global box office crowns.
After churning out a string of classic action hits, their confidence soared, and they started eyeing new challenges.
Michael Bay took a swing at a WWII action epic with <Pearl Harbor>—and got knocked flat. Box office flop, worse reviews. In North America, it was hyped as a <Titanic> sequel; when it hit screens, it became the year’s biggest joke.
John Woo also tackled war with <Windtalkers>.
The movie itself wasn’t awful—not a total reputation-killer like <Pearl Harbor>. But it ran smack into 9/11. The distributor had to shuffle the release, and by the next year, the promo push was weak.
Cue <Windtalkers>’ box office belly flop!
Like <Pearl Harbor>, it “earned” a spot in Hollywood’s top ten flop list.
Post-transformation fails, both retreated to their roots.
Michael Bay did <Bad Boys II>—decent, but not a home run. Then came DreamWorks’ <The Island>—a straight-up disaster.
John Woo shot DreamWorks’ action flick <Paycheck>—$60 million budget, $96 million haul. Hardly a win.
DreamWorks got burned bad—especially by <Paycheck>’s flop, which tanked the studio into bankruptcy and a Paramount buyout.
After two strikes, John Woo slinked back to Asia, reclaiming his “world-class director” title—using mainland China’s cash and hottest stars to prop up Taiwan’s rookies and keep their film scene alive.
Michael Bay, though? His flashier past earned him Steven Spielberg’s nod. He landed <Transformers>—and skyrocketed to global fame.
Morally, Woo and Bay are a toss-up. But Dunn, out of personal fondness, wouldn’t mind steering Woo toward a better path.
Still, if Woo insisted on <Windtalkers>, Dunn wouldn’t mind watching it crash.
Its failure pushed MGM to the brink of bankruptcy, landing it on the auction block.
MGM’s a Hollywood legend—over 2,000 film copyrights, more than Disney and Fox combined!
Copyrights are IPs—the future kings of a content-driven industry.
Dunn’s rooting for MGM to tank—he’d love a shot at “saving” it.
Spielberg, seeing Woo wasn’t biting on a collab, dropped the charm offensive. He grinned at Dunn. “Nice work. You’ve got some luck too.”
Dunn laughed.
Universal’s tight with Spielberg, and they’re DreamWorks’ distribution partner now. Spielberg got an invite to <Spider-Man>’s internal screening and had already seen it. His focus? How Dunn was holding up against Disney and Fox’s tag-team pressure.
Natalie chimed in, sharp as ever. “Dunn’s taking notes from you. When you shot <Jaws> and <E.T.>, you faced big heat too.”
Spielberg flashed her a thumbs-up. Every time they met, Natalie said little but left a mark. “We should do a movie together sometime.”
Her eyes lit up. “Yes, please!”
After they split off, Natalie grabbed Dunn’s arm, practically bouncing. “Dunn, did you hear that? Spielberg wants to work with me!”
Dunn raised an eyebrow. “Is it that big a deal?”
“What do you mean ‘that big a deal’?” She pouted.
Dunn smirked. “You’ve done Luc Besson’s films, my films, and now Lucas’s. This is worth freaking out over?”
Natalie huffed. “But it’s Spielberg! Ugh, forget it—you wouldn’t get it. I’m just happy!”
Dunn shook his head, amused. “Fine, here’s to you starring in his next flick.”
She tilted her head up, grinning like a kid begging for candy. “You’ve gotta help me land it.”
Dunn thumped his chest. “I’ve got you!”
Spielberg’s name carries weight—actors dream of working with him. It’s a vibe.
Dunn? He’s not there yet.
…
The lights dimmed row by row. In the Vista Theater, eager eyes locked on the screen, waiting for the most expensive superhero blockbuster ever to unfold.
A glimmer of dawn pierced the starry void. The “Dunn Films” logo flared up, followed by “Marvel Studios” in bold red-on-blue.
The scene opened on a New York suburb. A clumsy voiceover paired with a bespectacled high schooler chasing a school bus, yelling, stumbling—total mess.
Meet the star: Spider-Man!
Superhero flicks ruled the ‘70s and ‘80s, but back then, effects were basic, and the shots were simple.
Dunn’s <Spider-Man> leaned into modern blockbuster style—wide-angle lenses galore, giving a breezy, open feel. The first shot alone, a sweeping panorama, felt grounded, relatable.
Turning a comic book tale into something that feels real? That’s step one for a great film.
“It’s a whole different beast from Tim Burton’s <Batman>!”
The guest list was stacked. George Lucas, who hadn’t seen the test screening, whispered to Spielberg beside him.
Spielberg smiled faintly. “Totally different. Old pal, this one’s gonna rethink how you see superhero movies.”
Lucas glanced at him, nodding silently.
Spielberg’s stamp of approval? This flick’s quality had to be solid.
As the story rolled on, Peter Parker stumbled into his powers, clueless about how to use them. His pressing issue? Cash. He needed a car to drive Mary Jane to school every day.
Cue the underground wrestling ring.
Peter showed up in his DIY Quickie costume—red spider tights and mask—aiming to win $3,000.
The ring was electric. The host eyed scrawny Peter and griped, “What’s your name?”
Peter blinked. “Me? Uh, Peter.”
“No, no—don’t you have a cool, flashy, crowd-pulling nickname?”
Peter scratched his head. “I… uh… ‘Human Spider’?”
“‘Human Spider’? What a load of crap!” The host scowled, drowned out by the crowd’s restless roar. Too annoyed to care, he grabbed the mic and bellowed, “Next up, the most dangerous, lethal, bloody, vile, terrifying, raging… Spider-Man!”
The host’s over-the-top hype whipped the crowd into a frenzy.
Peter froze. “Spider-Man? That’s not my name—I’m not Spider-Man!”
“Kid, you want people to remember you? Get a good name. Now go!” The host shoved him forward.
The plot flowed naturally—Peter’s wiry frame got pummeled, boos raining down, insults flying.
Finally, he mastered his powers, smoked his opponent, and went for the $3,000 prize.
But—twist—the boss stiffed him…
Up front, Spielberg, who’d already seen it, zeroed in on Dunn’s directing and editing chops.
Dunn nailed the pacing. The funny, light story kept twisting—calm one sec, chaos the next—sucking the audience right in.
And those killer lines? They hit deep.
“With great power comes great responsibility!”
“No matter our situation, no matter how torn we feel, we always have a choice. Who we are hinges on what we choose to be.”
“Trash talk’s just words—print it, and it’s libel.”
“Justice demands sacrifice—sometimes the things we cherish most, even our dreams.”
“I believe everyone’s got a hero inside. It keeps us true, gives us strength, lifts us up, and lets us die with honor.”
…
Then came the Green Goblin. That rainy upside-down kiss between Spider-Man and Mary Jane—already teased in trailers, already seen by Spielberg—still earned a silent wow.
That shot? It’d be the kiss for every teen dreamer—pure romance gold!
Dunn had done haunting love in the past, cozy love too. With <Spider-Man>, he leveled up.
He turned love into epic heroism—an anthem for the ages.
This was what comic book movies should be.
This was the soul of a true superhero flick!
Compared to the ‘80s <Superman> and <Batman> craze, those felt shallow—total clown shows.
“Dunn, solid movie—got depth!”
Sam Mendes, seated to his right, leaned over with a quiet nod.
“Depth?”
Dunn smirked and shook his head. This was just Marvel’s opening act.
Real depth? Wait for The Dark Knight!
Oh, wait—no, that’s Batman. DC, not Marvel.
But Dunn’s got his own “Dark Knight” up his sleeve!
