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Chapter 162: Planning Ahead for the Television Industry
🕑 Added 2025-05-10 01:54:38 +0000 UTCThe Cannes Film Festival awards ceremony after-party was set to take place on an open-air beach next to the Palais des Festivals.
There’s no helping it—beaches are the symbol of Cannes.
Plus, the festival needs some buzz to boost its reputation. Holding a closed-off party in a hotel wouldn’t give the media much to write about, would it?
The after-party was scheduled for 10 p.m.
At that point, the awards ceremony wasn’t even over yet, but a bunch of reporters were already lined up on the red carpet outside the venue, waiting.
Dunn and Natalie shared a car, but oddly enough, Alan Ball insisted on riding with Dunn.
Natalie, being sharp as ever, figured Alan had something to discuss. She made up a casual excuse and hopped into Nicole Kidman’s car instead.
Looking at Alan Ball’s flushed face and high spirits, Dunn could guess a bit of what was on his mind.
Just moments ago, when they accepted the Palme d’Or, Alan Ball and Sam Mendes had gone up on stage together and both gave their acceptance speeches.
Alan’s thank-you was clearly rushed and a little all over the place, but between the lines, his gratitude toward Dunn shone through—and it didn’t feel fake at all.
His greatest labor of love had won Best Picture at the Oscars, yet he hadn’t even gotten to touch the mic. This time, stepping onto the Cannes stage, even if it was a step below the Oscars, was still a proud moment for any filmmaker!
When he’s old, it’ll be a glorious story to share with his grandkids.
And all of this was thanks to Dunn!
People aren’t made of stone—even if Alan didn’t say it out loud, he owed Dunn a lot.
As soon as they got in the car, Alan cut to the chase. “Dunn, you know, uh… I wrote a script. Not for a movie—a TV show.”
Dunn grinned. “That’s great! I bet it’s going to be an awesome series!”
Alan didn’t hesitate and dove right into the story. “It’s about life, death, sin, and what happens after—a whole mix of big questions. Each episode, someone dies, in all kinds of ways—brutal, absurd, you name it. The main characters are the Fisher family, who run a small, family-owned funeral business, trying to survive in an industry dominated by big corporate takeovers.”
Just from the opening, Dunn already knew what this was—the iconic American TV series!
It racked up 46 awards, including 9 Emmys and 3 Golden Globes.
Alan Ball had passed on working with HBO, the biggest premium cable network at the time, and instead chose Dunn Pictures, a company just stepping into the TV game. Dunn knew this was the result of his own hard work.
No success comes without effort. Dunn wanted to use his attitude to win over one talented person after another—starting with the Nolan brothers, then Nina Jacobson, Bill Mechanic, Zack Snyder…
Dunn was well aware of his weaknesses, but he also knew his strengths.
“The funeral industry? That’s a niche social issue for sure. No doubt it’s a killer topic that’ll grab a ton of attention,” Dunn said, letting a hint of admiration slip out.
Alan hesitated. “The thing I’m worried about is that the funeral business is pretty dark. The whole tone of the show might not exactly feel… cozy.”
Dunn waved it off. “Don’t sweat that! Tarz is a premium cable channel—we’re all about delivering top-notch shows for a select audience, not churning out garbage like the broadcast networks!”
“Tarz TV…”
Alan’s face showed some doubt.
With only about 2 million subscribers, how many people would even watch a show on Tarz? 200,000? 300,000?
Dunn’s expression turned serious. “HBO didn’t start with 7 million subscribers either! Every quality series Dunn Pictures produces has to air on Tarz—same goes for this one!”
Talking about it got Dunn fired up.
In his past life, when that other show aired on HBO, its premiere pulled in over 6 million viewers! Across the whole HBO network, it topped 10 million!
What does that mean?
HBO had 7 million subscribers total, and the network had 12 million. That’s like 85% of households glued to their TVs, waiting to watch!
Even a legendary series like that other one only hit 10% of HBO’s audience in its first run—proof of the king-level dominance we’re talking about here.
Sure, the 9/11 attacks that followed tanked war movie ratings, but HBO’s subscriber count shot up—hitting 10 million in North America that year alone!
One blockbuster show can carry an entire network!
Of course, it wasn’t all that show’s doing—its follow-up was another god-tier series.
Two back-to-back jaw-dropping shows sent shockwaves through the industry and the market, spiking subscriber numbers. It made perfect sense.
Sure enough, when Dunn mentioned airing this on Tarz too, Alan froze, staring at him in shock.
A $120 million investment airing on Tarz, with its tiny reach—could they even break even?
Dunn caught his hesitation and shook his head lightly. “Alan, people who think big don’t obsess over short-term wins and losses. Take your choice here—if profit was all you cared about, you’d have gone with HBO to produce this show, not Dunn Pictures, right?”
Alan mulled it over for a while before speaking slowly. “You’re really planning something huge for TV, aren’t you?”
Dunn’s lips curled into a slight smirk. “Alan, I dropped $50 million on that other show and $200 million to buy Tarz. You think I’m just messing around?”
Alan paused, then broke into a grin. “Can I join Dunn Pictures? In the TV division, I mean.”
Dunn burst out laughing.
He’s hooked!
The TV division at Dunn Pictures was just getting off the ground. Joining now meant being one of the founding crew—plenty of perks down the line when the company went public.
Right now, the TV division was run by Moritz Eckhart, an old colleague of Bill Mechanic from his Fox days. Moritz used to head up Fox’s TV production department and had churned out a bunch of solid shows.
But when Bill left Fox, and that series—originally a Fox project—slipped through Moritz’s hands, Tom Rothman had the excuse he needed to fire him.
“Alan, Dunn Pictures would love to have you! You’ll be working with Moritz Eckhart in the TV production department, helping steer the ship,” Dunn said, making it clear: join us, and you’re the number-two guy in TV production!
In a creative department like this, admin and management skills mattered less than content chops.
With Alan’s track record of deep, classic films, his content skills were beyond question.
“The show’s called Six Feet Under. Season one’s about 12 episodes, and the budget… probably no less than $8 million,” Alan said, tacitly agreeing to Dunn’s offer while bringing up his project again.
In an era when TV shows were still mostly low-budget, an $8 million ask for a first season was no small number.
Dunn frowned slightly, looking a bit annoyed. “$8 million?”
Alan quickly explained, “It’s an urban story, sure, but not a sitcom. This show’s got a lot going on—locations alone might need…”
“No, no, Alan, you’ve got me wrong!” Dunn waved his hands, shaking his head. “I mean your budget’s too low! What can you do with $8 million? You’re not at Dunn Pictures yet, so you might not know this, but I expect our TV division to shoot shows like they’re movies!”
Alan’s eyes widened in disbelief.
Dunn pressed on, dead serious. “Alan, I’ve got a lot of faith in your project. I love this topic. We’ve got to aim high—strict standards, top-tier production—to stand out against the cheap junk on broadcast TV!”
Alan nodded, catching on. “So, premium shows to pull viewers to Tarz?”
“Exactly!” Dunn’s tone was firm, unshaken. “Times have changed. Those little workshop-style studios are way out of date. The future of TV, just like movies, belongs to branded, high-quality content. Small outfits making cartoons for kindergarteners? Fine. But TV shows? They’re toast!”
Alan finally saw Dunn’s grand vision—and why he didn’t care about short-term gains.
Dunn had already figured out where the TV market was headed!
“So… how much budget are you thinking?”
Dunn laughed. “Alan, you’re the showrunner—that’s your call.”
“$20 million! I can guarantee picture quality that rivals that other show!” Alan clenched his fist, his eyes practically sparking with determination.
Dunn raised an eyebrow.
Matching that show’s quality?
Alan’s talking a big game!
But Dunn liked it.
“Alright, $20 million it is! Alan, this project’s all yours—don’t let me down!”
Alan was willing to bet big, and Dunn was even more willing to roll the dice.
Besides, in the era of premium TV from his past life, $20 million per show wasn’t even that extravagant.
Finally, the car stopped.
Dunn pushed the door open, greeted by the salty sea breeze.
A black night, white sand, blue waves, a red carpet, orange lights, and a parade of long-legged beauties…
Cannes.
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