466-470

Chapter 466: The Great Eisner 

Dunn Studios had officially signed a deal with CBS, giving them exclusive rights to air the first season of American Idol. All the related TV spin-offs and extras would go to CBS too. For instance, there’s this “Hometown Journey” segment where the final three contestants get a chance to return home and rally votes before the finale. From the moment they step off the plane, CBS would broadcast it all live—reuniting with family, throwing big celebratory parades, the works. These uplifting, feel-good, family-friendly stories always hook viewers in a big way. 

American Idol comes with a whole lineup of marketing tricks too. Beyond the show itself, there’s a ticketed compilation tour, a partnership with Universal Records to drop albums, and even a charity performance week for the idols to give back. But despite it being such a hot property, ABC didn’t even try to fight for it—they just handed the opportunity to their rival, CBS, on a silver platter. 

Dunn passed up better offers from NBC and FOX, choosing CBS instead. The contract? Five million dollars upfront, plus a 55% cut of the commercial ad revenue. According to Bill McNick’s projections, that ad split alone could rake in $120 million for Dunn Studios!  

Meanwhile, Dunn was mulling over something else entirely. 

Was Michael Eisner seriously about to let it all fall apart? 

Was he really just going to sit there and watch Dunn Studios hand American Idol to his arch-nemesis CBS without lifting a finger? 

Lately, Dunn had been fielding calls left and right from big shots at NBC and FOX, all scrambling to snag the American Idol broadcast rights. But Michael Eisner? Not a peep. Maybe he figured Dunn would demand an arm and a leg and decided to stay quiet. Or maybe… he genuinely didn’t care. 

Compared to ABC’s woes, Disney’s real headache was its theme parks. The new Disney California Adventure, aimed at adults, had barely any visitors since opening and was getting zero buzz. Over in Europe, Disneyland Paris was bleeding money year after year. Then came the 9/11 attacks, slamming the global tourism industry—and Disney parks took the hardest hit. 

Of course, the lower you sink, the more room there is to climb. Think of the Asian Tigers during their boom years—GDP doubling like crazy, pulling off economic miracles left and right. But once they hit “developed” status and things leveled off, even a 3% growth rate was a stretch. Disney’s in the gutter now, which means the conditions are ripe for some impressive numbers. 

At a recent board meeting, Michael Eisner boldly declared that over the next five years, Disney’s annual growth rate would top 20%. Maybe that’s where all his confidence was coming from. 

… 

Dunn didn’t really want to help CBS take down ABC. Ideally, CBS and ABC would slug it out until they both collapsed—best-case scenario for him. But no dice. Michael Eisner’s brain must’ve short-circuited or something, because he’d suddenly cut off all contact with Dunn. 

Lately, Dunn and Natalie had been practically living at Universal Records’ recording studio, working on their track Something Just Like This. They’d recorded a ton of versions, but the producer still wasn’t happy. The issue wasn’t Dunn—he was channeling “Prince” vibes right now, his singing skills at peak level. No, the problem was Natalie. 

Sure, she bragged about being the lead singer in some band as a kid, but that was all smoke and mirrors. Those children’s theater gigs were about being cute and charming, not actual talent. Recording a single now? That takes real skill. Natalie knew she was the weak link. Dunn never said it out loud, but she could tell. She was ambitious, though—bought herself an iPod and loaded it with demo tracks from session singers, listening to them nonstop whenever she had a spare moment. Girl was putting in the work. 

That day, Dunn and Natalie rolled up to Universal Records’ headquarters in Hollywood—nice and close by. Same routine: meeting up with the legendary producer David Gordon to polish the song. 

“Let’s get it done today!” Dunn said, hyping Natalie up while sneaking a wink at David. The guy was a riot—a Black dude with a knack for comedy. 

Natalie huffed, “I’ve made up my mind. If it’s still not good this time, just edit it in post. This is dragging on too long and messing with my studies.” 

David let out an exaggerated yelp, like some sitcom star. “Natalie, you’ve finally seen the light!” 

Dunn cracked up. 

Natalie shot him a glare. 

David shrugged it off. “Every singer gets some post-production polish. Even Madonna! Britney too—sometimes the notes are too high, and they tweak it later. No shame in that.” 

Post-production tuning is normal—fixing off-key notes here and there. But full-on editing? That’s next-level. Like singing a song a hundred times, cherry-picking the best line from each take, and stitching it all together into something perfect. With that kind of editing, even a tone-deaf kid could sound like Elvis. Problem is, it strips away all the artistry and turns it into a scam. 

Up until now, Natalie had insisted on doing it herself. But with February almost over and no solid take in sight, she was ready to throw in the towel. 

Dunn grinned. “Edit it, whatever. Movies get edited too—what’s the difference? Besides, you’re an actor, not a singer. No big deal.” 

“But why are you so good at it?” Natalie pouted, sulking. 

“Me? Ha, I’m just in the zone right now. Give it a few months, and maybe I’ll be worse than you.” Dunn waved it off. “Come on, let’s hustle. Michael Eisner’s got a Senate Commerce Committee hearing at 9 tonight.” 

“Piracy stuff?” Natalie asked. 

“Yup.” 

“Oh.” She nodded. “Yeah, that’s worth keeping an eye on. Piracy’s getting worse every day.” 

… 

In David Gordon’s office, Dunn and Natalie were glued to the TV, soaking in Michael Eisner’s speech. 

Protecting film and TV content from digital piracy was a huge deal for Hollywood. Internet downloads were running wild, hammering the DVD business. The music industry had it even worse—kids were grabbing pirated songs left and right instead of buying albums. Even a giant like Universal Records was staring down a bleak future. Word was, AOL Time Warner was already planning to ditch their music division to cut losses. Warner Records was about to go solo. 

Eisner’s speech was clearly polished to perfection—sharp enough to make a point, but careful not to ruffle too many feathers among Hollywood’s tech partners. In the panel discussion that followed, he was grouped with News Corp’s COO Peter Chernin and Intel’s senior VP Emerson Lee. No more scripted PR fluff—this was off-the-cuff. 

Without the safety net of a prepared statement, Eisner’s tone sharpened. He tore into online piracy with a cold edge. “I can’t negotiate with those companies. They’re a bunch of thieves—they think they can grow by stealing!” 

Senator Ben Nelson from Nebraska jumped in. “Which company are we talking about? If it’s blatant infringement, the law will handle it!” 

Eisner paused, then said slowly, “Well, some companies… computer companies… their ads are everywhere. Full-page spreads, billboards all over San Francisco and LA. It’s right there in black and white.” 

“What’s it say?” 

“Rip, mix, burn!” 

Eisner was getting fired up now, oblivious to the weird looks around him. “They’re pushing this slogan to get kids to buy their computers. ‘Rip, mix, burn.’ In other words, buy this machine, steal whatever you want, and share it with your friends!” 

Watching from the TV, Dunn’s eyebrow twitched. “Rip, mix, burn” sounded way too familiar. 

“David, you know this tagline?” he asked, racking his brain. 

David shook his head. “Heard it somewhere, but I can’t place it.” 

Natalie, sitting beside him, let out a little huff and tossed the iPod hanging around her neck into Dunn’s lap. 

“What’s this for?” 

“You’re asking about the slogan, right?” 

Dunn’s face froze. “You mean…” 

“Yup. ‘Rip, mix, burn’—it’s Apple’s TV ad for the iPod.” Natalie tilted her chin up, a smug little smirk on her face. 

Dunn might be good at everything—singing included—but when it came to raw smarts, Natalie had him beat by a mile. She never forgot a thing she’d seen. 

“HAHAHA!” 

Dunn burst out laughing right there in someone else’s office at Universal Records, cackling so hard tears streamed down his face. 

“Hey! Have you lost it?” Natalie stared at him, stunned. 

David looked equally baffled. “You… you okay, man?” 

Dunn didn’t even hear them. For once, he completely lost it, howling with laughter. “Yes, yes! It’s the iPod ad! Eisner, oh Eisner! I’d only heard of The Great Gatsby—turns out it’s The Great Eisner! Unreal! You’ve gone and pissed off Jobs now—good luck with that!” 

What’s done by fate can be forgiven; what’s done by your own hand, you’re stuck with. 

Dunn had tried to sweet-talk Steve Jobs into selling Pixar’s contract and ditching Disney, but Jobs shot him down. And now? Eisner’s house was on fire. 

In a formal, dead-serious setting like Congress, Michael Eisner had just publicly blasted Apple for promoting piracy. This was no smaller than Dunn slamming the Golden Globes for shady dealings at an awards show! 

Talk about a plot twist! 

Things just got interesting. 

Chapter 467: MV Director  

This congressional hearing didn’t just catch Hollywood’s eye—it grabbed the attention of the tech world too.  

Companies like Google, Microsoft, Oracle, Apple, and Dell—basically anyone tied to the internet—were all under some suspicion of infringement, big or small. Even in America, the internet giants weren’t free of their own “original sin.”  

Steve Jobs and Michael Eisner had a famously rotten relationship. Still, as Pixar’s chairman, Jobs was tight with Roy Disney, the head of Disney’s animation department, and Thomas Schumacher, the studio president.  

“Pick it, make it, burn it!”  

When Jobs heard Michael Eisner publicly toss out that slogan during the congressional hearing on TV, he nearly spat blood in rage!  

He immediately dialed Thomas Schumacher, practically roaring into the phone, “Do you have any idea what Michael just did to me?”  

The fury in his voice hit like a wave of heat.  

Thomas, startled, stammered, “I don’t know—what happened?”  

He’d been swamped with work and had no clue about Eisner’s speech.  

Jobs bellowed, “Michael spoke at Congress and attacked Apple! This is a provocation—I could take it as a declaration of war!”  

“Steve, calm down first,” Thomas said, trying to soothe him. “I had no idea about this. I’m sure the board will give you a satisfying answer. Honestly, I can’t believe it’s real—would Michael really say something like that? It’s shocking!”  

“I’m not compromising on this!”  

Jobs let out a cold huff, hung up, and called Pixar. He bluntly told John Lasseter that as long as Michael Eisner was running Disney, he’d never renew their contract—ever!  

When John asked why, he was floored too. He quickly rang Thomas, just as furious. “What the hell’s going on? Eisner sold Jobs out! He publicly smeared him at Congress!”  

Thomas replied, “I’m handling it. I just texted the chairman and I’m waiting for his response.”  

Right then, a message from Michael Eisner popped up: “It’s a misunderstanding. I didn’t say anything.”  

Thomas raised an eyebrow, a flicker of doubt creeping in. “John, this might be a misunderstanding on Mr. Jobs’ part. The chairman just replied—he says he didn’t say anything at Congress. There’s some mix-up here.”  

“Is that so?”  

John Lasseter felt a twinge of confusion too.  

It was hard to wrap his head around. Michael Eisner was a top-tier exec—why would he blast Jobs at Congress? Pixar was Disney’s biggest partner right now, and Jobs was its head honcho!  

A few minutes later, John called back, shouting just like Jobs had. “I’ve got his speech transcript right here! That bastard!”  

“No way!”  

Thomas was stunned, glancing again at Eisner’s text.  

John, fuming, read aloud, “Here’s what he said: ‘They use this slogan to sell computers, encouraging kids to pick it, make it, burn it. In other words, if they buy this computer, they can use it to steal and share the stolen stuff with their friends…’ You hear that? He’s saying Steve stole his product!”  

Faced with that transcript, Thomas was left speechless.  

…  

Lately, Zack Snyder was riding high.  

His Resident Evil had been out for two months, pulling in $67 million in North America and $78 million overseas—a global haul of over $140 million, way beyond expectations.  

Plus, Saw II, which he produced, was directed by a newbie but raked in over $40 million in North America in just a month. For a B-movie with a $4 million budget, that was another massive win!  

Even better, Ghost Rider was officially greenlit, and—no surprise—he was tapped to direct.  

This $150 million blockbuster was shaping up to be the biggest opportunity of his life!  

Sure, Nicolas Cage passed on playing Ghost Rider, but Marvel Studios had launched a wide-open casting call, overseen by Nina Jacobson, Kevin Feige, and the Snyder couple.  

The final pick would come down to Dunn Walker, the big boss, since this was a major long-term franchise—too important to leave to chance.  

Still, having a say in the lead was already a huge deal for Zack Snyder.  

One day, Dunn called him into the office.  

Zack assumed it was about Ghost Rider casting and jumped in first. “I’ve got my eye on an actor, but Nina’s not sold. She thinks we should go with a British one.”  

Dunn nodded.  

He trusted Nina Jacobson to handle things. The lead for Ghost Rider was basically a ticket to A-list stardom. Given Dunn Studios’ current position, strengthening ties with the British film scene made sense.  

With the Golden Globes losing their shine, what’s next?  

Industry chatter was all over the place. The likeliest bet? The British Oscars—the BAFTAs—would surge in importance, stepping in as a key Oscars companion.  

Dunn Studios needed to plan ahead.  

As Marvel Studios’ president, Nina Jacobson clearly grasped Dunn Studios’ strategy better than Zack did.  

Dunn didn’t shoot him down outright. “So, who’d you have in mind?”  

“Ben Affleck!” Zack said.  

Dunn frowned and shut it down fast. “Nope, not happening.”  

“Huh?”  

“That guy’s not in Dunn Studios’ plans.”  

Zack suddenly got it—Ben Affleck must’ve ticked off the big boss somehow.  

Dunn waved it off. “Anyone else? Just Ben Affleck?”  

Zack replied, “Auditions aren’t done yet, but we’ve narrowed it to two actors… uh, both British. One’s Gerard Butler, the other’s Clive Owen. They’re mature, tall, built, with solid acting chops. And their paychecks won’t break the bank.”  

“Gerard Butler… Clive Owen…” Dunn mused, tossing Zack a playful glance. “Which one do you lean toward?”  

Zack thought it over. “Gerard Butler, I’d say. His beard gives him a bit more flavor.”  

Dunn chuckled.  

Of course!  

In his past life, Gerard Butler had starred in 300.  

“I know both of them—solid picks,” Dunn said with a nod. “Set up a meeting; I’ll audition them myself. Honestly, who plays Ghost Rider isn’t the big deal—it’s the film’s vibe and pacing that matter. I’ll say it again: I want a serious, dark, epic feel.”  

Zack straightened up. “Got it. We’ll match it to Daredevil’s tone. As long as the script’s solid, I’m good.”  

That hit Dunn right where it counted.  

Zack Snyder’s strength was visuals—big, bold, oil-painting vibes. With a killer script, he could deliver jaw-dropping results like 300 or Watchmen.  

But when he meddled in scripts himself, the visuals stayed stunning, yet the stories tanked hard.  

“Zack, everyone’s got strengths and flaws—it’s about knowing them,” Dunn said, locking eyes with him. “I’ll be straight: directing’s your gift, scripts are your weakness. Play to your strengths, and your career’s gonna soar.”  

It was a clear message: Stay out of the Ghost Rider script—let the writing team handle it.  

Dunn Studios’ writers were handpicked by Dunn through his “Sunglasses System”—script geniuses on par with Jonathan Nolan. Their skills left Zack in the dust.  

Zack nodded quietly from the couch.  

Dunn smiled, satisfied. “Alright, enough movie talk. I called you here to chat about something else—MVs.”  

“MVs?”  

“You’ve shot a few for singers before, right?”  

“Five or six, yeah.”  

“How long does one usually take?” Dunn asked.  

Zack shrugged. “MVs are way easier than movies—basically long commercials. Usually a week or two. Even the super strict ones don’t go past a month.”  

“A month?” Dunn grinned. “Sounds like plenty of time.”  

Zack blinked, confused. “What’re you…”  

Dunn waved him off, pulled a cassette from his drawer, and popped it into a Sony player in the corner.  

Soon, electronic beats filled the room—smooth and catchy. Just the intro hooked you in.  

“I’ve read old tales, legends vast and mysteries deep 

Like Odin and his spoils of war 

Like Thor with his thunder’s roar 

Spider-Man’s web in hand 

Daredevil’s fists that stand 

I clearly can’t measure up to them…”  

Zack caught a few lines—a duet—and the guy’s voice sounded crazy familiar. When he heard “Odin,” “Spider-Man,” and “Daredevil,” it clicked.  

This was a Marvel anthem!  

And the singer? None other than the big boss himself!  

“She asked me, where are you headed next 

How many storms will you chase through yet 

I Dunn’t crave Ghost Rider’s fiery flair 

No need for a hero’s invincible air 

Or myths of joy so rare…”  

Zack felt a pang, stunned, staring at Dunn in disbelief.  

Because he’d just clocked the female voice—Natalie Portman!  

Dunn hit pause with a grin. “The original lyrics had ‘Captain America,’ but I figured that’s years off, so I swapped it for ‘Ghost Rider.’”  

Zack looked up, dazed, his face twisting. “Can I… hear the rest?” 

Chapter 468: Superhero Promo 

“I’ve pored over ancient tales, 

Those old legends and boundless mysteries, 

Like the Avengers they speak of, 

Like hired heroes under a full moon’s eclipse, 

And Iron Man, suited up, 

Ready to take flight. 

But that’s not my fate. 

She asked me, ‘Where do you want to go? 

How many more storms will you weather?’”  

Dunn had tweaked the lyrics a bit. He swapped out “Captain America” for “Ghost Rider” and turned “Midnight Sons” into “Hired Heroes.” From this second verse alone, you could tell he’d made up his mind. 

He was going all in—launching two massive Marvel franchises at once!  

Dunn was forging his own path with Marvel, refusing to just copy what came before. One would be the Avengers series—lighthearted, popcorn-flick fun with Spider-Man, Iron Man, Ant-Man, and the like. The other? The Hired Heroes series—gritty, dark, epic stuff featuring Daredevil, Ghost Rider, Moon Knight, and more. 

The song ran 4 minutes and 25 seconds. Zack Snyder listened to it twice, quietly, then nodded. “It’s a shame the other superheroes aren’t as well-known as Spider-Man yet—those lyrics would hit even harder. Still, the melody’s catchy enough to pull people in.” 

“Didn’t peg you for a music guy,” Dunn quipped with a grin. 

It wasn’t surprising, though. Tons of Hollywood producers and directors were music buffs—Clint Eastwood, J.J. Abrams, you name it. Some could even hold their own at the Grammys. 

Zack Snyder tilted his head. “You want me to shoot an MV for this?” 

Dunn nodded. “Ghost Rider doesn’t start filming until September—plenty of time to kill. Why not use it to whip up a short film? Get some practice with special effects while we’re at it.” 

Zack didn’t get it.  

Special effects in an MV? Even if there were any, they’d be cheap, five-cent stuff—nothing like a movie. 

“Boss, you might not… uh, know how MV production works. It’s super basic. Nothing like a film—” 

Dunn cut him off with a wave. “No, Zack, you’re missing the point! I’m talking about a movie-level MV!” 

“Movie-level?” Zack blinked, stunned. 

Dunn grinned. “This song’s called Something Just Like This, but I’ve got another name I like better—The Marvel Song. Get what I’m driving at now?” 

Zack’s eyes lit up. “Wait… you mean use this song to introduce Marvel’s superheroes to fans worldwide? Oh, yeah! You and Portman duetting like a power couple—that’s gonna blow up! One song, and bam—Ant-Man, Daredevil, Iron Man, Ghost Rider—everyone’s gonna know their names!” 

Dunn nodded. “Exactly. Marvel’s got thousands of heroes, but Spider-Man’s the only one anyone cares about. Compared to DC, that’s our biggest weakness. We need a way to make these heroes household names people can’t stop talking about.” 

Zack was starting to feel it now, looking at Dunn with something close to awe. “That’s the value of a film, right? Using music to boost its worth, draw in more fans for movies like Daredevil, Ant-Man, and Ghost Rider down the line.” 

Dunn smirked. “Looks like you’ve nailed the third rule of blockbusters. Now let’s see how you handle the fourth.” 

“The fourth?” Zack’s mind raced to the next concept. “Standout effects!” 

With special effects popping up in more and more films, you had to deliver jaw-dropping moments to stand out in a sea of CGI blockbusters. Avatar’s story was meh, but it raked in $2.8 billion because every single frame was a visual stunner. 

Zack still wasn’t sold, though. “What kind of standout effects can you even do in an MV?” 

He wasn’t about to spend hours polishing cutesy shots of Dunn and Natalie flirting, frame by frame, was he? 

Dunn shook his head. “Zack, you’re still not getting it. This isn’t some typical MV short. It’s about promoting Marvel’s superheroes. In other words, I want you to use this song to shoot a full-on Marvel superhero promo!” 

Zack sucked in a sharp breath.  

It clicked—like a lightning bolt to the brain! 

He was already a movie director. When Dunn first asked him to do an MV, he’d been low-key annoyed—didn’t want to backtrack to his old gig. If it weren’t for Dunn being the big boss, he might’ve stormed out.  

But now? He saw it. This was a golden opportunity he’d kill for!  

A Marvel superhero promo, riding the wave of Dunn Walker and Natalie Portman’s duet—it was primed to explode! This MV wasn’t about filming them singing—it was about bringing the heroes to life, straight out of the lyrics! 

Dunn chuckled. “I’ve never doubted your directing chops. But Ghost Rider isn’t like Saw or Resident Evil—it’s got bigger, flashier scenes. This MV’s got seven heroes popping in and out. Except for Odin, I want them all to shine.” 

Zack mulled it over. “That’s gonna be tough.” 

“Spit it out.” 

“First off, these heroes are all different—different looks, different vibes, different scene transitions. That’s gonna cost a lot more.” 

Zack’s face tightened. The priciest MV he’d ever shot was $350,000. With Dunn’s sky-high demands and standout effects, he figured each hero’s design, framing, and compositing would blow past that—per character! 

Dunn spread five fingers. “I’ll give you five million.” 

Zack hesitated, then gritted his teeth. “Still tough.” 

Dunn shook his head. “Five million’s plenty! Spider-Man’s got two films done, Daredevil’s in production—we can just pull footage from those. No extra cost.” 

Zack nodded slowly. “Fair. But there’s a bigger issue—casting!” 

With so many heroes slated for their own movies later, locking in actors now could backfire—might even mean recasting down the road. 

Dunn had it all figured out, though, and grinned. “Zack, you’re overthinking it. Spider-Man and Daredevil? Done—James Franco and Christian Bale. Ghost Rider’s almost locked in—either Gerard Butler or Clive Owen. Ant-Man’s pretty much set too—Paul Rudd. He’s buddies with my old assistant Reese; they’ve done movies together, even Friends.” 

“What about Iron Man? And Thor?” 

“Iron Man’s easy—he’s got the helmet, doesn’t even need a face. Thor’s a god—just have him hurl some lightning from a distance. A silhouette’s enough, no face required.” 

Zack pursed his lips, clearly unimpressed by Dunn’s casual vibe. 

Dunn waved a hand. “Zack, I’m handing this to you. You and your wife have tons of MV experience—figure it out. I don’t care how; I just want results!” 

Zack sank into the couch, thinking it over, then nodded. “Alright, I’ll do my best.” 

Dunn pressed on. “Spider-Man 2 hits theaters May 3rd. Star Wars: Episode II – Attack of the Clones drops May 16th. I want this MV airing on major U.S. networks by mid-May. It’s gotta make waves—pull all the attention to Spider-Man 2!” 

“Two and a half months,” Zack muttered, doing the math. He took a deep breath. “That’s doable!” 

Chapter 469: Science and Technology Are the Primary Forces of Production  

IMAX’s DMR conversion technology had successfully secured a patent, and Dunn Studios was pushing to bring the first Hollywood IMAX-format blockbuster to life—Pirates League: Curse of the Black Pearl.  

Both Spider-Man 2 and Pirates League: Curse of the Black Pearl were Dunn Studios’ massive summer releases this year. The former hit theaters on May 3rd, the latter on July 3rd.  

To hype up Spider-Man 2, Dunn Dunn and Natalie Portman recorded a song together and shelled out $5 million to produce a blockbuster music video.  

But Dunn wasn’t about to play favorites. He was a producer on both films, and for Pirates League: Curse of the Black Pearl, the big selling point was IMAX’s giant screen!  

Even if it was just a post-conversion, IMAX was IMAX. Twenty years from now, it’d still deliver a jaw-dropping experience—let alone in 2002.  

Once it launched, it’d take America by storm, no question!  

After “portfolio investing” and the “blockbuster strategy,” Dunn was gifting Hollywood a third game-changer—IMAX-format films!  

Once IMAX took off, it’d spark a boom in IMAX theaters, higher ticket prices, and bigger box office hauls.  

This time, Dunn was literally handing Hollywood a paycheck!  

New order, new model, new power—new Hollywood!  

Changing Hollywood wasn’t just talk for Dunn—he was doing it himself.  

Post-production on Pirates League: Curse of the Black Pearl wrapped four months ago. Now, director Tim Burton was juggling two things: overseeing the IMAX conversion and diving deep into IMAX cameras.  

He’d already gotten his hands on some converted footage and screened it in an IMAX theater. It was a whole different league from regular cinemas!  

Tim Burton was a tech geek—pretty much the top dog in stop-motion animation in Hollywood today. But in front of IMAX’s giant screen, he was hooked.  

When Dunn swung by to check things out, Tim blurted, “For the next Pirates, I’m shooting straight with an IMAX camera!”  

Dunn laughed. “Those clunky, heavy cameras aren’t exactly easy to handle.”  

Tim smirked. “Didn’t you preach standout effects? I’ve got it figured out—key shots with the IMAX camera, regular scenes with standard ones, then convert it in post.”  

Dunn choked on that one and shrugged. “Alright, looks like my blockbuster theory’s really sunk in.”  

Tim Burton had a weird streak. Suddenly, he lowered his voice. “Dunn, IMAX is incredible. I’m telling you, Hollywood’s future can’t live without this tech. But those cameras are way too bulky—why not improve them?”  

Dunn dodged it. “Sure, I acquired IMAX, but they’ve got independent control. I don’t meddle in their operations.”  

Tim shook his head. “That’s no good! Camera tech’s complicated. IMAX is a small outfit—stick to service and support, I say. For equipment R&D, team up with a big player like Sony. Their camera tech’s top-notch.”  

Dunn was so annoyed he wanted to kick the guy.  

Of course he knew partnering with Sony would fast-track upgrades, making IMAX cameras lighter and easier for directors to wield.  

But that’d mean sharing top-secret tech!  

This was a patent! Money on the table!  

IMAX’s future profits hinged on patent fees and camera sales or rentals.  

If they teamed up with Sony, who’d get that cash?  

Plus, Dunn had donated the “Dunn Walker IMAX Technology Research Center” building to USC, where they’d launch IMAX-specific tech courses.  

He wasn’t about to plant a tree just for someone else to enjoy the shade!  

Tim was sharp and knew Dunn’s angle but brushed it off. “You’ve got plenty of money already. What’s the harm in sharing IMAX tech? Besides, if IMAX cameras replaced the old ones, would IMAX’s revenue really shrink?”  

“Enough!” Dunn’s face darkened, cutting him off. “Tim, stick to your job!”  

“Ugh, capitalist,” Tim muttered, shaking his head in disappointment.  

“Please, use this capitalist’s tech to chase your cinematic art, Director Burton!” Dunn shot back.  

Tim froze, then cracked a grin. “Fair point, I guess.”  

…  

Next up, Dunn was headed to Sillywood Animation Studios. Tosca Musk had practically demanded he drop by to check on Bone Treasure Adventures and give feedback.  

He sat in the car, eyes closed, lost in thought.  

In today’s explosion of entertainment options, new film tech was the best way to lure audiences back to theaters.  

Tim Burton had only converted one film to IMAX, and he was already obsessed with the tech.  

Hollywood’s growth often hinged on its directors.  

George Lucas brought CG to the mainstream. Robert Zemeckis pioneered motion capture. Christopher Nolan made IMAX a global sensation. James Cameron lit up 3D films. Michael Bay was the first to shoot IMAX 3D straight.  

Even Ang Lee, clueless about tech, boldly innovated with 120-frame films.  

Every ambitious director backed new film tech relentlessly, risking failure to test it in their own movies.  

Lucas’s Star Wars soared. Zemeckis’s Polar Express flopped. Cameron’s Avatar triumphed. Ang Lee’s Billy Lynn tanked…  

Dunn’s eyes snapped open. He called James Cameron.  

After Unsinkable netted Cameron a $200 million payout, he was buzzing, ready to chase his grand vision. He’d stormed off to research 3D tech for a documentary.  

Dunn told him Dunn Studios would pay $50,000 a year to fund his 3D camera research, paving the way for future 3D films.  

Cameron was over the moon—like a kindred spirit had found him.  

It wasn’t the $50,000 he cared about—it was Dunn Walker’s full-on support!  

After that call, Dunn dialed Bill Mechanic. “Bill, I’ve noticed directors are crazy about IMAX tech. DMR conversions lose some resolution and crop the screen. I think in the next few years, Hollywood’s going straight to IMAX cameras. That means we’ve got to lighten them up.”  

Bill went quiet for a bit. “Tech’s not my thing… but if IMAX could, they wouldn’t have made those cameras so heavy in the first place!”  

“I get it, no pressure,” Dunn said. “Point is, film cameras are heavy by nature. Digital ones cut the weight a ton. Digital shooting’s the future, and IMAX digital cameras need to be fast-tracked—urgently!”  

In his past life, IMAX lagged behind 3D for years. Beyond cost, it was IMAX’s strategic missteps.  

After Avatar blew up in 2009, 3D films took off. Camera makers raced to build 3D cameras.  

Back then, Cameron shot Avatar with two cameras at once.  

Later, 3D cameras evolved—one rig, two lenses—way more convenient than Cameron’s setup.  

IMAX developed 3D cameras too, but they focused on IMAX film 3D cameras!  

Already bulky, their film 3D cameras were monstrosities—three people couldn’t even lift them!  

They needed a cart!  

Who’d use that on a set?  

IMAX even thought these had potential, designing two models: 3D-15 and 3D-30. Their only use? Filming 3D Hubble telescope shots—because they could sit still.  

Hollywood naturally snubbed them. 3D and IMAX formats clashed, forcing one to be converted in post.  

Studios picked IMAX for conversion—3D straight shots versus 3D conversions were night and day!  

For four years, IMAX screens starved for content. Nolan stuck with IMAX for The Dark Knight Rises, converting to 3D in post, but most films shot 3D and converted to IMAX.  

That stalled IMAX’s global growth big time.  

It wasn’t until 2014, when IMAX rolled out lighter digital 3D cameras, that they found their footing.  

With a shared 3D-IMAX platform, they swept the world.  

In this life, Dunn wasn’t letting IMAX repeat that four-year blunder—prime time for new film tech.  

They had to start on IMAX digital cameras now, then jump straight to IMAX digital 3D cameras later. IMAX film 3D? Out the door!  

Bill said, “Alright, I’ll talk to IMAX myself. Film sources dictate format success—with your backing, they’ll figure it out fast.”  

“Film sources dictate format success! Well said, Bill!” Dunn laughed, giving him props.  

Bill paused, then lowered his voice. “Dunn, heard the latest from Columbia Pictures?”  

“Nope—what’s up?”  

“They’ve confirmed it: Bad Boys is getting a sequel. Producer and director? Jerry Bruckheimer and Michael Bay.”  

Dunn’s face went ice-cold. “Disney fired Jerry Bruckheimer, and Columbia still hired him?”  

“Maybe that’s exactly why Columbia could greenlight it so smoothly,” Bill said.  

Dunn sneered. “Looks like they really took my warning as a breeze.”  

Bill’s tone grew heavy. “It’s public now, and Sony Pictures is all in on Bad Boys 2. Even if you step in, it probably won’t stop them.”  

“Stop them? Why would I?”  

Dunn’s lips curled into a sharp, cold smirk. “I gave them one chance—don’t make Bad Boys 2, don’t use Jerry Bruckheimer or Michael Bay. They didn’t listen. Well, they can’t blame me now!” 

Chapter 470: Jobs’ Decision 

Michael Eisner publicly slammed Apple as a piracy enabler during a Congressional hearing, and the news hit Hollywood and Silicon Valley like a bombshell. 

Apple’s stock price, which was sitting at $15.85 that day, plummeted to $13.45—a drop of over 14.5%! 

Caught between Silicon Valley and Hollywood, Dunn stayed quiet on the matter, watching from the sidelines with a cool detachment. 

Eisner’s flip-flopping between promises and power plays was seriously messing with Dunn’s interests. 

Dunn had planned to use Pixar to put pressure on Disney, teaching Eisner a lesson. But to his surprise, Jobs wasn’t on board with breaking ties with Disney at this moment. 

And this was despite the fact that Jobs and Eisner’s relationship was downright awful! 

But then, in a twist of fate, just when Jobs had decided to let it slide, Eisner lost his mind and called out Jobs in Congress. Talk about digging your own grave! 

In Dunn’s previous life, Jobs had swallowed his anger and kept working with Disney. But in this life, Dunn was certain Jobs would make a different call. Here’s why: 

First, Dunn was a major Apple shareholder and Jobs’ biggest backer, giving him some serious leverage. 

Second, sure, Disney could maximize Pixar’s profits, but Dunn’s sincerity and clout in the film industry were unmatched. Even if Pixar took a short-term hit, partnering with Dunn was the smarter long-term move for Pixar’s future. 

Third, Apple’s stock had been steadily climbing over the past year, thanks in part to the iPod launch—but Dunn’s aggressive stock purchases hadn’t gone unnoticed either. Jobs was grateful. 

Fourth, Disney was a Hollywood giant, but Dunn could bridge Hollywood and Silicon Valley. In the midst of this piracy controversy, that gave Apple—and Jobs—a much-needed buffer. 

Fifth, Jobs had a fiery temper! In his past life, he’d chosen to grit his teeth and bear it. But now, with Dunn in his corner—ready to bankroll a contract buyout and handle film distribution—Disney wasn’t his only option anymore. 

With these five points in mind, Dunn was confident. All he had to do was wait for Jobs to reach out and kick off their counterattack. 

Sure enough, four days later, Dunn got a call from Jobs. 

“Dunn, I’ve been thinking about this for days, and I’m with you on this!” Jobs’ voice was hoarse over the phone, like he hadn’t slept much. 

Dunn couldn’t resist a little jab. “With me? On what?” 

Jobs huffed, “Come on, Dunn, you know exactly what I’m talking about. We need to team up on this!” 

Dunn chuckled. “Steve, I told you ages ago—Eisner’s the kind of guy who’ll stab you in the back. Working with him was a terrible call. Good thing you’re finally seeing the light.” 

Jobs sighed. “I was just trying to protect Pixar’s stock price.” 

Dunn got it. 

If Pixar bought out its contract and cut ties with Disney, its stock could tank. Even with Dunn’s studio as a new partner, winning back investor confidence would be tough. 

Disney’s influence in the animation industry dwarfed Dunn’s studio. 

“I’m a Pixar shareholder too, you know,” Dunn said firmly. “I’ll make sure Pixar’s stock stays solid.” 

“Oh?” Jobs sounded intrigued. 

Dunn pressed on. “I’ve told you before—I’m working on acquiring Universal Pictures. Yeah, the paperwork’s a hassle, but I’ve got tight connections with Universal. I can lock in a distribution deal that’ll keep Pixar’s stock steady. My studio’s films go through Universal with just a 10% cut!” 

“Ten percent?” Jobs shook his head, unimpressed. “Dunn, that’s for live-action films. Pixar makes animated movies. Animation has way more potential for merchandise and tie-ins.” 

In Hollywood, films like animated features, with their massive merchandising potential, usually meant distributors demanded a bigger slice of the pie. 

Dunn grinned. “You think Spider-Man’s merchandise haul is smaller than Pixar’s? Steve, listen—anything Disney can offer you, I can match. And what Disney can’t offer, I can still deliver!” 

Jobs didn’t need convincing. “No need to sell me on it—I’m in. I’ve already told Pixar’s legal team to start negotiating the distribution contract with Disney. I’m buying it out.” 

“Now you’re talking!” Dunn let out a relieved breath, already picturing the cash that would’ve gone to Disney flowing his way instead. 

And not just from Pixar—there were all those classic Disney animated films too! 

Jobs went quiet for a long moment before saying slowly, “Dunn, let’s be real. Right now, Disney’s still Pixar’s best partner. I don’t think you can keep Pixar’s stock price stable.” 

Dunn’s face tightened. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Let’s talk in person. Pixar?” Jobs sounded hesitant. 

Dunn frowned. “Is that necessary? This is simple—I cover the buyout, and Pixar ends the Disney contract.” 

“No,” Jobs said firmly. “I have to look out for all of Pixar’s shareholders. I can’t let Apple’s problems drag down another public company. That kind of move would kill investor confidence. You know my reputation on Wall Street… it’s already shaky. I can’t afford to tank it further.” 

Dunn paused, then nodded. “Fine. Tomorrow morning, Pixar HQ.” 

… 

“What?!” 

In the president’s office at Pixar, Dunn stared at Jobs, stunned. Even John Lasseter, sitting nearby, was so shocked his jaw dropped, speechless. 

Jobs shrugged casually. “It’s my final decision. And I’m confident I can convince all of Pixar’s shareholders to go along with my plan.” 

Lasseter blinked, still dazed. “Steve, you know Pixar’s got a huge future ahead! Sure, our stock price is high right now—PE over 60—but we’re a company that blends tech and animated films.” 

Dunn wasn’t exactly calm either. “Steve, a decision like this… I mean, yeah, I’d agree to it, but as your friend, I’ve gotta be straight with you—Pixar’s stock is undervalued right now.” 

Lasseter jumped in. “Exactly! We could wait a few years before making a move like this!” 

“No.” 

Jobs’ tone was unshakable. Once he made up his mind, there was no turning back—almost like when he’d been ousted from Apple years ago and sold off all his shares in a fit of rage. “Selling Pixar to Dunn’s studio is what’s best for Pixar’s future. Pixar’s been my heart and soul for over a decade. I want it to thrive.” 

That’s right—Jobs was planning to sell Pixar entirely to Dunn! 

To protect the stock price and his credibility on Wall Street, Jobs had made a bold, almost reckless decision.