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Chapter 456: Dr. Walker  

The USC School of Cinematic Arts is Hollywood’s biggest talent factory and easily the most prestigious college at the University of Southern California. 

On this day, the area outside the George Lucas Building at USC was packed tight with excited students—so much so that you couldn’t squeeze through if you tried. 

The campus police alone weren’t enough to keep things under control, so USC had to call in 200 extra officers from the LAPD. The scene was massive, almost like an Oscar red carpet event! 

Today, the world’s youngest billionaire worth over ten billion dollars, Wall Street’s most legendary amateur stock guru, Silicon Valley’s hottest venture capitalist, and Hollywood’s biggest commercial director, Dunn Walker, was set to give a lecture on the theory of commercial filmmaking right here! 

Word had it he’d be sharing the secrets behind the success of blockbuster hits like Titanic, Spider-Man, and Never Sinking—an open discussion for all the students and Hollywood peers in attendance. 

The buzz wasn’t just limited to USC. 

Hollywood was just as hyped! 

The top brass from the six major studios all showed up. Columbia Pictures’ CEO Amy Pascal, 20th Century Fox’s president Jim Gianopulos, Paramount’s head of production Adam Goodman, Warner Bros.’ president Alan Horn, and Universal’s president Adam Fogelson were all there.  

Disney went even bigger—both chairman Michael Eisner and president Robert Iger showed up together! 

On top of that, execs from New Line Cinema, Lionsgate, Legendary Pictures, Pixar, DreamWorks, MGM, and Hollywood Pictures all made the trip, eager to soak up some wisdom. 

As for Hollywood producers and directors, the list was even longer! 

Names like Akiva Goldsman, Stuart Baird, and Lawrence Gordon were there—talented folks, sure, but not exactly household names. 

But when heavyweights like Ang Lee, Robert Zemeckis, James Cameron, Sam Mendes, and George Lucas stepped into the spotlight, the crowd erupted. 

This was a lecture on film theory—no big-name actors or celebrities were expected. 

Yet these Hollywood titans carried just as much clout—if not more—than any movie star! 

George Lucas’s arrival, in particular, sparked a near-riot. The students went wild, their enthusiasm rivaling the kind of frenzy you’d see from fans chasing their favorite stars. 

After all, this building—the George Lucas Building—was named after him because of his donation! 

... 

Dunn had arrived early and was up in a fourth-floor office, chatting casually with Dean Sandy Dailey and Vice Dean Alan Baker. 

This was a formal academic event, so a makeup artist had gone all out to polish him up. They even put him in a pair of plain glasses to make him look a bit more serious and mature. 

Dean Dailey, a woman with a sharp mind, had been a producer at MGM before this gig and even earned an Emmy nomination. She’d been vocal in her support of Dunn’s public criticism of the Golden Globes. 

But she had more to say. “Mr. Walker,” she began earnestly, “would you consider accepting an honorary doctorate from the USC School of Cinematic Arts?” 

“Huh?” Dunn blinked, caught off guard. “Is that… allowed? I mean, you know I didn’t even finish high school.” 

Vice Dean Baker chuckled. “A diploma doesn’t define everything. Your achievements in film speak for themselves. If you’re up for it, we could even pitch the university to bring you on as a guest professor.” 

Dunn waved that off with a laugh. “Professor? Nah, let’s not go there. I’d probably end up confusing the students with what little I know.” 

Dean Dailey softened her tone. “We get it—you’re too busy to teach, and that’s fine. But an honorary doctorate? Don’t turn that down. Just your work exposing the Golden Globes’ shady side has made a huge impact on American cinema. You’ve more than earned this honor.” 

Dunn couldn’t hide his excitement. A doctorate! 

Dr. Walker? 

It sounded amazing! 

Sure, it was just a title, but in a country like America, where prestige matters, a title like that carried weight. 

After thanking them profusely, a thought popped into his head. “Oh, by the way, Dean Dailey, Vice Dean Baker—you’ve both heard of IMAX technology, right?” 

“Of course,” Dean Dailey replied instantly. “It’s an incredible viewing experience. The problem is there just aren’t enough films for it.” 

Vice Dean Baker nodded. “IMAX cameras are too bulky. They’re not practical for mainstream movies.” 

Dunn grinned. “Well, that’s about to change.” 

“Oh?” 

Both Dailey and Baker perked up, their faces lighting up with curiosity. 

As academic types and theory buffs, they could see IMAX’s untapped potential. 

Dunn didn’t mind giving himself a little credit. “I’ve acquired IMAX Corporation. We’re working on a new DMR technology that can convert footage shot on regular film or digital cameras into IMAX 70mm prints. Soon, we’ll be able to watch real IMAX movies in theaters—not just those old documentaries.” 

“No way, really?” Vice Dean Baker was practically bouncing in his seat. 

Dunn smiled wider. “It’s already working. This summer, Dunn Films is dropping two big releases—Spider-Man 2 and Pirate League: Curse of the Black Pearl. Spider-Man 2’s schedule is tight, but Pirate League is already in the conversion process. By July, you’ll be able to catch those massive pirate ships in all their glory on an IMAX screen.” 

Dean Dailey gasped. “That’s going to be absolutely stunning!” 

Vice Dean Baker chimed in, “Yeah, imagine it—those scenes will feel so real. This could be the next big thing for special effects blockbusters!” 

Dunn nodded. “Movies are heading toward tech-driven innovation, and theaters will have to keep up. IMAX is the future. Dean Dailey, Vice Dean Baker, I know USC’s film school has technical programs, but I bet there’s not much focus on IMAX yet. So, I’d like to donate an IMAX Technology Building to help students dive into the latest, most cutting-edge film tech out there.” 

Donating a building to an American university isn’t like slapping up a cheap structure for a few million bucks. You’ve got to fund the teaching equipment and high-end research gear too. 

The George Lucas Building cost over $100 million. Dunn’s IMAX tech building? It’d be even pricier! 

After 9/11, Dunn Capital had peaked at $9 billion. He’d pumped $7 billion into Dunn Films, tossed $500 million into Scott Swift’s venture fund, spent another $500 million on planes and a mansion, and used $500 million to finish buying up Apple shares. That left him with $500 million for day-to-day expenses. 

Even after dropping $150 million on this donation, he’d still be sitting pretty. 

With $350 million left, he’d earn $20 million a year in interest alone, plus $10-30 million in annual dividends from Hasbro—more than enough to keep his many ladies happy. 

But there was more to this donation than just generosity. 

For one, it was a thank-you for the honorary doctorate. For another, it was a smart move for his company’s future. 

IMAX was his, after all! 

If students learned IMAX tech at USC, where would they go after graduation? Straight to IMAX Corporation, of course! 

Using the school to train his future employees? That’s a win-win! 

Still, the deans were thrilled. They stood up, shaking Dunn’s hand warmly and thanking him over and over. 

USC was George Lucas’s alma mater, so his donation made sense. 

But Dunn? His gift felt like pure generosity. 

“What a great guy,” Dean Dailey murmured as Dunn headed downstairs to the auditorium. 

Vice Dean Baker nodded. “He’s so young, so the media’s not always kind to him. But his character? He’s a role model for this generation. After 9/11, he donated $5 million through Dunn Films in LA, then another $45 million personally in New York!” 

Dean Dailey laughed. “Don’t forget—he also gave away $50 million of Never Sinking’s box office to help victims cope with their trauma.” 

Baker slapped his forehead. “He’s only 24 and he’s already donated over $100 million? My God, add this building, and it’s pushing $200 million!” 

Dailey paused, deep in thought. “Wait, didn’t he co-write a book too?” 

“Yeah, Gone Girl. Sold over 6.5 million copies nationwide last year. I hear it’s getting a movie… Oh, wait, are you thinking—?” 

“Yep. Beyond the film school, I think the literature department should offer him an honorary doctorate too!” 

... 

Dunn shed his suit jacket, grabbed a thermal mug, and strolled onto the stage. 

He stood tall, walking with calm confidence—every bit the big-shot entrepreneur. 

The crowd below roared with applause! 

Dunn was used to this kind of thunderous welcome by now. 

In his mind, he’d earned it. 

He set his mug on the podium, fiddled with the remote for the PPT slides on the giant screen behind him, and made sure everything was good to go. 

Then he took a deep breath, turned to face the room full of filmmakers, professors, students, and reporters, and flashed a small smile. 

As if on cue, the applause stopped the moment he settled into place. 

“Hey, everyone.” 

The clapping started up again. 

“USC students—hi there!” 

It got louder. 

“I’m Dunn Walker.” 

The applause surged like a tidal wave, crashing through the room like the ocean itself. 

... 

Down in the audience, James Cameron, George Lucas, Sam Mendes, and the others exchanged looks. 

Was the lecture starting? 

Was this some director’s trick to command the room? 

Good luck copying that! 

Chapter 457: High Concept  

“What’s a high-concept movie? In short, it boils down to three words: look, hook, and book. Look means it’s got a great appearance—think beautiful actresses and handsome actors. Hook is all about an exciting plot that grabs you and keeps you interested. And book refers to polished filmmaking techniques—smart storyboarding, clear storytelling, and solid logic.” 

“To borrow a phrase from Mr. Barry Diller, it’s a movie you can sum up in one or two sentences. A lot of people question whether the high-concept movie idea, which dominated Hollywood in the ‘80s, still works in the ‘90s or even into the new century. Has it lost its magic? Absolutely not! Let’s look at the evidence.” 

“Titanic—a love story between a rich girl and a poor boy on a sinking ship. Spider-Man—an ordinary kid turns into a superhero to save New York and uphold justice. Saving Private Ryan—a debate about the value of sacrificing ten lives to save one after the Normandy landing…” 

Behind Dunn, the PPT slides lit up with a list of blockbuster hits from recent years. “See that? Whether it’s Independence Day, Face/Off, Star Wars, or Mission: Impossible, even if you strip away the special effects, these films still fit the high-concept theory perfectly. Look! Hook! Book!” 

“So, here’s my point: high-concept movies aren’t dead. They’re still the golden rule of commercial filmmaking—a topic every filmmaker and film student should take seriously! Sure, there are exceptions, but whether it’s the past or the future, commercial movies have to revolve around this high-concept core.” 

“I know a lot of academic types—professors and students alike—turn their noses up at high-concept stuff. They think it’s too simple, too dumb, lacking depth. I’ve even heard that at NYU’s film school, they call these films ‘kiss movies.’ No, not kissing movies—it’s an acronym: K-I-S-S. Keep It Simple, Stupid!” 

The room erupted in laughter at that one. 

Dunn glanced at the front row, catching sight of Cameron, Lucas, and others laughing heartily. Only Michael Eisner sat stiffly, his face blank, clearly unimpressed by Dunn’s take. 

After the brief moment of levity, Dunn went on, “But here’s what I want you all to understand: if you want depth or philosophy, go make an art film. High-concept is for commercial movies! And what’s a commercial movie? It’s a product, plain and simple. A product doesn’t owe anyone an art lesson—its value lies in getting customers to open their wallets!” 

“In other words, if you’re into commercial filmmaking, congrats—you’ve got a shot at making some serious cash. Let’s not beat around the bush: compared to art films, commercial movies have way more market value and profit potential! Plenty of artists scoff at the word ‘money,’ calling it a betrayal of art. But let me tell you something—” 

Dunn clicked his remote, and the PPT flipped to a new slide with a bold, striking sentence. 

He read it aloud, his voice booming: “Making money legally is the most dignified way to live in this era!” 

The room exploded with thunderous applause! 

It was the rallying cry of a mogul! 

And it resonated as a foundational belief for many ambitious young people chasing their dreams. 

Dunn stole another glance at the front row—these were Hollywood’s elite, and their reactions mattered. 

This time, even Michael Eisner nodded and clapped, showing strong approval. 

“So, do you get it? Making money isn’t shameful—it’s an honorable mission. Of course, the catch is, you’ve got to pay your taxes legally.” 

Dunn paused, switching slides again. “When you’re making a commercial movie, your goal can’t be artistic value—you’re not obligated to create art! Instead, to make money, filmmakers often end up creating art, history, or something extraordinary anyway.” 

“To rake in the profits, you’ve got to draw in audiences. To draw in audiences, your movie needs an original, imaginative concept. A low budget is never an excuse for a weak script—and that’s where high-concept theory comes into play. So, let’s give a big round of applause to the pioneer of this theory, Mr. Michael Eisner!” 

Michael Eisner blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shoutout. 

But as the room filled with roaring applause, he stood up, waving to the guests, professors, and students, a flicker of pride crossing his face. 

Did Dunn actually understand film theory? 

Of course not—he was totally winging it. 

His speech had been drafted by Bill Mechanic himself and polished by a team of industry pros from the production department. 

Still, this was Dunn’s “secret” to commercial success—a unique weapon. By blending foresight with concepts from future blockbusters, he gave the speech an air of originality. 

High-concept movies were a widely accepted formula for commercial hits: distinct characters, clear conflicts and resolutions, a three-act structure anyone could spot, and a premise you could pitch in a sentence or two. It’s been Hollywood’s go-to recipe for years. 

Dunn’s choice to lead with “high concept” hooked the audience fast. 

After Michael Eisner soaked up the applause and sat back down, Dunn pressed on— 

“Let me say it again: high concept is critical. It’s the foundation of commercial movies—like the bedrock under the George Lucas Building.” 

He kept the tone light and engaging—all part of the plan, of course. 

“But here’s the catch: some producers use high-concept thinking and nail it. Others try the same approach and flop. What’s the difference?” 

The rhetorical question sparked curiosity across the room. 

Even the big shots in the front row—Hollywood’s heavy hitters—leaned in, eyes wide, hanging on his every word. 

They wanted an answer—a Dunn Walker-style answer. 

Dunn flashed a small smile, clicked the remote, and the slide changed. A photo of the “George Lucas Building” filled the screen, stirring a slight buzz in the crowd. 

George Lucas puffed up with pride. “This Dunn guy sure knows how to give a shoutout!” 

Dunn continued, “Let’s stick with the building analogy. I’ve already said high-concept theory is the foundation of the George Lucas Building. But you still need the structure, the interior design, and the teaching equipment to make it functional. Same with movies: high concept is the base, but to turn a profit—to make it a hit—you need more.” 

“Back in the ‘80s, Mr. Eisner turned Paramount and Disney around—twice! Ninety percent of the films he backed made money. He championed high-concept theory, but what else did he do?” 

It was meant as a rhetorical question, but an eager student in the crowd shouted, “Low costs!” 

Dunn grinned, throwing up a thumbs-up. “Exactly! Like I said earlier, Mr. Eisner kept budgets tight. Pair that with high concept, and your odds of success skyrocket. That logic clears up a lot of questions.” 

“Why did Aliens 2 crush it? High concept plus effects and sci-fi. Mission: Impossible? High concept with a megastar and fast cuts. Batman? High concept meets branding. Jurassic Park? High concept, big production, a star director, effects, and branding all rolled into one—that’s how you get a box-office miracle.” 

“Later hits like Independence Day, Titanic, Men in Black, Star Wars: Episode I – The Phantom Menace, Spider-Man, and The Unsinkable followed the same pattern. Start with high concept, then build on it with more layers—and boom, massive success.” 

“Now, some movies—and I won’t name names, I’m not here to make enemies, ha!—they’ve got gorgeous design, A-list stars, top-tier producers and directors, huge budgets, and epic scenes… but they still flop. Why? The foundation wasn’t solid. Their concept wasn’t high enough!” 

“Of course, today’s talk isn’t about pointing fingers—it’s about sharing my take on filmmaking. People ask me all the time: why do my movies always rake in huge box-office numbers? Like, super huge! I bet it’s a question not just you students are curious about, but a lot of my industry peers too.” 

Dunn paused, scanning the attentive crowd. Man, this felt good. 

“So, what’s my trick to making films massively successful?” 

He dangled the question with a sly grin. “The answer’s both complicated and simple. On top of high concept, I’ve got a new idea to throw out there—the blockbuster effect!” 

Chapter 458: The Blockbuster Strategy  

Dunn sharing his “secret sauce” wouldn’t hurt his film career one bit—it’d only boost his reputation sky-high. 

After all, this “secret sauce”—his so-called “blockbuster strategy”—would be dissected, summarized, and published by theory gurus in about a decade anyway, becoming common knowledge worldwide. 

He didn’t mind slapping a “theory master” label on himself too. 

Besides, he’d already locked down most of Hollywood’s big-ticket IPs for the next few decades. Even if others caught on, they’d be too late to the party. 

“So, what’s the blockbuster effect? Hold on, we’ll get there. First, let me ask you all something simple: who’s the richest person in the world?” 

It was such an obvious question—practically no one didn’t know the answer. 

The room shouted in unison, “Bill Gates!” 

Dunn grinned. “Yup, that’s him—Bill Gates. According to Forbes, his net worth… over 60 billion dollars. But let me tell you a story. Back in 1994, Bill Gates was worth 5 billion, and he owned 45% of Microsoft.” 

“Here’s the thing: conventional investment wisdom says don’t put all your eggs in one basket. So Bill Gates hired this brilliant manager, Michael Larson, to set up Cascade Investment. Larson did his homework and convinced Gates to sell off a huge chunk of his Microsoft shares, dropping down to just 3%. The rest of the money went into other ventures.” 

“And the results? You’ve seen them. Michael Larson’s investments paid off, and Bill Gates became the world’s richest man! But here’s the kicker: if Gates hadn’t sold those Microsoft shares back then, what would’ve happened? His net worth… would’ve topped 250 billion dollars!” 

The room erupted in gasps and murmurs. 

250 billion dollars… what a mind-blowing number! 

Dunn pressed on. “Starting in the ‘70s, American companies with cash went wild diversifying. The common thinking was that spreading out reduced risk. But the reality? Except for Jack Welch’s General Electric and Warren Buffett’s Berkshire Hathaway, every diversified company saw their performance tank and their stock prices slump.” 

“Now, we’re not here to talk business rules—I just want to make a point: if you spread your eggs across a bunch of baskets, each one’s got a high chance of breaking, and you lose 80% of your eggs. But if you put all your eggs in one basket, bet everything on it, and make sure it’s a sturdy stainless-steel basket lined with cotton, you might not lose a single one.” 

“That’s what I call the blockbuster effect!” 

The crowd was mostly film school students who didn’t know much about business philosophy, so a few looked puzzled. 

But the front row—especially execs like Michael Eisner, Amy Pascal, Jim Gianopulos, and Alan Horn—were deep in thought. 

Ron Meyer’s jaw practically dropped, his eyes wide with shock as he stared at Dunn. “This kid… he’s really spilling the beans, isn’t he?” 

To him, Dunn’s spiel was on par with an MBA lecture! 

Of course, these ideas weren’t Dunn’s own—they’d be everywhere in a decade. 

But in early 2002, this was radical stuff, clashing with mainstream business views. Otherwise, AOL and Time Warner—two barely related companies—wouldn’t have merged, chasing diversification to lower risk. 

You had to admit, Dunn’s take kinda made sense. 

“Let me tell you another story. I’m a soccer fan—uh, the English kind. There’s this club in Spain called Real Madrid. A few years back, they were winning titles but bleeding money. Their brand was worth next to nothing, and this member-owned club nearly went bankrupt. Then a real estate tycoon, Florentino Pérez, took over. In just one year, he turned it around. Guess how?” 

“He shelled out a record-breaking 50 million dollars to snatch World Footballer of the Year Luis Figo from their archrivals, Barcelona! Confusing, right? The club’s on the brink of collapse, and he’s splashing cash like that? That’s where Florentino’s genius comes in—he saw the value boost of the blockbuster effect.” 

“With Luis Figo, Real Madrid’s fame shot up. Sponsorship deals soared, fan passion spiked, and merchandise sales went through the roof. A year later, he dropped 65 million bucks on soccer legend Zinedine Zidane. In just two years, Real Madrid’s brand value hit the level of Manchester United and AC Milan, making it a top-tier global club.” 

Dunn wanted to dig deeper into this—he was a fan, after all. 

But the crowd clearly wasn’t into it. Soccer? Huh? 

With a sigh, he moved on. “Alright, back to movies. I’m sure you all love films. Even the most die-hard movie buffs only watch one a week, right? To make a movie a hit, you’ve got to make sure the one they pick is yours.” 

“That means studios need to pool their limited resources, go all-in, and push a film to the top as a blockbuster. Create a buzz, pull in the fans—don’t waste time dabbling in the slow trickle of the long-tail market. The blockbuster effect is basically the Matthew Effect: the strong get stronger, the weak get weaker, and the winner takes all!” 

Entertainment reporters were scattered throughout, cameras rolling for the school’s archives, flashes popping nonstop. 

As Dunn dove deeper, the applause faded. Everyone was hooked, following his rhythm, lost in thought. 

The Hollywood execs in the front row, though, weren’t quite satisfied. Dunn’s lecture… it was too basic. He’d been talking for a while and hadn’t hit the core yet. 

The blockbuster effect was cool, sure, but how do you actually make a blockbuster? 

Dunn wasn’t rushing. He’d worked hard on this speech and wanted it perfect. He was even planning to polish it up with some pros afterward and turn it into a book! 

From a blockbuster strategy for the movie market to a broader commercial theory, tied into the classic “80/20 rule.” 

If he didn’t write this book, someone else would eventually. 

A decade from now, business would be obsessed with two theories: the long-tail effect and the blockbuster effect. 

Two textbook companies: Google with its long-tail strategy, Apple with its blockbuster approach. 

Dunn had no interest in the long tail—he was all about big commercial films, pure blockbuster territory. He was fine building on that to become a trailblazing commercial theory guru. 

His lack of education was a sore spot. High society often looked down on him. 

Hollywood was one thing, but New York’s business circles were brutal. 

After 9/11 last year, he’d hit up charity galas in New York, and those tycoons treated him like dirt. 

To them, he was just a flashy upstart who could make a few movies—zero depth, zero class! 

A legit business theory book from him would be a bombshell, shaking up the global business world! 

So Dunn took his time with the lecture, switching slides to a set of data. 

“Here’s Universal Pictures’ revenue breakdown for the past five years. The top 5% of films by budget—about 20% of total spending—bring in 25% of global revenue. The top 10% eat up 34% of the budget but deliver 40% of the income. The bottom 25% of films? Just 6% of costs, and a measly 5% of box office. And the bottom 10% budget-wise? Their ticket sales are basically nonexistent.” 

Dunn spread his arms, visibly pumped. “See that? The data’s clear: the bigger the investment, the higher the return! Next up, here’s a comparison of Pixar and DreamWorks Animation over the past eight years. Pixar’s average film costs 85 million dollars and nets 65 million in profit annually. DreamWorks? Average cost of 32 million, annual profit… zero—or negative.” 

“Is Jeffrey Katzenberg less talented than Pixar’s John Lasseter? Nope. Everyone knows Katzenberg was Lasseter’s animation mentor. Last year’s Shrek was Katzenberg’s biggest investment—and what happened? It blew up, huge hit!” 

“I’ve told two stories, shown two data sets, all to say: the blockbuster theory works! Big investments don’t ignore the risks—they embrace them. And yeah, small-budget films can succeed, but the odds say the blockbuster strategy, while risky, is the safest bet.” 

Michael Eisner was swamped—15-hour workdays, meetings over lunch with execs. 

Dunn had been talking for over half an hour without getting to the point, and Eisner was antsy, itching to jump up and ask something. 

The blockbuster strategy had its perks, sure, but how was it different from the “tentpole” or “event” movie theories of a few years back? 

Dunn was watching the front-row execs closely. This lecture was really for them. 

Give them something valuable, and they might overlook the losses he’d caused by exposing the Golden Globes’ shady dealings. 

Finally, halfway through, he hit the big question: “So, how do you actually make a true blockbuster movie?” 

The second he said it, you could see the front row snap to life. They sat up straight, eyes wide, brimming with curiosity. 

Like kids waiting for the good stuff. 

Chapter 459: Highlight Effects  

“To make a blockbuster movie, you need to focus on these five key points!” 

Dunn took a moment to sip some water while switching slides, then continued, “First, no budget stress. The blockbuster strategy is all about putting all your eggs in one basket—going all in, pooling your resources, and having a solid budget to back it up.” 

“Second, polish the script to perfection. I won’t dive too deep into this—it varies by project. Script evaluation depends on the producer’s skill, and opinions differ. There’s no one-size-fits-all answer.” 

“Third, invest in added value. This is a big topic, but I’ll keep it simple. Check out the slide—I’ve broken it down into three parts: star value, director value, and film value. Star value and director value are easy to grasp—big stars and big directors draw fans. But what’s film value?” 

He paused, stepping away from the PPT for a moment. “Take Jurassic Park—it’s based on a novel, so adapting it into a movie naturally builds anticipation. That’s added film value. Or Spider-Man, adapted from a comic-book hero. Or The Unsinkable, based on a true story. These mega-hits share a common trait—they all have massive film value! Same goes for The Lord of the Rings and The Chronicles of Narnia, which hit theaters last winter.” 

Dunn didn’t spell it all out. 

What he called “film value” would, fifteen years later, be known as IP! 

Hot novels, popular games, trending toys, old movies, classic TV shows, true stories, historical events—these are all ripe for blockbuster adaptations. They’ve got that IP magic. 

Even though he didn’t elaborate, the execs in the front row nodded thoughtfully, like they’d caught on to something. 

Dunn smirked inwardly, thinking, “I’ve already snagged all the hottest IPs of the future. You’re figuring it out now? Too late!” 

But his face stayed composed, even stern. “The fourth point is huge, and I want every producer, director, and student dreaming of breaking into this industry to pay close attention. Point four: highlight effects!” 

“Highlight effects, as the name suggests, are standout special-effects shots—and they’re absolutely critical! In Hollywood, I’ve had tons of colleagues ask me: why do some movies with over $100 million budgets and tons of effects still flop? Here’s the answer: their effects are flat, uninspired, and lack punch—no highlights!” 

He didn’t name names, but plenty of filmmakers in the audience blushed. 

It’s a mistake almost everyone’s made at some point. 

Dunn was being generous with this insight. 

“Jurassic Park is a legendary effects movie, right? But it only has 500 effects shots. Why does it stick with you? Because Director Spielberg obsessed over the dinosaurs—those effects were the film’s biggest selling point, its main draw. He wouldn’t let them be anything less than perfect. He’d rather cut the number of shots than sacrifice quality.” 

“Take Titanic, too—that ship-splitting scene? You all remember it. Some folks suggested cutting corners on it, but I said no way. That five-second shot cost $5 million! And it paid off—it’s hands-down the most jaw-dropping moment in the film.” 

“Or Spider-Man—there’s that fight between Spidey and the Green Goblin in Times Square. Someone suggested filming on location, but you can’t blow stuff up there—it’d look weak. So I rented an abandoned airfield, rebuilt Times Square, and combined real explosions with CGI. That’s how we got that epic showdown.” 

“Highlight effects are the shots that linger in your mind, the ones that make you want to buy another ticket. Big-budget movies are like the ocean, and highlight effects are the crashing waves! People might get used to the sea, but they’ll always be drawn to the tides and tsunamis.” 

This was the real meat of it. 

Dunn was laying out the nitty-gritty of crafting effects-driven blockbusters—the kind of insight the top filmmakers and studio execs in the room were dying to hear. 

Sure enough, faces lit up with realization, brows twitching with excitement. 

This was an era when effects-heavy blockbusters were just taking off. Everyone was still figuring it out, and here was Dunn, handing them the playbook—a gift to Hollywood. 

His eyes flicked toward Alan Horn, the Warner Bros. president, with subtle intent. 

This fourth point? In another timeline, it was Alan Horn who’d coined it. He’d been the ultimate executor of the blockbuster strategy! 

Especially after jumping to Disney, Horn turned into a blockbuster fanatic. Disney ditched small- and mid-budget films entirely, churning out just 13 movies a year—all massive commercial juggernauts! 

Under that vision, Horn led Disney to dominate half the global box office. 

And, funny enough, Alan Horn’s eyes were locked on Dunn, gleaming with something close to reverence. 

Dunn swallowed his glee, steadied himself, and pressed on. “Finally, point five: movie marketing. Marketing’s a blast. Getting a film’s buzz out to every corner of society takes a fixed cost—whether the movie’s budget is $10 million or $100 million.” 

“It’s obvious, right? If marketing’s a level playing field, why not pour more of it into the big productions? Today’s Hollywood blockbusters—what’s the marketing budget? $50 million? $70 million? That’s peanuts! To create a true blockbuster, to make waves, marketing is non-negotiable.” 

“Blockbuster marketing needs to go big—spare no expense to ensure huge returns. Hire the best teams, make the loudest noise. In today’s film landscape, if you want that blockbuster effect, your marketing budget can’t dip below $120 million!” 

$120 million for marketing? 

The front-row bigwigs sucked in a collective breath. 

Dunn was talking big—crazy big! 

In this era, a $120 million production budget was already unheard of. Another $120 million for marketing? That’s highway robbery! 

If it tanked, heads would roll! 

Dunn Films was Dunn’s private gig—he could gamble freely. But these execs? One reckless move that size, and they’d be out of a job. 

Dunn’s lecture was slated for two hours. 

He spent 80 minutes breaking down the blockbuster theory—its validity and real-world applications—leaving the rest for Q&A with students and filmmakers. 

With a chance this rare, no one wanted to miss out. The auditorium buzzed with energy. 

The first question came from a female student. “Mr. Walker, hi! It’s an honor to ask you something. I… I listened to your talk and get how the blockbuster strategy builds a brand, but it also puts the company at huge risk. How do you avoid that?” 

Dunn stood front and center, commanding the room with a grin. “You said it builds a brand—nice! That shows you’ve grasped the heart of the blockbuster strategy. To pull off a hit, you need a killer idea, then go all-in on planning and distribution. Luck helps, too.” 

“Honestly, gauging a project’s potential is like a high-stakes bet—will it justify the massive investment and turn into a blockbuster with big returns? Plenty of investors take the leap, but some execs miss out, paralyzed by the risks of a huge gamble.” 

“Here’s the bigger picture: the movie market isn’t just North America anymore—it’s global! Every country’s got its own culture and barriers. To win over the world, big-budget, high-stakes commercial blockbusters are the best way to break through. It’s not just about studio profits—it’s about boosting Hollywood’s brand as a whole!” 

The applause was deafening, especially from the front row. They loved that take. 

Hollywood’s brand value was everyone’s win. 

“Mr. Walker, hi! I’m Emma Jones, a professor at the Film and TV Academy…” 

Cheers erupted from the crowd. 

Clearly, Professor Jones was a student favorite. 

Dunn nodded respectfully. “Hi, Professor Jones.” 

Jones held a notebook, clearly having taken detailed notes. She spoke slowly, “Mr. Walker, in your blockbuster theory, you said something that stuck with me: focus limited resources, spare no expense to push a film to the top and create a sensation, drawing audiences in, instead of dabbling in the lukewarm long-tail market.” 

“That was brilliantly put—I’m in awe. But I’m fuzzy on two terms. They don’t seem like standard business or film jargon. ‘Long-tail market’—what does that mean? Is it a new concept you’re introducing?” 

Dunn winced internally. 

Leave it to a professor to nitpick. This was tricky. 

The “long-tail market” tied to the long-tail theory—a term that wouldn’t pop up in business journals until 2004 or hit books until 2006. 

Unpacking it could get messy. 

“The long-tail market… it’s kind of the flip side of the blockbuster theory—the long-tail theory. It’s about ditching blockbusters for the tail end of the bell curve, chasing steadier, more even profits.” 

“Personally, I’m not a fan. Dropping blockbusters means giving up the juiciest markets, the best talent, and marketing muscle. In the future of movies and business, markets, talent, and marketing are all king.” 

“I’m planning a book to flesh out the blockbuster theory for students, professors, and industry folks to dig into. I’ll touch on the long-tail stuff there, too. So I won’t ramble on about it now—next question!” 

Dunn dodged gracefully, then spotted a familiar face in the second row raising a hand. 

The second row was for Hollywood insiders. This guy wore black-rimmed glasses, looking polished yet boyishly bookish. 

“Hi, Director Walker! I’m Jeffrey Abrams, a Hollywood filmmaker…” 

Chapter 460: Abrams  

J.J. Abrams was no slouch in Hollywood—a director with real talent, especially when it came to sci-fi. He had a knack for it, and his work as a writer kickstarting the Star Trek trilogy and the Star Wars sequel trilogy had been massive hits. 

Dunn, always on the lookout for talent, flashed a warm smile. “Jeff, we’ve met before—at the Golden Globes dinner.” 

Abrams had produced, directed, and written the TV show Alias, which nabbed several Golden Globe nominations. Dunn had spotted him from across the room back then. 

Abrams lit up, clearly thrilled. “Director Walker, I’m really curious about the third point you made about making blockbusters. You said boosting added value comes from stars, big directors, and the film’s inherent worth. Could you dive into that a bit more?” 

Dunn nodded. “Stars, big directors, and a film’s worth—these all add layers to a movie that spark audience interest. In terms of impact, it’s a hierarchy: the film’s worth trumps a big director, and a big director outweighs a star.” 

“For a while in the last decade, we had that ‘tentpole’ theory—remember? CAA pushed it hard: big stars, huge casts. But the era of megastars is fading. I mean, come on—someone in Hollywood’s pulling 20 million bucks plus 20% of global box office? That’s absurd!” 

“I’ve backed a ton of films, and I’ve never once offered an actor a profit-sharing deal. To me, that’s just enabling chaos—wrecking the market’s rules! Handing over half a film’s profits—or more—for a couple of famous faces? That’s not just unfair; it’s warped. The leading man gets a jaw-dropping paycheck, while the leading lady’s stuck with 500 grand? How is that okay?” 

“I’m a feminist—you all know that. This whole ‘same work, different pay’ thing for men and women? It drives me nuts, and I just don’t get it. Let me say it again: the star halo is dimming! Movie studios lowballing actresses to chase big names—that’s a broken system!” 

His words hit home, especially with the women in the room, who erupted in agreement. 

It wasn’t just Hollywood—every industry had this issue. Same job, but women’s paychecks were always smaller. 

After a wave of applause, Dunn continued, “I’m 24 years old. I came up with the portfolio investment plan to fix film financing headaches. I laid out the blockbuster theory to share some thoughts on big commercial projects. Moving forward, I’m going to keep pushing to do more and better for the film industry—including fighting for the rights of actresses and women in film.” 

“Last year, Dunn Films rolled out a new mission: ‘New Order, New Model, New Force, New Hollywood.’ That’s not just talk—I’m proving it with action. I want this industry to thrive, I want Hollywood’s investment scene to get stronger, and I want film workers to have more of the rights they deserve.” 

He was basically taking shots at the top stars, but he didn’t linger on it. 

Still, he knew he’d tackle that issue eventually! 

Hollywood’s top male stars were paid way too much—unreasonably so. Unlike actresses, they didn’t need endorsements or ads; their film salaries alone funded lavish lifestyles. 

That didn’t just hurt other actors—it hurt the studios too. 

Worse, sky-high salaries ate into budgets, lowering film quality and risking an industry crisis, like the one he’d seen in his past life. 

If Dunn was going to take charge of Hollywood, he’d make sure it had a healthier, stronger environment. 

What Hollywood couldn’t pull off in his old world, Dunn was determined to make happen here! 

... 

After wrapping up his speech, Dunn made a beeline for Abrams, grinning. “I caught a few episodes of Alias—pretty great stuff.” 

“Th-thanks,” Abrams stammered, a bit starstruck. The gap in their status was huge. 

Sure, Abrams came from a solid background—his parents were veteran TV producers with deep industry ties, which let him write and direct freely. But in the film world, he was still small-time. 

Dunn clapped him on the shoulder. “What’s next? Sticking with TV?” 

Abrams answered honestly, “Yeah, I’ve got plans. I’m in talks with ABC to co-produce a show called Lost.” 

Dunn raised an eyebrow. “No thoughts about jumping to movies?” 

Abrams nodded, then shook his head. “I want to direct, but films… I’ve worked on a few as a writer or producer, and I’m nowhere near ready to direct one. I figure TV’s a good place to build experience.” 

“Smart move!” Dunn gave him a nod of approval. “So, what’d you think of my talk today?” 

“Really inspiring!” Abrams blurted out. 

Dunn gave him a long look. “If it hit you that hard, didn’t it spark something?” 

Abrams blinked, confused. “It did—I’m totally on board with the blockbuster theory!” 

Dunn chuckled. “Then why are you still set on Lost?” 

“Huh?” 

Abrams was lost now. 

Dunn grinned wider. “The blockbuster theory doesn’t just apply to movies—it works for TV too! Look at Band of Brothers last year—huge hit! Haven’t you thought about making a blockbuster TV show?” 

“Me?” Abrams caught Dunn’s drift, his eyes widening with a mix of shock and excitement. “Mr. Walker, are you saying… you want me to work with Starz?” 

“What do you think? Interested?” 

“Absolutely—uh, I mean, I’d need to think it over.” Abrams gave an apologetic smile. “You know, I’ve got this company with some friends—Bad Robot Productions, and…” 

Dunn waved it off. “No rush, take your time. I haven’t nailed down the project yet anyway. But… I’m pretty sure it’ll kick off this year, and it’s gonna be a massive one!” 

“Massive?” 

“Yup. Maybe five seasons, maybe more. Budget per season? Probably 100 to 150 million dollars.” 

Abrams was speechless, jaw dropped. “Mr. Walker, you’re not joking, right?” 

“Do I look like I’m joking?” Dunn smirked, then patted his shoulder again. “Jeff, I really admire your talent. But TV? It’ll hold you back. Movies are where you’re headed. You know Chris Nolan and Zack Snyder?” 

Abrams nodded slowly. 

Dunn gave a soft hum. “They’re around your age. Chris is shooting Daredevil—a 150-million-dollar project. Zack’s prepping Ghost Rider, another 150 million at least. Jeff, you’ve gotta step up!” 

Abrams’s mouth hung open, a competitive spark flaring inside him. 

Dunn smiled. “Rome wasn’t built in a day, and their success took years of grind. But effort’s only half the game—direction matters more. I’m sure you get that.” 

Abrams’s face tightened, like he was wrestling with something. “I know. If you’re heading the wrong way, the harder you push, the farther you get from your goal.” 

“Exactly!” Dunn said with a grin. 

He definitely wanted J.J. Abrams on his team. 

Recruiting wasn’t just about collaboration—it was about steering Abrams’s career to align with Dunn’s interests. 

This guy went back to TV after directing Star Wars: The Force Awakens—a total brain-fart move. 

The rebooted Star Wars trilogy? Abrams set up its story framework. 

But his exit tanked The Last Jedi’s script. Sure, it grossed over 1.3 billion dollars, but compared to The Force Awakens’ 2 billion, it was a letdown—and the reviews were brutal! 

Dunn had his eyes on Lucasfilm for a while, practically counting it as his already. 

Abrams’s The Force Awakens got flak from George Lucas for its plot but won over North American critics and blew up the box office. (The Last Jedi tanked with critics too.) 

Dunn needed to plan ahead for the future. 

Like… winning Abrams over! 

There was also a more immediate reason. 

Abrams’s parents were TV production heavyweights with serious clout, and Abrams himself was a sharp producer. If Dunn wanted a blockbuster TV show, tapping into that network would boost his odds. 

When Starz aired Band of Brothers, its subscriber count peaked at over 15 million! 

Three months later, it’s down to 13 million and still dropping. 

STA’s subscription fees were steep! 

Without a jaw-dropping show, North American households would stick with cheaper options like HBO or Showtime. 

So Dunn was brainstorming a true mega-hit series to lock viewers into Starz. 

Shows like Six Feet Under or The Wire were solid draws, but they weren’t blockbusters—no explosive buzz. 

The dream pick would be a TV version of The Hobbit or The Lord of the Rings—Dunn even had the rights. 

But the timing was off. The LOTR movies weren’t done yet, and no TV show could match their visual spectacle. 

Making an LOTR series now would be asking for a flop. 

The sweet spot? Five years after the LOTR trilogy wraps, when fans are nostalgic and craving more—that’s when you launch the show. 

As for A Song of Ice and Fire… that was tricky too. 

George R.R. Martin, that stubborn old guy, wouldn’t sell the rights. He’d only published up to A Storm of Swords, and hadn’t started A Feast for Crows.  

His writing was slow—seven books total—and he didn’t want the show outpacing the novels, spoiling too much. “Let’s talk in a few years,” he’d said. 

No wonder Game of Thrones didn’t hit screens until 2011, despite the books’ massive popularity. 

Dunn was frustrated. He desperately needed a blockbuster series to spike STA’s subscriber numbers, ideally a big-budget fantasy epic. 

With The Chronicles of Narnia, LOTR, and Harry Potter dominating, fantasy was the hottest genre right now. 

But… what should he make?