234-236

Chapter 234: The Warmth and Coldness of Human Nature 

The moment Dunn Pictures dropped its blacklist on Disney, the industry shook. These two were clearly in it to the death!  

Thankfully, both sides kept things measured, not letting the fallout spiral out of control. Everything stayed within bounds. 

Just like when Disney’s blacklist against Dunn Pictures hit, news of Dunn’s retaliation spread fast, and his friends wasted no time reaching out. 

Mel Gibson was the first, his tone dripping with mockery. “Dunn, a few days ago you were chewing me out, saying my anti-Semitic vibes would tank me in Hollywood. Now you’re picking a fight with Disney—aren’t you the one courting death?” 

Dunn shot back, annoyed. “You think I’m dumb? I wouldn’t issue a blacklist without being damn sure of myself.” 

Mel snorted. “That’s your idea of a blacklist? Please—Disney’s partners don’t need your memo to steer clear of you!” 

Dunn grinned shamelessly. “So what? It’s not about the outcome—it’s the message! I want Hollywood’s big shots to see: they might cower before Disney, but I, Dunn, don’t!” 

“Bullshit!” Mel roared. “When the hell have I ever been scared of Disney? With or without them, I’ve got offers lined up!” 

He wasn’t bluffing. With Mel Gibson’s clout in Hollywood, name a $20 million fee, and studios would trip over themselves to sign him. These days, his pay had blown past that industry ceiling, hitting $25 million. 

Dunn smirked. “You’re not afraid of Disney, sure—but don’t forget the whole ‘Aussie crew’ behind you.” 

Mel scoffed. “I’d love to see Disney try blacklisting all of Australia. Anyway, I’m on set—no time to yap. When’s your new flick starting?” 

A Beautiful Mind starred Aussies Russell Crowe and Nicole Kidman. “Soon—August 21st. Why?” 

“I’m heading out early September for The Unsinkable. Set it up—I’ll swing by for half a day to cameo in your film,” Mel said casually. 

Dunn blinked. “Wait, what?” 

Mel huffed, impatient. “You deaf? I said I’ll cameo in A Beautiful Mind. Arrange it! Don’t worry, I’m doing it for free—no cash needed!” 

“Mel, this…” 

Dunn was touched, stumbling over his words. 

With the blacklist drama boiling over, Hollywood’s top directors and actors were rattled, caught in the crossfire, unsure where to land. Dunn Pictures or Disney—which side to pick? 

Dunn Pictures was the underdog, but their films popped, launching stars—case in point, this summer’s breakout, “Spider-Man” James Franco. Disney’s movies couldn’t compete quality-wise, but their empire was vast—TV, music, theater, variety shows. Cross them, and you’re toast. 

Now, Mel Gibson was stepping up, offering a cameo in A Beautiful Mind. Symbolism trumped substance here. It screamed to Hollywood: the industry’s biggest star was Team Dunn Pictures. 

That was a hell of a favor. 

Mel didn’t linger. “Alright, I’m slammed here—gotta shoot. Can’t do much for your Hollywood mess, so watch yourself.” 

He hung up, and Dunn let out a long breath. That Gibson guy—total cowboy grit. Loyal as hell. 

Beyond Mel, a slew of A-listers—Leonardo DiCaprio, Nicole Kidman, Russell Crowe, Tom Hanks, Anthony Hopkins, Jack Nicholson—sent emails or called, backing Dunn. Kate Winslet, though, cracked him up. She wanted to blast Disney on a talk show, only for her agent, Hilda Queally, to shut it down hard. Dunn jumped in too, talking her out of it. 

Female actors in Hollywood had way less clout than their male peers at the same level. This kind of war? No actress could wade in without getting shredded by the fallout. 

Amid the support, two actors ticked Dunn off. 

First, Pearl Harbor’s Ben Affleck. Back when casting Star Wars: Episode I – The Phantom Menace, Dunn fought tooth and nail to get him “Obi-Wan,” catapulting him to A-list status. Fine if he worked with Dunn’s nemesis Michael Bay on Pearl Harbor, or stayed quiet during the Dunn-Disney clash—tough spot, sure. But not even a text or email? That was cold. 

Dunn was let down by the guy’s character. 

Then there was James Franco, summer’s red-hot “Spider-Man.” He emailed Dunn, but his stance was wishy-washy. In media interviews about the Dunn-Disney feud, he dodged, never giving a straight answer. Smart move—high EQ, good for his image. 

But it left Dunn cold. 

Franco owed his overnight A-list leap to Dunn—to Spider-Man! Bluntly put, Dunn was his benefactor. Others could play both sides, but Franco shouldn’t. Dunn didn’t expect him to pull a Mel Gibson, swooping into A Beautiful Mind with grand loyalty. But couldn’t he at least stand firm for Dunn Pictures in front of the press? 

Sure, Franco’s approach wasn’t wrong—he’d sent a consolation email. But Dunn vibed more with the Mel Gibson, Leonardo DiCaprio types—straight-shooting, ride-or-die. He’d hoped to be real pals with Franco. Now? Just business. 

Franco was locked into a 10-film Marvel deal anyway. If Marvel dangled $20 million, he’d suit up as Spider-Man again, no questions asked. 

When things are smooth sailing, everyone’s your buddy. It’s the rough patches that show who’s real. Dunn almost thanked Disney’s blacklist for that clarity. 

On August 19th, Dunn Pictures shelled out $16 million to buy indie outfit Good Machine, folding it into their roster. Renamed Focus Features, it’d handle producing, releasing, and distributing indie films, especially award-bait dramas. 

The blacklist clearly hadn’t slowed Dunn Pictures’ expansion. 

August 20th, Girl, Interrupted’s opening week numbers dropped: $15.8 million in six days, snagging second on the weekly chart. New Line’s horror flick The Cell took first with $17.5 million, followed by Paramount’s The Original Kings of Comedy at $11.05 million. 

But while Girl, Interrupted racked up rave reviews and killer word-of-mouth, The Cell tanked with critics, slammed as a showcase for Jennifer Lopez’s figure, not much else. Analysts bet Girl, Interrupted’s buzz—no big releases competing—could push it past The Cell to claim first next week. 

Some skeptics argued it was just an arthouse flick; its $15.8 million debut was Dunn hyping himself up to dunk on Disney. Next week, Disney’s comedy The Crew hit screens. Maybe… 

Another box office showdown was brewing! 

Chapter 235: A Commercial Movie Mindset 

Dunn’s work chugged along like clockwork, completely unfazed by the heated ban showdown between the two companies.  

After wrapping up the acquisition and restructuring of Focus Features, Dunn headed to Boston, Massachusetts. In the university hub of Cambridge, he’d finish shooting A Beautiful Mind.  

The film’s lead, John Nash, had worked mainly at MIT and Princeton. Dunn picked MIT for the bulk of the shoot for one simple reason: it’s a stone’s throw from Harvard.  

Some of Harvard’s lab courses even happen at MIT—a ten-minute drive, tops. Perfect for Natalie’s visits.  

Day one was mostly easy stuff—short takes and wide shots. Starting simple let the crew ease into the vibe.  

To nail the texture, they even brought in the real John Nash, now in his seventies.  

The old guy looked dazed, moved slow, but those cloudy, sharp eyes? They had a piercing, world-weary wisdom.  

In front of this revered mathematician, Dunn kept it humble. After the day’s shoot, he approached him. “Mr. Nash, tomorrow we’re filming the Nobel Prize scene. The team’s setting up the auditorium. Any thoughts?”  

John Nash shook his head. “It’s your story.”  

Dunn’s face flushed, and he scrambled to explain. “Mr. Nash, movies come from reality but go beyond it. Sure, over half the script’s made up, but that’s what gives it punch.”  

A Beautiful Mind was based on Nash’s authorized bio, a legit rundown of his wild life.  

But for the film’s sake, Dunn had tweaked it big-time. He used Nash’s life as a scaffold—genius to schizophrenia to Nobel Prize—and built a half-fictional tale around it.  

When the script hit the Writers Guild, they didn’t slap a standard “adapted by” credit on it. Nope, it got the full “written by” original treatment.  

That alone showed how far the script had strayed from the source, turning into something freshly crafted.  

It was a necessary call.  

John Nash’s life was epic, but not exactly shiny. In his twenties, he fathered an illegitimate kid, spent years bouncing between bisexual flings, and thanks to mental illness, racked up some wild scandals.  

Later, his widely admired wife, Alicia, divorced him despite all the blessings thrown their way…  

On paper, A Beautiful Mind was arthouse. In reality? It was a commercial cheerleader for mainstream American values and the American Dream. Dropping post-9/11, it had to be beautiful, inspiring, legendary, and stirring—core tenets of its DNA.  

Even when Nash’s mental illness peaks into full-blown split personality, the script spins it into a “patriot” persona—helping his country gather intel during the Cold War.  

Bottom line: the movie shows his best, most touching side, tailor-made to move America and heal hearts after 9/11.  

John Nash’s face stayed blank, stiff like early dementia, but his mind was sharp. “You’re the director. The movie’s yours.”  

Dunn let out a relieved breath and smiled. “Thanks for getting it, Mr. Nash.”  

With a legend like this, quirks were par for the course. If he’d rather tank his screen image than stray from facts, Dunn would’ve been screwed.  

“I’m just curious—why’d I dream up three people?” Nash asked, all scientific precision. “I don’t even know them.”  

Dunn was channeling Oliver Stone’s biopic mojo now—his grasp of film structure was top-notch.  

“To me, a big part of hooking an audience is building a ‘satisfying’ connection with them,” he said, summing up commercial movies in one line.  

Nash didn’t flinch, his expression still a blank slate.  

Dunn went on, slow and steady. “Back in the ‘50s, social psychologist William Schutz came up with this three-dimensional theory of relationships. He said human bonds boil down to three needs: inclusion, control, and affection. That’s how I steer the rhythm of a commercial film.”  

“People watch movies for two reasons. One’s self-attachment—looking for bits of their own familiar, loved life on screen. The other’s through the eyes—connecting with characters, rebuilding what they’ve lost inside, or claiming something they never had.”  

“In real life, even the smoothest talkers—those charming, all-around pros—still feel misunderstood or lonely sometimes. So pretty much any viewer can spot that raw, lingering isolation in the lead. Then, through the three imagined figures, they get that psychological payoff—feeling recognized, needed, depended on.”  

Nash’s eyebrow twitched. He’d spent his life buried in academics, not movies.  

Hearing Dunn lay it out, he finally clocked the tangled link between film and social psychology. No wonder they call movies a mashup art form.  

“Mr. Walker, your success isn’t luck,” Nash said, genuine respect in his tone. “I get it now. The first hallucination, the roommate Charles, fills the inclusion need. The second, defense official William Parcher, hits control. And the third, that little girl Marcee, sparks a deep emotional pull—affection.”  

Dunn grinned. “Mr. Nash, you getting it is the best win for our work.”  

Nash waved it off, glancing at the sky. “I’ve got a meetup tonight with some old MIT geezers. Want to tag along?”  

Dunn stifled a laugh.  

This Nash guy—too deep in research, not so hot with people.  

A bunch of old-timers chewing over academics—what was Dunn supposed to do there?  

His bits of sociology, film theory, and psych? Good for dazzling outsiders, but he’d be out of his depth in a real debate.  

Plus, since Cannes, Nicole Kidman had moved out of his place. He’d been itching for that Aussie mermaid ever since.  

No question—filming here was a chance to rekindle old flames.  

Right on cue, Nicole strolled over, makeup done, glowing like a star. Her flowing hair, cool elegance, killer curves—half the crew was drooling.  

“Sorry, Mr. Nash, I’ve got plans,” Dunn said, feigning regret before tossing in a half-joke. “Hey, you know this area—any good date spots around?”  

Nash kept it short. “Harvard 4:30.”  

“Huh?”  

“The library.”  

Dunn blinked, then turned purple, caught between a laugh and a groan.  

This John Nash—he was a riot!  

He’d heard from Natalie how hardcore Harvard kids were. The library stayed lit up till 4:30 a.m., with Natalie often grinding late into the night.  

Nicole bit back a giggle, her high-class scent wafting as she whispered in Dunn’s ear, “I think Mr. Nash’s idea sounds pretty good.”  

Dunn gave an awkward grin, said bye to Nash, then turned to her with a mock growl. “You want those college kids to eat you alive? Take a spin through the library!”  

Even Harvard nerds would lose it over a stunner like Nicole Kidman.  

She smirked, teeth grazing her lip, throwing him a flirty glance. “Library kids eating me there, you eating me back at the hotel—what’s the difference?”  

Dunn cracked up. “You only know which dish is tastiest after you’ve tried ‘em!”  

Nicole rolled her eyes big-time. “Tastier than Charlize Theron or Sophie Marceau?”  

Dunn laughed harder. “Stir-fry, cold cuts—they balance each other out. Soup or grilled meat—each has its charm.”  

She shot him a playful glare. “You’re so greedy. I bet you wouldn’t dare say that to Natalie.”  

“Why not?”  

“Fine, I’ll quote you word-for-word to her sometime.”  

Dunn shrugged, grinning ear to ear. “Nat’s a vegetarian—she’s all about the greens. Me? Heh, I’m out to taste every delicacy in the world!” 

Chapter 236: Carving Up the Profits! Things weren’t unfolding the way Michael Eisner had pictured. 

He’d figured Dunn’s hotheaded blacklist against Disney would slam Dunn Pictures with crushing pressure, leaving the company teetering on collapse. But reality? Dunn Pictures was still charging ahead full steam. 

Not only did they drop $16 million to snap up a small indie studio, but A Beautiful Mind kicked off production without a hitch. Dunn ditched all company headaches and bolted east to shoot his movie. On the surface, it looked like he’d given up—but really, it screamed unshakable faith in Dunn Pictures. Disney’s squeeze? He didn’t even blink. 

Where the hell was this kid getting his confidence? 

Michael Eisner couldn’t wrap his head around it! 

Joe Roth kept saying it: Dunn Walker didn’t play by the rules—you couldn’t judge him with a standard lens. Now, it sure seemed that way. 

Take Dunn’s new flick, A Beautiful Mind. It was lighting up the media and drawing major buzz. The real kicker? The crew dropped a bombshell: Jack Nicholson, veteran Oscar champ and acting legend, had signed on as an agent character. 

To outsiders, it might’ve been no big deal—top director, top actor, a match made in heaven. But in Hollywood’s upper ranks, it sent shockwaves. 

Disney and Dunn Pictures were at each other’s throats, locked in a nasty showdown. A ton of actors were playing it safe—staying mum, picking no sides, keeping out of the fray. James Franco, Dunn’s golden boy from Spider-Man, and Nicolas Cage, who’d gone action-hero under Jerry Bruckheimer, both dodged questions in interviews, waffling like pros. 

Then Jack Nicholson made his move, loud and clear. Joining A Beautiful Mind—even for a small role—hit Disney like a sucker punch. With the blacklist feud raging, everyone in Hollywood’s inner circle knew the score. Nicholson stepping up now wasn’t just about working with Dunn—it was a blatant slap across Disney’s face. 

After Marlon Brando and the old guard faded, Nicholson, Al Pacino, Dustin Hoffman, and Robert De Niro were the acting titans holding up Hollywood’s craft. They were idols—Leonardo DiCaprio mimicked Pacino’s intensity in the mirror, Matthew McConaughey worshipped Hoffman, even young Tom Hanks carried Hoffman’s echoes. Nicholson picking Team Dunn? That could sway a legion of his followers. 

An actor of his caliber wielded serious clout. 

For Eisner, throwing in the towel wasn’t an option—just a bit more elbow grease, that’s all. He’d assumed Dunn’s blacklist would tank him without extra prodding, that the MPAA’s other members would swoop in and smack Dunn Pictures down. But so far? The other studios were just watching from the sidelines, popcorn in hand. 

No worries—they wouldn’t jump? He’d nudge them along. 

“Terry, it’s me, Michael! Haha, busy lately, huh?” Eisner’s tone carried a rare hint of flattery. 

On the line was Terry Semel, Warner Bros.’ chairman and CEO. He’d once run Disney’s entertainment distribution arm, so he had a hunch what Eisner wanted. “Oh, Michael! I’m alright—same old, same old.” 

Eisner chuckled. “Heard Yahoo’s courting you. Made up your mind?” 

Terry stayed cool. “Haven’t locked anything in yet.” 

Eisner played concerned pal. “Old buddy, I’d say Yahoo’s a solid pick! Warner’s holding you back these days. From Warner Bros. to Time Warner to AOL Time Warner—sorry to be blunt, but that’s not a good look.” 

His words dripped with a little divide-and-conquer spice. 

Eisner ran Disney, a media empire. Terry? Just an exec under a bigger media umbrella. Still, Eisner’s jab hit a nerve. “Yahoo’s stock’s been shaky,” Terry said evenly. “Turning that around won’t be a cakewalk.” 

Eisner caught the drift—Terry jumping to Yahoo was all but sealed. “Heard some chatter—Dunn Capital, that outfit Dunn controls, they’re shorting Yahoo stock on the sly?” 

Terry’s lip twitched. “Rumors. Besides, I’m still Warner’s chair—I only answer to them.” 

Eisner laughed heartily. “Of course, of course! But Dunn Pictures lately—they’re stirring up trouble, throwing Hollywood’s order out of whack.” 

“You mean the blacklist?” 

“Heh.” 

“Didn’t Disney start that game?” Terry quipped. He was Hollywood-bound for Silicon Valley soon—no need to kiss Eisner’s ring anymore. 

Eisner brushed it off. “That’s different. Disney’s blacklist was just a little lesson—contained, no harm. Dunn Pictures, though? That’s cutthroat market sabotage—wrecking Hollywood’s business vibe.” 

Terry’s face flickered with amusement, voice flat. “Is it? I wouldn’t know—I’ll have someone look into it.” 

Eisner sensed the dodge and frowned inwardly. Had Dunn cozied up to Terry? Nah—no whispers of that. At most, Dunn had swapped hellos with Warner prez Alan Horn a few times. 

Seeing Terry sidestep, Eisner pulled his ace. “Dunn Pictures has been on a roll these past few years, huh? Especially Spider-Man—makes us old-timers a little jealous.” 

“Yeah, Dunn’s directing chops are top-notch,” Terry conceded. 

“It’s not just that—Marvel’s superheroes are the real gold. In our hands, the big studios, they’d shine even brighter.” 

Terry’s eyes narrowed. “Oh? What’re you getting at?” 

Eisner bared his fangs. “Dunn Pictures is small fry. Marvel’s heroes? An untapped jackpot. Comic sales are through the roof lately. And I hear Warner’s got ties with Dunn Pictures on Narnia and Harry Potter projects?” 

Smart guys, they both caught the greedy undertone. If Dunn Pictures was just a little fish, they couldn’t hold onto Marvel, Harry Potter, or Narnia forever. Big-budget A-list flicks needed big studio muscle—like DreamWorks leaning harder on partners these days. But let Dunn Pictures grow unchecked? No one could stop his expansion. 

Terry’s gears turned. “Alright, Michael, I get you.” 

Eisner laughed loud. “Terry, I’d kill to clink glasses with you right now! To Hollywood’s shared prosperity!” 

“Guess it’s a toast from afar then—cheers!” 

Terry matched the laugh, but his face stayed stone-cold. 

It all boiled down to profit. 

After hanging up, Eisner dialed Sony, Paramount, Universal, and Fox, laying out the same pitch: Dunn Pictures was a cancer, and he had a cure. A mix of charm and muscle—he wanted them to team up, crush Dunn Pictures, and split the spoils: Marvel heroes, Harry Potter, Narnia, the works. 

• Avengers series: Universal and Paramount split it. 

• Fantastic Four: Sony Columbia’s bag. 

• Harry Potter: Disney and Warner divvy it up. 

• Narnia: Fox and Warner carve it out. 

Everything seemed neat and tidy. 

Eisner leaned back in his office, legs crossed, finger tapping the desk rhythmically, eyes half-closed in thought. The Big Six’s responses were lukewarm, no firm yeses. But he was cocky enough to bet on it. 

Slicing up Dunn Pictures? Too juicy a prize for the giants to pass up. 

Back in the day, RKO—one of Hollywood’s original Big Eight—handled Disney’s toon releases. Walt Disney wasn’t content being a small-time animation shop, so he rallied the other majors, gutted RKO, and took its spot. RKO faded into history; Disney rose to titan status. 

Dunn Pictures versus old-school RKO? No contest. 

Eisner’s wheels were turning—dismantle Dunn Pictures, divvy the loot. It was already in motion. 

“If The Crew could just outgross Girl, Interrupted, it’d pile more misery on Dunn Pictures!” 

A flicker of anticipation sparked in Eisner’s chest.