The Oscars aren't just some awards show—they're *the* big deal. By February, after the Golden Globes dropped their winners, it was officially Oscar season. On February 5th, the Academy announced the nominees at the Samuel Goldwyn Theater in Beverly Hills. Sam Mendes' flick snagged the top spot with 8 nominations. Meanwhile, Dunn Pictures' struck out completely, and Dunn's own only nabbed a few technical nods. Another Oscars, another year with no love for Dunn.
Once the nominations hit, , which missed the Oscar boat, officially wrapped its North American run with a solid $210 million at the box office. Overseas, it's still going, probably hitting around $90 million, bringing the global total to $300 million. Not too shabby!
The Oscar schedule rolled on: February 15th, the nominees' luncheon; February 25th, the Science and Tech Awards; March 12th, final voting kicked off; March 19th, voting closed; March 20th, the Oscar concert; and March 26th, the 72nd Academy Awards ceremony. Dunn, though? He jetted off to the UK to keep grinding on 's post-production.
Bill Mechanic, stepping up as Dunn Pictures' president for the first time, dove into distribution talks with Universal. And it wasn't just about —they were hashing out a three-year strategic partnership. Bill's got a good rapport with Universal, and with Brian Lord playing matchmaker, the negotiations went smooth as butter. On February 10th, Dunn hauled 's rough cut and the post-production crew back to LA.
"So, how'd the talks go?" Dunn asked, eyeballing the studio's fresh new vibe. *Gotta hand it to the pros,* he thought. Bill's knack for running things definitely outshined his own.
Bill lit up a cigar in Dunn's office, cool as ever. "Piece of cake," he said, like it was no biggie. He hadn't dealt with "small stuff" like this in years.
Dunn cracked a wry smile. "What's the deal look like?"
Bill puffed out some smoke. "Three-year partnership. Universal handles distribution for all Dunn Pictures films, taking 10% across all channels."
"Not bad!" Dunn's eyes lit up. Back when he worked with Fox, they'd skimmed 15%.
Bill waved it off. "No big deal. Oh, some details: For A-list blockbusters from Dunn Pictures, Universal covers all distribution, shipping, and labor costs, with marketing expenses coming out of the box office split first. For smaller dramas or low-budget stuff, we foot the promo bill, and Universal calls the shots on the release strategy."
Dunn nodded—sounded fair. Big-budget flicks rake in the cash, especially Dunn Pictures' high-grossing hits, so 10% is already a hefty chunk for Universal. Covering distribution costs makes sense. Smaller projects, though? Higher risk, so no way Universal's eating tens of millions in expenses. If Dunn wants a wide release, he'll have to pony up.
He trusted Bill completely. "When's the signing?"
"Next Monday. You'll need to show up," Bill said, all business. Guy's got everything locked down tight.
Dunn tapped his fingers on the desk rhythmically. "By the way, I noticed a bunch of new faces around. Your crew?"
Bill sighed, rubbing his forehead like he had a headache. "Twenty-two people total. Problem is, some departments Dunn Pictures doesn't even have yet, so fitting them in's a hassle."
Dunn waved a hand grandly. "No departments? Then make 'em! Dunn Pictures has big dreams—we're not settling for some tiny studio. Oh, should we build our own office building?"
"Uh… what?" Bill's jaw dropped, totally caught off guard.
Dunn shrugged casually. "If we need it, just say so. You handle management, I'll figure out the cash. If we're building a Dunn Pictures HQ, get the ball rolling."
"That's gonna cost a pretty penny," Bill warned, dead serious.
"I'll handle the funds," Dunn shot back. "And don't skimp on the budget. Leave room to grow—this company's gonna be huge someday. Our headquarters has to be epic, jaw-dropping stuff."
"In Hollywood?" Bill asked. "Like… are we talking our own production studio too?"
Bill was thinking big-picture. A fancy office building, even a lavish one, might run $100 million tops. But a full-on Dunn Pictures studio? That's a whole different beast. Just the land for dozens of soundstages would eat up at least $100 million. Hollywood real estate ain't what it used to be—back in the day, MGM snatched up half the town dirt-cheap. Now? Even Warner Bros. had bailed out of Hollywood proper.
Dunn mulled it over. "Bill, Universal's got a studio, right?"
"Yep."
"Then we don't need to blow cash on our own. We can rent from them."
Bill shook his head. "That works short-term, but if Dunn Pictures blows up like you're betting, pumping out dozens of films a year, Universal's lot won't have the space."
"Then we'll figure it out later—maybe build a studio somewhere else. Could get better tax breaks outside LA."
"Hold up," Bill said, eyeing him. "Warner, Universal, Disney—they've all moved their admin stuff to Burbank or New York, sure. But studios? They stay in Hollywood. It's the industry's heart, a badge of honor. Hollywood folks protect Hollywood interests. That's the rule."
Dunn chuckled, pausing before switching gears. "I heard Universal's parent company, Seagram, took a massive hit?"
Bill nodded. "Came up in the talks. Seagram sold off their DuPont shares and went deep into debt to buy Universal. Movies are a rollercoaster—hot one minute, bust the next. Word is, Seagram lost $13 billion last year, and another $2.8 billion in the first two months of this one. They're looking for a merger."
"Wait, a merger?" Dunn's eyes widened.
"Yeah. Without a big player stepping in, they're toast."
"Any takers?"
"Rumor's it's Vivendi, out of France."
Dunn's mouth hung open, stunned.
Bill raised an eyebrow. "Dunn, you okay?"
Dunn muttered, dazed, "If that's true… Bill, did I just miss my shot at buying Universal?"
"What?!" Bill blinked, thinking he'd misheard. "You wanna buy Universal? With what money?"
Dunn waved him off. "Don't worry about my cash. Just tell me—could I swoop in now and snag it? Ugh, no, my funds won't clear 'til April."
Bill's head spun, frowning. "Dunn, I don't know what tricks you've got up your sleeve, but right now? Dunn Pictures buying Universal? No chance."
"Why not?"
"First off, Dunn Pictures doesn't have the juice. Even with the cash, your track record wouldn't convince Universal's execs. If you pulled off the buyout, half their management would bolt. Second, Universal's the crown jewel of Seagram's portfolio. Vivendi wants them for the studio and music division—not their booze game. Unless you outbid them by enough to cover Seagram's $10 billion-plus losses, their board won't budge. Third, Universal's not like Marvel—it's a Hollywood icon, built on decades of filmmakers' sweat. An outsider buying it? Fine, no ties to the industry. But you're an insider. With your thin resume, clout, and pull, snapping it up would piss off a ton of Hollywood vets."
Dunn sat there, speechless. He'd thought raking in cash from the dot-com crash would let him run the table in Hollywood. Turns out, there's a lot more to it—unwritten rules, hidden traps.
He's still a newbie. Stepping over vets who've hustled in Hollywood for decades to crown himself king? That'd stir up a storm. Big-name producers and directors would dodge Universal, taking projects elsewhere. What, was Dunn supposed to prop up the whole studio solo?
Credibility. Status. Influence.
"How do I boost those fast?" It was the million-dollar question nagging at him.
Bill gave the textbook answer: "Oscars."
"Over 5,000 Oscar voters—mostly Hollywood folks, even if they're global. Win an Oscar, and you've got their stamp of approval. No one's griping about your cred then—they'd call you a Hollywood genius." Bill paused, then added, "Oscars mean influence too, way beyond box office bucks. The old guard here? They're stuck in their ways, obsessed with a film's artistry. Nail that, and you'll win 'em over big-time."
It clicked for Dunn. It's like kissing up—give 'em what they want, and they'll love you for it. With their goodwill, buying Universal wouldn't be such a long shot anymore.
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