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!"