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.