At Logan International Airport in Boston, Dunn was already waiting at the pickup area, flanked by his bodyguards. He was there to meet his official girlfriend, Natalie Portman.
They'd originally planned for Dunn to take some time this summer to travel with her, but one thing after another kept delaying it. With Harvard's new semester fast approaching, Natalie had taken a trip to Israel with her mom to soak in the sights of her ancestral homeland.
Natalie had been so understanding about everything, and Dunn couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt.
Before long, there she was—Natalie strolled out in a simple white shirt and jeans, her mom by her side, no assistant in sight. She didn't carry herself like a celebrity at all. Sunglasses perched on her face, she looked a little worn out from the long international flight. When she spotted Dunn waiting in the distance, a flicker of joy crossed her face, though she quickly pouted her lips.
Dunn flashed an awkward grin and hurried over, opening his arms to pull her into a hug. "Babe, I've missed you so much."
Natalie squirmed a bit in his embrace and huffed softly, "Weren't you too busy filming to even think about me?"
Dunn lowered his voice, "Movies are my career, but you're my family."
Natalie pressed her lips together, trying not to smile as she shot him a sideways glance. "Smooth talker!"
Her reaction made him chuckle, and he turned to her mom, Shelley Hershlag. "Shelley, I've booked a room for you already. You can head straight there to rest."
Shelley Hershlag worked for Dunn Pictures now, overseeing finances. She'd come to Boston partly to drop Natalie off for school and partly for business. After a one-day stop here, she'd head to New York to meet up with Michael Ovitz. Together, they'd represent Dunn Pictures in negotiations with Merrill Lynch Securities.
According to Ovitz, their slate financing project had caught the eye of Merrill Lynch, one of the world's biggest financial firms. With the dot-com bubble bursting, Wall Street was pulling out of tech stocks and hunting for fresh investment opportunities. When Ovitz pitched the movie slate idea on behalf of AG Agency and Dunn Pictures, Merrill's top brass were all in.
Why start with Merrill Lynch? For one, Dunn had ties with them—Scott Swift, the GM of Dunn Capital, and Blanca Reyes, his personal financial advisor, both came from Merrill. Plus, in Dunn's past life, when Paramount pioneered slate financing, Merrill Bank had been the first to take the plunge.
The slate financing plan was Dunn's brainchild, fleshed out and expanded by Ovitz, who'd come up with three funding models:
Debt Priority Model This chunk relied on loans from banks or lending institutions, which movie companies would repay first. It was the safest bet for investors, though the returns were modest—usually 5% to 9%. Mezzanine Financing
A mix of debt and equity, this meant lenders could convert their loans into shares if repayments lagged. It got paid back after priority debt, so the risk was higher, but the rewards were too—typically 10% to 15%.
Equity Financing
Investors took shares based on their stake in the slate. Once all debts were cleared, they'd rake in profits tied to those shares. It was the riskiest option, but also the most lucrative—the real movie-investment payday.
Merrill Bank, a global financial titan, wasn't interested in basic lending. They wanted high-return investments. With Dunn himself putting $100 million into the newly formed Legendary Pictures, how risky could it really be?
Back when Dunn invested in companies or scooped up Apple stock, Merrill's analysts couldn't figure him out. But movies? They trusted Dunn 100%. Ovitz said Merrill Securities and its banking arm were hooked on the slate project. If talks went smoothly, Legendary Pictures—the first-ever slate-financed film company—could be up and running in two or three weeks.
For decades, Ovitz had played middleman between talent and studios. Now, a new kind of intermediary was emerging: Legendary Pictures, bridging Hollywood and Wall Street.
Shelley Hershlag, once an agent, now Dunn Pictures' finance chief, was the perfect rep for these talks. Her negotiation skills outshone Dunn's by a mile.
The trio strolled out of the airport terminal at a leisurely pace. Soon enough, a handful of excited young guys—mics and recorders in hand—came charging toward them like a pack of wild fans.
Dunn glanced at Natalie and muttered with a wry smile, "These reporters are everywhere. How do they even find us?"
Natalie rolled her eyes dramatically. "I did an interview in Israel and mentioned I'd be back in the U.S. today."
Dunn was momentarily speechless, exasperated.
Natalie slipped her arm through his, putting on a sweet, lovey-dovey act, and flashed a bright smile at the paparazzi snapping pics from afar.
Dunn smirked to himself. They say all women are natural actresses. And a pro like her? She's acting 24/7.
Five or six reporters rushed up, thrusting mics and recorders forward. "Director Walker, can we ask a few questions?"
Dunn kept his tone cool. "Same old rules: no questions about my personal life."
The reporters knew the drill and jumped in. "Dunn, Girl, Interrupted is doing great at the box office lately. It doesn't even feel like an indie film—more like a commercial blockbuster's trajectory. What's the secret?"
Dunn grinned. "Simple: my girlfriend's acting is just that good."
Natalie giggled beside him and waved a hand. "Don't listen to him. The movie's a team effort—everyone in the crew poured their heart into it. I'm just one part of that."
With her fresh, girl-next-door vibe, Natalie could've passed for any college student. The reporters warmed to her instantly. "Miss Portman, congrats! Your film totally crushed Coyote Ugly at the box office."
"Coyote Ugly? What's that?" Natalie blinked, looking genuinely confused.
One reporter fanned the flames. "It's a Disney movie!"
"An animated one?" Natalie asked innocently, tilting her head. "That's a weird name. Not cute at all."
"No, no, Miss Portman, you've got it wrong! It's not animated—it's a live-action crime comedy."
"Oh? Live-action?" Natalie gasped, wide-eyed. "I thought Disney only did cartoons. They make real movies too?"
The reporters exchanged glances, quietly floored. Is she for real? An actress who doesn't know Disney makes live-action films? She's gotta be playing us, right?
Dunn stepped in with a laugh. "Here's the thing: she's still a student, you know? Most of her energy goes into school. She's not super plugged into Hollywood stuff—sometimes she knows less than your average movie buff. She's familiar with the big players like Warner, Universal, or Columbia, though."
The reporters' pulses raced. What's he getting at? Is he taking shots again?
It sure sounded like a dig—implying Disney's films didn't stack up to the likes of Warner or Universal.
But honestly, Dunn wasn't wrong. This summer, Disney's releases had been steamrolled by Dunn Pictures. Facts don't lie.
Noticing their odd looks, Dunn chuckled. "You guys mentioned Girl, Interrupted doing well, and yeah, I'll take that. But compared to top-tier commercial films, it's still not in the same league. Week one, it trailed New Line's The Cell. This week, Universal and Warner dropped heavy hitters too. So, it's not that our little indie's some runaway success—it's all about what you're comparing it to."
"Dunn, are you saying Disney's movies are so low-tier they don't even deserve to be mentioned alongside yours?"
The blatant provocation made the other reporters wince, expecting Dunn to storm off.
But Dunn stayed calm, unfazed. "I wouldn't put it like that. Disney's animated stuff is solid. Live-action? Sorry, but having a big company name doesn't guarantee great films."
"So, you're saying Disney lacks the talent to pull it off?"
"Exactly."
"What about Jerry Bruckheimer and Michael Bay? They've made some solid hits together lately."
Dunn smirked dismissively. "Michael Bay? The explosion guy? Way overrated. As for Bruckheimer… wait till next year when their Pearl Harbor drops. You'll get what I mean. Birds of a feather, you know."
"Director! One last question!" A shifty-looking reporter darted forward as Dunn started to turn away. "Bruce Willis just got divorced a couple days ago. Rumor has it his ex-wife walked away with $190 million in the settlement. Thoughts?"
Everyone knew Willis and Dunn were enemies.
Dunn paused, then burst out laughing—loud and unrestrained—before letting out a cold huff. "Nothing to say. Birds of a feather."
The Dunn of today was a far cry from two or three years ago. Now, he had unshakable confidence.