A man deep in his work is way more attractive than one just flexing muscles with his shirt off.
Penelope Cruz was practically starry-eyed over Dunn. "You're already so successful—why not just kick back and enjoy life more? You like girls, right? With your charm and status, you could date as many as you want. Do you really need to work this hard?"
Dunn sighed. "I can't slack off! Did you forget that call from yesterday? That old geezer Redstone took me down a peg with one sentence—I didn't even have a chance to fight back. If I don't push myself, how am I supposed to get even?"
Penelope furrowed her delicate brows. "But Mr. Redstone's been building his empire for decades to get where he is today. Who knows? In a few years, he might not even be able to get out of bed. You wouldn't even need to lift a finger."
Dunn snorted. "That's exactly why I need to hustle harder! I want to teach Redstone a lesson he'll never forget while he's still kicking. Otherwise, I won't even get the chance for revenge! He needs to know that humiliating me over this 'six feet under' thing was the biggest mistake of his life!"
Penelope wrinkled her nose. "You've got a lot of fire in you, huh?"
Back in the day, she wouldn't have dared say something like that to Dunn.
But since yesterday, things had shifted between them. What started as a physical connection had grown into something deeper, more emotional.
Dunn let out a long breath and shook his head. "I don't want it to be like this either. But look at my age—I'm only [age omitted]! If I don't fight, don't grab what's mine, don't stand my ground, all those power-hungry, scheming jerks out there will swallow me whole sooner or later. The pressure to survive in Hollywood is insane!"
Penelope smirked, leaning in close to whisper in his ear, "So that's why you've got all these different girls—to blow off steam?"
"Hmm?" Dunn's eyes lit up. He gave her a quick kiss, grinning. "Great idea! From now on, that's my excuse for Nat."
"Dunn, you're awful!" Penelope giggled behind her hand, then blinked rapidly, staring at the computer screen with excitement. "What—what's this movie about?"
Dunn gave her a playful smack on the hip. "Right now, you need to focus all your energy on Elektra. That's a long-term role—a female superhero. Nail this part, and you'll be set for life. Don't get greedy."
Penelope pouted. "I was just asking! I'm not begging for a role or anything."
Dunn shook his head, amused. "It's not a movie—it's a TV show script."
"A TV show?"
Penelope's exotic eyes widened again.
Clearly, in her mind, a top-tier Hollywood director like Dunn dabbling in television seemed like a waste of talent.
Dunn huffed. "Redstone gave me a wake-up call, so fine—I'm doubling down on the TV industry. I'm throwing in more money, more effort, and I'm going to make the TV networks dominate!"
Of course, that was only part of it.
Writing movie scripts? What's left to write?
The future of Hollywood was all about big IPs. Every blockbuster hit would just keep churning out sequels.
As a result, creative teams focused on original stories were jumping ship to television, leading to a golden age of iconic American TV dramas.
What were the big movie franchises?
Marvel Comics and DC Comics were the heavy hitters. Lucasfilm's Star Wars series stood alone at the top. MGM's 007 series was a century-old juggernaut. Harry Potter and Lord of the Rings adaptations had created legends.
Then there were the Transformers series, Pirates of the Caribbean, Fast and Furious, Jurassic Park, Mission: Impossible, Bourne, and National Treasure franchises.
Dunn had already snatched up a huge chunk of those. Meanwhile, Jurassic Park, Fast and Furious, and Bourne—Universal Pictures' cash cows—would fall into his lap once he acquired the studio.
He'd even tweaked the script for Mr. & Mrs. Smith, adjusting the structure and setup to make it sequel-friendly. The male lead was American, the female lead French. After unmasking each other's secret assassin identities in the first film, it laid the groundwork for them to team up in a sequel against a bigger, badder international crime syndicate.
What else was there?
Mission: Impossible was untouchable. The Lord of the Rings rights? Pure fantasy.
Twilight and The Hunger Games?
Those were adaptations too, and Dunn didn't dare touch them lightly.
What if the authors were still brainstorming and writing? He could end up in a messy copyright dispute. Better to wait until they hit the market.
In short, over the next 20 years, Dunn had locked down more than 90% of Hollywood's box-office-dominating IPs. He had no need to write another commercial movie script.
As for award-bait arthouse films?
Too risky—hands off!
A lot of arthouse scripts had been sitting around for decades. A movie released 10 years from now might've had its script registered 10 years ago.
If Dunn wanted a piece of that pie, he'd have to tread carefully, do his homework, and avoid any missteps. A single copyright lawsuit could mean a massive fine and a devastating blow to his reputation.
Take Black Swan from 2010—part of Darren Aronofsky's trilogy. It was registered with the Writers Guild last year, and he'd already tapped his college buddy Natalie Portman for the lead.
Or Lincoln in 2012—the script came just a year after Schindler's List. Spielberg had locked in Liam Neeson for a second collaboration.
Or Dallas Buyers Club in 2013—its initial draft was finished right after the real-life Ron Woodroof died in 1992.
The list goes on.
Copying commercial movies was easy. They had a shelf life, relied on big IPs, and copyrights were straightforward.
Arthouse films? A minefield. Unless it was a rock-solid adaptation like Chicago, you couldn't just dive in.
By comparison, American TV shows were a breeze—practically free rein to copy and use!
The elite talent was all in movies. Any fresh idea in TV wouldn't sit on a shelf; networks would snap it up and shoot it immediately.
Later, when classic TV dramas exploded, it was because the movie market got bogged down with IPs and sequels. Original movie teams lost their footing and pivoted to TV for creative freedom.
Even Jonathan Nolan ditched films for HBO, giving us Westworld.
It was only 2001 now—no such risks yet.
This was a timing gap.
The perfect moment for a massive sweep!
Dunn had it all planned out. Whether he shot them or not, he'd write the scripts, register them, and claim the spots first.
Walk someone else's path and leave them with nowhere to go!
Especially those standout network TV dramas.
Not a single one would slip through his fingers!
Penelope peeked curiously at the computer screen, giggling. "What show is this? Why's there so much swearing?"
"It's for a premium channel—big creative freedom. It's called Weeds," Dunn said with a smile, glancing at the outline he'd typed up. A cold smirk tugged at his lips.
Right now, he couldn't take on Redstone head-to-head. But he had foresight—and he was about to stage a massive sweep!
Starting in 2004, he'd kick off his own TV investments with Weeds.
Sure, it wasn't on par with HBO's heavy hitters, but as a mid-budget urban dark comedy airing during work hours, it'd bring viewers some laughs and relaxation. Solid choice.
Not every show needed huge sets or massive production.
Once Weeds was done, he had Dexter, Queer as Folk, Californication, Nurse Jackie, and If Tomorrow Comes brewing in his head.
He didn't know every detail of those shows, but that didn't matter. What mattered was the concept, the vision!
As long as he had the gist of the plot and the main characters nailed down, that was enough.
Lock in the ideas, register them, and let the writers flesh out the specifics later when it's time to shoot.
And this sweep? It wasn't just Showtime.
This was just the start.
Dunn would move fast, snagging every idea he could!
HBO, Showtime, FX, AMC, Netflix, Amazon—any American TV show he could recall, he wouldn't let a single one slip away!
Right now, it was the golden age of a TV drama sweep!