Ever since the dawn of the new millennium, Paramount had been steadily slipping from its former glory among Hollywood's "Big Six."
In the last decade of the 20th century, Paramount had twelve films that ranked in the yearly top ten at the box office, including two that took the top spot. Sure, one of those — Titanic — was shared with Fox, but who cared? Money talks louder than ownership.
Then came the 2000s, and Paramount managed to break into the annual top ten… twice.
And one of those was Mission: Impossible II.
That was it.
While other studios were charging upward, Paramount's "dream factory" was exploding in all the wrong ways. If they slipped any further, even DreamWorks would start kicking them on their way down.
So when they saw Disney and Warner teaming up to destroy the Weinsteins — all because of Isabella — they immediately called an emergency meeting to discuss "performance revitalization."
In their eyes, Disney had just stolen Isabella from Warner, and that meant Disney's live-action division was about to erupt like a volcano.
What's that? Someone said this was all about the Oscars? Please.
The Oscars are personal vanity trophies.
What the hell does an actor's award have to do with capital?
As long as the Oscars can't match the profit of blockbuster hits, the money will always follow box office royalty.
So…
"Any ideas?"
Sherry Lansing raised an eyebrow, scanning her colleagues around the table.
"Uh… I think she's now Disney's little princess, but technically still Warner's," said a bespectacled executive, nudging his frames.
"So Disney might get a short-term bump, but not a huge one. Isabella's main job is still filming HP."
That line made the rest of the room chuckle. Sherry Lansing shook her head, smiling. The guy wasn't wrong.
Even if Disney and Warner were "sharing" Isabella — that sounded so wrong, by the way — Disney couldn't monopolize her for long. They'd see some growth, sure, but nothing insane.
Still, they had to look like they were doing something about it. If only to show the boss they weren't asleep at the wheel.
"From where I stand," the glasses guy continued, "the best way to boost our numbers is another Mission: Impossible. It's the only guaranteed moneymaker we've got."
"I agree," said a younger white exec. "If we want to report something solid to the parent company, we just need Tom back on set. But…"
"The problem is Paula's asking price," interrupted the only other woman in the room. "Paula says if we do Mission: Impossible 3, Tom wants 20+20 — and the second twenty is on total gross participation. That's not happening."
The room fell silent.
That "Paula" was Paula Wagner — Tom Cruise's agent and producing partner. She'd co-founded C/W Productions with him in 1992, and most of Tom's films since had gone through that company.
Which meant if Paula wanted 20% of Mission: Impossible's total revenue, she was basically asking for it on Tom's behalf.
And Paramount wouldn't dare sign that. Sumner Redstone, their boss, would have someone's head on a platter if they did.
"Okay, okay, let's drop that," said Lansing, waving a hand. She had a soft spot for Cruise, and, well, everyone knew what that meant.
"Anyone got other ideas? Maybe we bring in Daniel and Rupert for a project?"
The room went quiet again. Not a bad thought.
If Warner could share Isabella with Disney, maybe they'd share the rest of the HP trio too.
It wasn't crazy. Isabella had already proven that Harry Potter fans could be converted into general moviegoers.
But—
"Sherry, that idea's worth exploring, but I doubt it'll work," said the same woman as before. "Two reasons. First, about the HP films: Isabella's screen presence outshines Harry and Ron too much. Just because she pulls fans doesn't mean Daniel or Rupert can. The audience connects with Hermione far more. Also, let's be real — girls are easier to market than boys in this industry. Boys top out as child stars. Girls can reach Shirley Temple level."
Everyone nodded.
"Second, we don't even have a suitable project for boys. Our only youth-oriented project right now is Queen Bee."
The room filled with quiet laughter.
Right — even if Warner lent them the HP trio, they had nothing for them to star in. Everyone in the room was too professional to say it out loud, but they all knew: you can't polish garbage. Movies need content, not just faces.
"Well," Lansing shrugged, "I guess we'll have to apologize to Mr. Redstone. We probably won't turn things around this year or next. We can't save Paramount."
Her tone was calm, but the room's mood dipped. They all knew what "apologizing" to Redstone usually meant — unemployment.
Then, just as the gloom settled, someone spoke up:
"Uh… actually, I think Queen Bee could work."
"Huh?"
Everyone turned to stare.
"And if we play it right, we could even ride Isabella's wave."
Now they were interested.
It was the deputy manager from development. He grinned under their collective gaze.
"Queen Bee is about teenagers, right? And in The Voice, there were tons of kids — the one who faced off against Isabella at the end, that girl's about her age. What was her name… Margot Robbie?"
They didn't have access to Isabella, since Queen Bee's tone didn't fit her HP image, but they could cast someone associated with her — someone from the same film. It'd grab headlines and keep costs low.
"From what I know, that girl doesn't have many offers yet."
"And even if it flops, we can tell Redstone we tried. We even leveraged Isabella's buzz. He'll see we fought instead of waiting to die."
Within seconds, the room lit up.
"That could actually work — if we can't get Isabella, we get her circle!"
"Yeah, that girl might be a hidden gem."
"With Lindsay, Queen Bee's budget was around 20 million, with 5 million going to her. With a newcomer, we could make it for half that."
"A ten-million-dollar bet? That's cheap. If it lands, even if it doesn't crack the top ten, it's profit. And our ROI looks great on paper."
The more they talked, the brighter Sherry Lansing's eyes gleamed.
Finally, she slammed the table and said, "Okay. You — go negotiate. Get Isabella's… friend."
While the rest of Hollywood waged war over Oscars, Paramount focused on business — even targeting Isabella's acquaintances. Disrespectful to the golden statue? Sure. But then again, Fox, Sony, and Universal weren't exactly kneeling to it either.
When Paramount held that meeting, those three studios were also gossiping.
"Disney's tearing itself apart?"
"Roy Disney teamed up with Robert Iger to nuke Michael Eisner's camp?"
"No way — Roy actually pulled it off? The guy's finally got some backbone!"
"Didn't he fight his brother-in-law Ron Miller for three years twenty years ago? Lost to Eisner a decade ago too? Now he's winning? Miracles happen."
"Yeah, guess he finally inherited some of his uncle's spark."
"But come on, the IRS thing — that's not Roy's idea. He's not that smart. That smells like Barry's handiwork."
"What makes you say that?"
"Because Warner's got an animated series called Jackie Chan Adventures. There's a line in it: 'Magic must defeat magic.'"
Laughter erupted. "So Roy's still an idiot, huh?"
Everyone loved watching rivals tear each other apart. Oscars happen every year, but corporate bloodbaths? That's premium entertainment.
And besides, everyone hated Weinstein.
Sony, being a Japanese company, bought Columbia to expand global influence, and Oscars were part of that strategy — which put them naturally at odds with Weinstein.
Fox, as part of News Corp, shared the same logic: media empire, global power, public image. And Weinstein blocking them from Oscar glory? They'd dance on his grave.
Universal, or rather Vivendi Universal, had its own agenda too — brand exposure through Hollywood. If Disney refused to put its logo ahead of Miramax, then Weinstein's loss was their gain.
So when Disney and Warner crushed the Weinsteins, the rest of the industry just sat back and enjoyed the show.
As for the "instigator," or rather "key player" Isabella — no one dared bring her up much, but everyone quietly added her to the do not provoke list.
Why?
Because Isabella didn't appear out of nowhere. Her market value had been studied and calculated long before. Talking about her again was pointless.
And putting her on the blacklist? Simple logic.
Every studio protects its golden goose.
Try messing with Sony's Tobey Maguire right now, and they'd bury you.
Block my profits? Then go die.
Your reasons don't matter.
This isn't a charity.
If you want comfort, go cry to your mom.
Anyway.
Oscars are nice, sure — but IP is what truly drives capital insane.
Because once you realize that no matter how much prestige you win, your total revenue still has a ceiling… that's when the real beasts show their teeth.
Then you can face it all with a smile.
And after you've smiled…
"What did you just say? Eminem wants to go for the Oscars?"
Universal Pictures' chairwoman, Stacey Snider, looked up from the conference table after hearing the "bombshell news" from one of her subordinates.
The subordinate's repeated nods made her squint and sigh. "Em's a singer. 8 Mile is his first movie. So… trying to go for the Oscars right out of the gate? That's a little unrealistic."
"But this year's situation is… sigh… well, if he really wants to go for it, I can try to help him get a nomination."
Since this year's Oscar campaign had already turned into a tangled mess like a cat playing with yarn, everyone was doing whatever they pleased. But as Stacey smiled and agreed, a thought suddenly crossed her mind.
"Wait a second."
"If I'm not mistaken, Eminem never said he was going for the Oscars, right?"
"Didn't his film not even get a Golden Globe nomination in the Musical or Comedy category?"
That question made everyone in the meeting room freeze for a second—then they all nodded.
And not just nodded—they laughed while nodding, because the whole thing was funny.
At that time, the Golden Globes were held much earlier than the Oscars.
For example, that year's Golden Globe nominations were announced on December 19, 2002.
That meant that any film released after December 19, 2002, could only compete in next year's Golden Globes.
Technically speaking, this shouldn't affect an Oscar run—because the Academy's submission rules never said a film must first compete at the Golden Globes before qualifying for the Oscars—but since the Globes were widely considered the strongest indicator of Oscar trends, skipping them entirely and jumping straight to the Oscars just felt…
Weird?
Also, the Golden Globes were even looser with their rules than the Oscars.
Take Catch Me If You Can—it premiered on December 25, but Leonardo DiCaprio was already among the nominees announced on December 19.
Yep. That year, DiCaprio got a Golden Globe nomination for Best Actor in a Drama thanks to Catch Me If You Can.
Basically, as long as you paid the right people, you could get nominated even before your film hit theaters.
Pay enough, and the judges might just close their eyes and hand you the trophy.
So when everyone knew how rotten the Golden Globes were, and Eminem's 8 Mile skipped them entirely but still wanted to go for the Oscars…
Well… that's a bit much, isn't it?
Still, Universal didn't care.
Like they said—Oscar campaigning is just business.
You want to compete? We'll take the job.
You pay us? We'll get it done.
It's not a business that runs on clean ledgers anyway—if you want to throw money, go ahead. Worst case, we make a profit off your ambition.
And when Universal could afford to laugh while playing dirty…
"Isa, do you realize the whole of Hollywood is in chaos because of you?"
It was afternoon on the West Coast—and night in Iceland.
The two places were nearly seven hours apart.
So when Columbus called, Isabella had just returned to her hotel suite.
She'd had quite the day—
Climbed a volcano, soaked in a hot spring, and tried Iceland's most famous fermented shark for lunch.
At the same time, she thought her day had been pretty awful—
The volcano turned out to be active; the hike nearly killed her.
The "natural" hot spring? Man-made. Totally pointless.
And that shark meat? It stank so bad she was gagging before it even reached the table—plus it cost 35 euros!
What a robbery!
But—
With Weinstein's disappearance and the Oscars exploding into chaos, all her unhappiness instantly vanished.
Warner's lightning-fast response—and the fact that she could stir up the industry even from afar—filled her with satisfaction.
She'd just complained a little to Barry Meyer about being targeted by rivals, and boom—her enemies were gone.
What? Just a few words and the two old men overturned Hollywood for me?
Hehehe~
Okay, kidding. Just kidding.
But still—
"Goose goose goose goose~"
Leaning back on the presidential suite's sofa, the little beaver laughed like a happy Shiba Inu.
But she quickly denied it: "Oh, Chris, don't talk nonsense!"
"I've never even been to America, so what does Hollywood's chaos have to do with me?"
"Disney just punished a criminal!"
"So… hmm?"
Her playful innocence made Columbus roll his eyes on the other end of the line.
"Okay, okay, okay—it has nothing to do with you, alright?"
He gave up arguing and changed the subject. "So, besides that, don't you have anything else to say? Warner's decided to campaign for you—for free…"
That's right—Columbus had called to tell Isabella that Warner was feeling generous.
Or in other words—they were running everyone's Oscar campaign on the house.
Honestly, in the eyes of real capitalists, even a few million dollars for Oscar campaigning isn't much.
But rules are rules, right?
The industry standard was that profits were split 50–50, so if one studio covered everything, it broke protocol.
Still, this case was special—The Voice really had done Warner some favors.
First, by standing up to New Line.
Second, by helping them avoid a minefield.
The first part was obvious. The second? That had to do with DC.
Since The Voice managed to outshine Die Another Day and The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers, it proved Halle Berry's box-office appeal wasn't as strong as everyone thought.
So…
She wanted $20 million to star in Catwoman?
Warner didn't even bother negotiating anymore.
Ask all you want—we're just not hiring you.
Yep. Catwoman was officially put on hold.
On Warner's slate, it was a multi-million-dollar project—and if it flopped, shareholders would demand heads.
Especially while they were still at odds with Ted Turner.
Hitting the brakes early? That's called profit protection.
So when the team behind The Voice had done Warner two big favors, the company decided to show some goodwill.
And they even admitted it—part of that goodwill was because Isabella had been wronged.
If they weren't making her pay for the Oscar push, how could they ask anyone else to?
Sure, Christian Bale and Jude Law weren't as commercially valuable as Isabella.
But Chris Columbus?
In Barry Meyer's eyes, he was basically another heavyweight.
Right?
And Warner's generosity made everyone on The Voice's team thrilled.
Getting an Oscar campaign for free? What's not to love?
Plus, Jude Law wanted to switch categories—to compete for Best Actor.
Because all his previous plans had gone up in smoke thanks to Isabella.
He'd hoped to win Best Actor next year with Cold Mountain, but…
Weinstein blew up.
And Cold Mountain was his project.
So…
Guess he had to face reality.
As for Isabella—
"Director, I really don't have anything to say."
"Because a twelve-year-old girl can't be an Oscar Best Actress."
"So the Oscars have nothing to do with me."
She wasn't about to waste energy chasing something that didn't exist.
Life's only about thirty thousand days—better to enjoy every single one.
Her words were so philosophical that Columbus burst out laughing.
"Oh, Isa—you really are something else—"
Sitting in his California home, he just shook his head, speechless.
Before hanging up, he asked again—
"You'll be staying in Iceland for a while, right? Not heading back to England?"
"Yeah, Keisha and I are planning to go glacier hiking."
"You? Hiking? You nearly died climbing that volcano today."
"Oh—Chris—don't let me see you again—because next time I do, I'll smash a cupcake in your face!"
A lie may sting, but truth cuts sharper.
Hearing the girl get worked up, Columbus chuckled. "Alright, alright, I get it."
"In a few days, someone will come to Iceland to find you—just keep your phone on…"
"What? Why?" she asked, puzzled.
"You'll see when the time comes."
Columbus laughed. "It's a good thing—surprise~"
"Trust me~"