*Star Wars: Episode I – The Phantom Menace* has wrapped up its theatrical run in North America, though it's still showing in some overseas markets. The North American box office is locked in at $580 million, with a global total of $1.15 billion.
Still, Dunn's hoping to snag his 15% box office share anytime soon? Not likely.
Tom Rothman's probably waiting for him to go broke. There's no way he'd wire the money now—he'll come up with every excuse to stall.
Dunn's not sweating it. He's looking forward to the showdown between *Spider-Man*, *Titan A.E.*, and *Gone in Sixty Seconds*. It's gonna be… pretty darn interesting!
On March 26, the 72nd Academy Awards took place at the Shrine Auditorium in Los Angeles.
Dunn and Natalie showed up arm in arm. They weren't there to strut the red carpet for clout—they were there to make an impression at the Oscars, to build their resumes.
Both of them are young, which is their biggest hurdle to winning awards.
"So, you holding up okay? Feeling the pressure?" Dunn was genuinely curious about how she's handling life at Harvard.
Natalie, clinging to his arm, breezed through the red carpet, dodging interviews. She pursed her lips and said, "It's alright. I went to Matt's party a while back and got a lot of encouragement."
"Matt?"
"Matt Damon, you know, the lead in *The Talented Mr. Ripley*. You'll probably see him later."
"Nat?" Dunn gave her a cautious look.
Natalie huffed, "What's that look for? I'm not like you, okay? Hmph!"
Dunn coughed lightly. "I'm just surprised. How do you even know him?"
"Didn't know him before. He invited me to his party, and that's how we met," Natalie said casually.
Dunn frowned. "Matt Damon? Nat, you might not think anything of it, but what if he's got other ideas?"
"If you keep this up, I'm done talking to you," Natalie said, rolling her eyes playfully. "He's my senior, alright? He went to Harvard too."
"Really?" Dunn was a bit taken aback.
Natalie nodded. "He even introduced me to another alum who gave me a ton of encouragement. Said we should work together sometime."
"Who's that?"
"Darren. Darren Aronofsky, the postmodern director. Have you seen *Pi*?"
Dunn froze for a second.
*Pi*? Nope, hadn't seen it. But *Black Swan*? Oh, he knew that one.
"Hey, what's on your mind?" Natalie waved a hand in front of his face when she noticed him zoning out.
Dunn grabbed her hand and grinned. "Just impressed, that's all. You're already building your own little network, rubbing elbows with big actors and directors."
Natalie smirked, letting out a soft hum. "Duh. I can thrive just fine without you!"
"Of course you can. My Nat's the best!"
Dunn tossed her a compliment just as he spotted Steven Spielberg approaching.
Spielberg wasn't nominated this year, but as last year's Best Director winner, he was there to present an award.
"Dunn, fancy meeting you here! Nat, you're looking even prettier!" Spielberg's eyes lit up as he walked over, any past tension from two years ago long forgotten.
Natalie gracefully lifted her skirt in a polite curtsy. "And you're looking younger every day, Mr. Spielberg."
Dunn shook his hand lightly and sighed. "It's a shame, you know. My original plan was to get you to direct *The Chronicles of Narnia*. It's a classic."
Spielberg waved it off. "No time, I'm afraid. I've got one film to shoot this year, another to produce, and a TV series to oversee. Way too busy."
"A TV series?"
Dunn's expression shifted slightly, a thought sparking in his mind.
Spielberg didn't notice and continued casually, "Yeah, it's Tom's project. The budget's massive, so we brought DreamWorks on board."
Dunn's hunch was confirmed. The series Spielberg was talking about was exactly the one he was thinking of!
"Can you tell me more?"
Dunn was clearly intrigued, with Natalie standing quietly by his side.
Spielberg explained, "You know I did *Saving Private Ryan*, right? Well, Tom—Tom Hanks—came across a veteran's memoir called *Band of Brothers*. It's about the 101st Airborne Division during the Normandy campaign. He approached me, and we're teaming up with DreamWorks to turn it into a TV series."
Dunn's eyes gleamed as he flashed a smile. "Tom Hanks, huh? Your second collaboration is bound to be a huge hit."
"No clue if it'll succeed," Spielberg said with a sigh, shaking his head. "The budget for *Band of Brothers* could cover two *Saving Private Ryan*s."
Natalie, sharp as ever, picked up on Dunn's interest and cleverly zeroed in. "Mr. Spielberg, is there still a funding gap?"
The second the words left her mouth, she realized she'd overstepped. Quick to recover, she put on a playful, innocent act, pointing at Dunn with a mock pout. "You should get him to chip in! Spend all his money so he stops flirting with girls everywhere!"
Spielberg chuckled, giving Dunn a teasing look.
Dunn, half-embarrassed, half-serious, played along. "She's not wrong, Steven. I've been looking for a chance to work with you. Since *Narnia* didn't pan out, *Band of Brothers* sounds like a great fit."
Spielberg assumed he was just being polite and shook his head. "DreamWorks is putting in $50 million, Tom's production company is covering $20 million, and we've still got a $50 million gap. We're planning to partner with a cable network."
"Cable networks?"
"Exactly. In the U.S., we could go with HBO. In the UK, the BBC. France has CANAL+, and there are networks in Spain, Germany, and other European countries. We'll scrape together the $50 million one way or another."
Dunn's expression turned serious. "Steven, no offense, but that's not a great plan. You're talking about pre-selling TV rights. That's giving up a huge chunk of future profits."
With the quality of *Band of Brothers*, the first-run North American broadcast could easily fetch $30 million, and a second run could pull in another $8 million.
Selling TV rights to hundreds of countries and regions worldwide? That's where the real money is!
There's no way they could recoup a $120 million budget just from DVD and VHS sales, right?
Spielberg gave a wry smile. "What choice do we have? A $120 million TV series? No one's crazy enough to invest in that. We need the backing of heavyweights like HBO or the BBC. To get this project off the ground, we have to give up some profits—it's unavoidable."
Natalie jumped in eagerly. "Why not ask Dunn? Mr. Spielberg, did you forget what I said?"
Dunn was still holding Natalie's hand, his fingers lightly tracing her palm.
This girlfriend of his? Absolute genius.
"Fifty million dollars…"
Dunn paused, then continued, "Steven, don't stress about it. If you're open to it, Dunn Films is ready to step in!"
"You?" Spielberg's eyes widened in disbelief. "Dunn, you do realize this isn't a movie—it's a TV series!"
This was an era before HBO and AMC reinvented themselves, before the golden age of big-budget prestige dramas. Most TV shows were churned out on the cheap, averaging about $1.5 million per episode.
Steven Spielberg and Tom Hanks teaming up for a $120 million epic? It was as groundbreaking as Fox's all-in bet on *Titanic* back in the day.
Dunn, unfazed by Spielberg's tension, chuckled. "People in the industry call me crazy, right? If I'm gonna live up to that, I might as well do something wild. Besides, $50 million? That's pocket change compared to what I sank into buying Marvel and betting on *Spider-Man*."
Spielberg sucked in a breath. He'd heard the rumors, but seeing Dunn's audacity up close? This kid was nuts.
Then again, wasn't Dunn's success built on that same kind of insanity paying off?
"Fifty million's no small sum," Spielberg said, giving Dunn a long look. "I've heard… Dunn Films is dealing with some debt issues?"
Dunn laughed it off. "Total nonsense!"
Natalie, ever the quick wit, piled on with a mock scowl. "Some big companies just love throwing their weight around, bullying the little guy. They're full of it, spreading lies!"
Spielberg nodded, relating all too well. DreamWorks was struggling to stay afloat, caught between internal mismanagement and external pressures.
Dunn Films' current predicament? Spielberg could feel it in his bones.
"Alright, I'll talk it over with Tom," Spielberg said. It was too big a decision to make on the spot, but the glint in his eyes showed he was intrigued.
Partnering with Dunn Films meant splitting future profits based on investment shares. DreamWorks would still hold the upper hand—Dunn Films didn't even have a distribution arm.
But teaming up with HBO or the BBC? That was like signing up for a godfather who'd call all the shots.
Cable networks were way more ruthless than movie studios.
Dunn shook Spielberg's hand again, his tone earnest. "Steven, I'm really looking forward to working together."
"Absolutely!"
Spielberg clapped Dunn on the shoulder, a smile spreading across his face.
…
Once they stepped into the auditorium, Natalie leaned in and whispered, "Why're you so obsessed with this TV series?"
Dunn teased, "Networking, duh. If I get in good with Spielberg, maybe you'll land the lead in one of his movies."
"You think I'm that gullible?"
Natalie shot him a look. "You're hiding something, aren't you?"
"Me? Nah."
"Nothing?" Natalie huffed. "I heard you're hiring ghostwriters for a book."
Dunn cleared his throat. "Alright, Nat, I'll admit it—I've been holding back. My brilliance is just so dazzling, I didn't want to overwhelm you."
"Pfft!"
Natalie burst out laughing, giving him a playful glare. "Keep dreaming! I can't wait to see what kind of book you come up with."
"Oh, by the way, didn't Reese head off to the *Legally Blonde* set? How'd you know about the book?"
Natalie grinned, tossing her head smugly. "I've got a new inside source."
Dunn's eyes widened. "Isla Fisher?"
Natalie's lips curled into a sly smile. "Who else?"
"Alright, I'm officially impressed," Dunn said, half-stunned.
But it made sense. If Natalie could wrap Stanford grad Reese Witherspoon around her finger, getting her to spill secrets, then charming Isla Fisher was child's play.