The curtain slowly rises on the 73rd Academy Awards.
As the grandest and most influential film festival in the world, the Oscars don't hand over production rights to a third-party company like the Golden Globes do with Dick Clark Productions. Instead, much like the three major European film festivals with their long histories, the organizers take full control.
For this year's Oscars, Disney's AB Broadcasting Company has secured the broadcast rights for the fourth consecutive time. The producer, Gil Cates, and the director, Louis Horvitz, both hail from the AB Group.
Given the rocky relationship between Dunn and Disney, it's easy to imagine that the TV coverage won't exactly be kind to him. The camera angles are bound to be less than flattering.
You can see it even more clearly in the advertising slots. Disney's big war epic, Pearl Harbor, effortlessly snagged a 45-second ad—the longest of the night. Meanwhile, Dunn Films shelled out a record-breaking $1.1 million just to get a 30-second spot for Never Sinking. Talk about a difference in treatment.
So, at this year's Oscars, Dunn has to play it smart—dress sharp, keep his image clean, and watch his influence. He's toned things down a lot. No parading around with other actresses on his arm this time. Instead, he's sticking close to Natalie, keeping quiet and low-key the whole way.
When AB's reporters swarm him with eager questions, he doesn't even bother responding. Natalie brushes them off with a cool, "Sorry, my throat's not feeling great today. I'd rather not talk much."
But then she spots director Steven Spielberg, and her mood flips like a switch. She lights up, diving into an enthusiastic chat. "Director Spielberg, I heard you're gearing up for a new movie—is that true?"
Spielberg had promised her a while back that they'd work together someday. He nods slowly. "I just finished post-production on Artificial Intelligence. The next one… I'm guessing it'll get greenlit by May."
Natalie flashes a flattering smile. "You're so hardworking!"
Spielberg chuckles, glancing at Dunn beside her. "This director next to you isn't exactly a slacker either," he teases. "Since he started, hasn't he churned out a new movie every year?"
In Hollywood, the production cycle for a commercial film usually runs between 15 and 20 months. Most of that time goes to post-production, where studios run multiple internal screenings to tweak things and minimize risks.
But there are exceptions—like Spielberg. When he makes a movie, no one dares to give him notes! His films typically wrap up in under 12 months.
Dunn's the same way—a real quick draw in the industry. Natalie grins proudly, then says with a playful pout, "He's different. I've already done a bunch of movies with him."
Spielberg raises an eyebrow. "Have you read Philip K. Dick's short story Minority Report?"
Natalie shakes her head.
He hesitates. "There's a female lead in it—a mysterious precog named Agatha—but her screen time isn't huge."
"No problem! I'm fine with that!" Natalie jumps in eagerly.
Spielberg grimaces a little. "Thing is… I've already promised Tom Cruise the male lead. You know, it's a commercial film. I've got to think about the box office."
Outsiders might not know, but Spielberg's well aware of the tension between Tom Cruise, Dunn, and Natalie.
Natalie shrugs it off like it's nothing. "That's fine. At the last Golden Globes, he was my presenter and acted totally professional. I'm sure he'll bring even more of that star vibe to the set."
"Star vibe?" Spielberg silently marvels.
Tom Cruise is notoriously tough on set. Even when he's not officially a producer, he acts like one—calling out specific camera angles and blocking to make sure he stands out as the biggest star in every frame.
That might work with others, but Natalie Portman's got Dunn Walker in her corner. Asking a proud Harvard grad like her to play second fiddle to Tom Cruise? No chance.
Dunn catches Spielberg's hesitation and feels a bit stuck. In his mind, Natalie doesn't even need Spielberg's movies. He's got the clout to boost her up himself—maybe even to a Best Actress throne someday.
But Spielberg's charm is undeniable. In Hollywood, no one says no to him. He's got a mansion on Long Island in Manhattan, and while he might not be the richest, his status and influence are top-tier.
Natalie wanting to work with a director like him? Totally understandable. It's every actor's basic dream.
Minority Report might not be Spielberg's most iconic film, but it's no flop either. If Natalie wants in, Dunn won't stand in her way.
As for Tom Cruise… Dunn's not the same guy he was three years ago when Cruise was still throwing tantrums and cozying up to Nicole Kidman. Back then, Cruise could get away with it. Now? Unless he's clueless, he'll steer clear.
Even Michael Eisner couldn't handle Dunn's pushback, and that sent a clear message to all of Hollywood about Dunn's power.
At the last Golden Globes, Dunn saw it firsthand. Cruise played it cool, praising Natalie during the presentation—probably a peace offering of sorts.
Since Natalie won't be pushed around by Cruise on set, Dunn's fine letting her take the reins. He smiles. "Steven, Nat's always looked up to you. Give her a shot."
Dunn's got serious pull these days. When he speaks, even Spielberg can't say no. The director nods. "Alright then… come audition. But Dunn, I'm not trying to make this hard. This film's Kubrick's last project—rights are with Twentieth Century Fox. I'm just directing it out of respect for him. I'm not the producer here."
All those words show how much he respects Dunn.
Dunn laughs. "No worries. I'll handle Twentieth Century Fox. As long as you're cool with it, we're good."
Spielberg can't help but marvel at Dunn's insane connections and influence. As the head of Dunn Films, he's even got sway over Fox. That's wild!
His mixed-financing model is the kind of genius that makes people jealous and awestruck.
Rumor has it Michael Ovitz has been hitting up Wall Street lately. Looks like Legendary Pictures is about to score another big cash injection.
Spielberg sighs, shaking Natalie's hand lightly. "Well, beautiful lady, seems like we're working together no matter what?"
Natalie beams, barely containing her excitement. "Director Spielberg, thank you!"
He shakes his head. "If you're thanking anyone, thank that impressive boyfriend of yours."
Natalie tilts her head, sneaking a glance at Dunn with a little smirk. "Nah, I'm not thanking him!"
…
This is the last time the Oscars will be held at the Shrine Auditorium. The Kodak Theatre on Hollywood Boulevard is almost done, and future ceremonies will move there.
The show kicks off like always: the host steps out and does a stand-up bit summing up the year in Hollywood.
But this year's guest host, Steve Martin, isn't exactly a pro at this. He stumbles through his jokes, and most of them flop hard. It's painfully awkward.
Dunn can't help but laugh—not at the jokes, but at Disney and AB Broadcasting. After this mess, AB's chances of getting next year's broadcast rights are toast.
Then comes a performance that hits Dunn right in the feels, nearly bringing tears to his eyes.
For the first time since the Oscars began in 1929, culture takes the stage! It's a massive show blending Peking opera, martial arts, and dance—Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon: A Classic Martial Arts Dance. The crowd goes wild.
Dunn's so pumped he jumps to his feet, clapping like crazy. The Soul Shift Girl crew sitting next to him follows suit.
Natalie Portman and Nicole Kidman, on either side of him, exchange a surprised look and shake their heads.
This Dunn guy… understanding the art of Eastern martial arts? No way!
He's just a total goof!