Michael Ovitz didn't let Dunn down. The very next day, he showed up at Dunn's office with a stack of documents in hand. Though he'd stepped down as chairman of AG Agency, he was still a major shareholder, and Dunn's directing contract was tied to AG. Plus, he and Dunn were solid partners—helping out with a small favor like this was no big deal.
So, Michael didn't hesitate.
The guy he recommended was a real heavy hitter: Chris Albrecht, the current president and CEO of HBO. The chairman and CEO of the broader HBO network was Jeff Bewkes—a guy who'd climb the ranks and eventually take over Time Warner in 2006, known for being stubborn and full of himself.
Take Alan Horn, the president of Warner Bros. He couldn't stand kissing up to Bewkes, got sidelined, and ended up leaving Warner for Disney. There, he built Disney's movie empire—Marvel Studios, Lucasfilm, Fox Studios—you name it. Under Horn, Disney films grabbed nearly half of Hollywood's market share.
Chris Albrecht, now 45 and at the peak of his energy and ability, was cut from a similar cloth. He'd been with HBO for over 20 years, serving as president and CEO since 1997. He'd played a huge role in turning HBO around, especially as a fierce advocate for original programming. Those early HBO classics? All thanks to him. The network had tons of channels, but the flagship HBO station's golden era was tied directly to his efforts.
You could even argue HBO's later success didn't owe much to Jeff Bewkes. By 2002, Bewkes had moved up to chair Time Warner's entertainment and networks division, leaving Albrecht to steer the ship.
But power's power.
Chris Albrecht had a stubborn streak, much like Alan Horn. He didn't play nice with Bewkes, his boss, and got held back at work for years. Finally, fed up, he jumped ship to a rising film company, IG Entertainment, as chairman and CEO, hoping to carve out his own turf.
Too bad movies aren't TV.
Albrecht was a titan in television, but Hollywood's film scene runs on connections more than skill. After three years at IG with little to show for it, he decided to return to TV in January 2010. His pick? None other than Starz.
Back in the TV game, Albrecht doubled down on original content, shaking up Starz's old habit of just buying shows. He churned out a string of stellar dramas, including the legendary Spartacus. That move alone pulled Starz out of the gutter, locking it in as North America's third-biggest premium cable network—behind HBO and Showtime, both backed by massive media giants with no real competition.
Dunn skimmed the guy's profile, a smirk tugging at his lips. Kind of funny, right? History looping back on itself? Thanks to Dunn's influence, the entertainment world had shifted, and now Chris Albrecht was getting an offer from—fatefully—Starz again.
Michael Ovitz noticed Dunn's odd expression and chimed in, "Chris isn't exactly thriving at HBO. But I'm sure if he joins Starz, you two would click."
"Oh? How so?"
"Simple. Band of Brothers. That insane show? Chris was pushing HBO to jump in and co-develop it with Spielberg. You know how it went—HBO's terms were too tough, so Spielberg teamed up with you instead."
Dunn laughed. "Guess we're meant to cross paths then! Done deal—I like this guy!"
"Just like that?" Michael Ovitz raised an eyebrow. Dunn's big decisions always seemed so casual, almost distracted.
"Yep!" Dunn waved a hand. "When's the soonest he could start at Starz?"
Michael thought for a sec. "Work handoffs are tricky. August at the earliest."
"Perfect!" Dunn boomed. "When he starts, I'll hand him the Band of Brothers rights as a welcome gift!"
Michael shook his head inwardly. Dunn was starting to carry himself like a real big shot. Most people couldn't wrap their heads around his choices. Band of Brothers had a $120 million budget—its North American TV rights alone would outprice Spider-Man, easily $50 million or more!
Sure, TV rights are usually buyouts, unlike movies, but still—that's a fortune. Starz couldn't pull in $50 million in a year with its current setup! Dunn might be young, but that kind of boldness left even Michael Ovitz quietly impressed.
"By the way, Wall Street…" Michael shifted gears. "I talked to them. Like you figured, even without voting rights, they're keen to invest in Legendary Pictures."
Dunn grinned knowingly. "Of course! Capital chases profit. With the big national tax cuts, Hollywood's a goldmine for them now!"
"But…" Michael paused, "if you take this $500 million, your shares will get diluted big time."
"How much?"
"Less than 15%."
"And you?"
"Around 18%."
Michael ran Legendary Pictures. Though his initial stake was smaller than Dunn's, he held an extra 5% in management shares.
"How much voting power will we have?"
"Over 60%."
"Good enough!" Dunn nodded, waving grandly. "I don't care about share size. I care about this industry taking off! Michael, you've seen it—pooled investments are Hollywood's capital lifeline. I want this place to grow healthier."
Michael agreed. "With this round of funding, Legendary's cash needs are covered. It can stand on its own going forward. Maybe even go public someday."
Translation: a chance for Dunn to cash out down the line.
Dunn just smiled, unbothered. Legendary's profits? Pocket change to him. He had bigger ways to make money. What he valued was the status and clout it brought.
Come May, the summer blockbuster season kicked off with Universal's The Mummy Returns. Dunn hit the premiere, greeted personally by Universal's chairman and CEO, Ron Meyer, who made a big deal of introducing him to the key crew: producer Sean Daniel, director Stephen Sommers, and star Brendan Fraser.
Honestly? Dunn couldn't care less.
The Mummy series had it all—thrills, adventure, fantasy, action—a killer concept. But these guys tanked it in just two films. Impressive, in a bad way. Especially Brendan Fraser. The dude was a lumbering oaf—no looks, no acting chops. A TV bit-player at best. How he landed a blockbuster lead was beyond Dunn.
He shook their hands with a blank face, keeping it short—three polite, empty sentences max per person. Total small talk.
To Ron Meyer, though, it felt different. Dunn's vibe was growing stronger, more like a true mogul every day.
"Wonder how he holds up with a pretty woman…" Ron mused to himself, then chuckled. "Dunn, meet our stunning leading lady, Rachel Weisz—a brilliant British actress."
Dunn eyed the elegant, bold English beauty in her silver-gray gown and smiled lightly, shaking her hand. "Hey, Rachel. Nice to meet you."
She gripped his hand eagerly. "Mr. Walker, I'm a huge fan! I love your movies!"
"Thanks."
Her enthusiasm met Dunn's standard reply, and she wasn't thrilled. After a beat, she leaned in close, whispering fast in his ear, "I'm amazing in bed!"
Pulling back, her face glowed with a flirty shine.
Dunn didn't flinch, just smiled like he hadn't heard a thing. "Maybe we'll work together sometime."
Then he turned to the next guy, suddenly interested, even reaching out for a handshake. "This must be Dwayne Johnson, right?"
Ron Meyer blinked, thrown by Dunn's indifference to Rachel's obvious move. Something was up there.
Meanwhile, Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson—huge, towering, and built like a tank—bent forward, grabbing Dunn's hand with both of his, all humble and awestruck. "Mr. Walker, I can't believe you know my name!"
Dunn gave him a firm shake and a grin. "I'm rooting for your switch. Hollywood's got way more room to grow than the wrestling ring!"
"Mr. Walker, I—"
"Easy, man," Dunn laughed. "Put in the sweat you gave the ring, and I promise Hollywood will pay you back big!"
"Thank you! Thank you!"
The Mummy Returns was Dwayne's first film, and here he was, getting high praise from a titan like Dunn Walker at the premiere. He was floored.
Dunn nodded, his tone carrying weight. "Hollywood's waters run deep, though. You'll face tough calls. Hope you pick the right path when it counts."
Dwayne thumped his chest, booming, "Sir, I'll always back you!"
Dunn smiled faintly. Smart guy.
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