This was the first major release slot after the "9/11 incident," and the competition was fierce—rivaling even the summer blockbuster season.
Although A Beautiful Mind was directed by Dunn, it's a slow-paced drama, and despite the golden reputation of "Dunn Walker," it struggled to win the full confidence of theater chains.
The film opened in just 1,226 theaters, with more screenings and larger releases handed to commercial hits like Silent Trigger, Zoolander, and Hearts in Atlantis.
Still, A Beautiful Mind had a killer tagline: "Heal your wounded heart!"
In this unique time, the movie's box office was bound to see a breakthrough.
Even if short-term ticket sales weren't stellar, it wouldn't matter much. Unlike commercial films, dramas have a long-tail release strategy. They might not crack the top 3 or 5 on the weekly box office charts, but stretch the timeline out—especially come awards season—and their earning power shines through.
A Beautiful Mind is a commercial film dressed up as a drama, tugging at the heartstrings of moviegoers everywhere. High box office numbers were only natural.
Especially in this particular moment.
It was Saturday morning, and after waking up and hitting the gym for a quick half-hour workout, Dunn walked in to find Penelope Cruz and Charlize Theron curled up on the sofa, legs tucked under, reading the newspaper with amused interest.
Dunn couldn't help but chuckle. "Up this early? Guess my stamina last night wasn't quite up to par."
That earned him playful eye-rolls from both beauties.
"Everyone's raving about A Beautiful Mind—it's all glowing reviews! Want to hear?" Charlize Theron waved the newspaper at him.
Dunn waved it off. "Expected! I've got a call to make to the head of New Line Cinema."
Charlize frowned, puzzled. "It's the weekend—still working?"
Dunn stretched lazily. "All for you, you know."
"For me?" Charlize looked even more confused.
Of course, it was about Brett Ratner!
Once Dunn decided to take that guy down, there was no way he'd stop halfway!
His blacklist was long, filled with big names—none of whom he could topple overnight. In the short term, Jerry Bruckheimer was the most likely target.
But then Brett Ratner popped up out of nowhere, begging to be the first to feel Dunn's wrath!
Dunn's internal ban on Ratner? Most studios would go along with it. They didn't know the guy well anyway—easy to ride the wave.
New Line Cinema, though, was a different story. Ratner had been one of their directors, a young talent they'd groomed themselves. The Rush Hour series had raked in serious cash.
Bob Shaye, who ran New Line, had secured independent operating rights from Warner Bros, but that hinged on delivering results. Rush Hour was tied to his job security.
"Dunn, this thing with Brett—it's probably just a misunderstanding, right? I know him; he's got a real passion for work and some serious movie-making talent. If he's stepped out of line somewhere, just say it. I'll make him apologize to you," Bob Shaye said over the phone, his tone half-hearted.
Dunn smirked to himself. He'd been freezing Ratner out of Hollywood for days now, and word had spread internally. Bob, as New Line's president, would've been on it from the jump—talking to Ratner right away.
Now, with Dunn personally calling, Bob was still playing dumb? Clearly, he wasn't planning to give Dunn any respect.
"Bob," Dunn said coolly, "whether it's a misunderstanding or not, we both know the score. No point pretending otherwise. I might be young, but one thing I won't tolerate is someone stepping on my face!"
Bob's expression darkened. This Dunn—he was too domineering, too unreasonable!
In Hollywood, how many faces had Dunn stepped on? Ratner just ran his mouth a little, and Dunn was ready to bury him for it? That's harsh.
Bob paused, then sighed. "Dunn, how about this? I'll play middleman. He'll apologize, give you assurances. From now on, I'll make sure he doesn't even think about crossing you or your people."
"Apologize? Too late for that," Dunn replied, his voice calm but sharp. "Call it arrogance if you want, but I've got some clout in Hollywood. A nobody director like him wants to challenge me? That kind of bad vibe needs to be crushed hard. Even if it's just to set an example, I'm laying down a standard—a rule—for all the newbies coming up in Hollywood!"
Bob sucked in a breath. Dunn was dead serious about making Ratner the fall guy.
But that clearly didn't align with New Line's interests.
"Brett's a contracted producer at New Line, a talented director," Bob said, his tone softening, almost pleading. "Dunn, you're a big name in Hollywood—you know what a gifted director means to this industry. I'm asking you, for the sake of Hollywood's brand value, give him a chance."
Dunn shot it down flat. "Not happening, Bob. You know the situation. I've already looped in Legendary Pictures and talked to plenty of Hollywood heavyweights. If I let him off now, I'd be slapping myself in the face!"
Bob was starting to get heated. He was an industry veteran, the guy who'd built New Line from the ground up. Most folks in the business treated him with courtesy, gave him some respect.
Running an independent studio in Hollywood's cutthroat, oligarch-controlled world was no small feat—even if Warner eventually bought them out, it was still a win worth recognizing.
In this call, he'd already bent over backwards, played nice, but Dunn wasn't budging. His tone was firm, unwavering—no room for debate!
He wasn't giving Bob any face at all!
Bob couldn't hold back. "Even if New Line fires him, it'd just be handing him to someone else. Disney's not afraid of you!"
Dunn burst out laughing, though the sound grew colder by the second. "Bob, you mocking me now?"
"I'm just stating a fact," Bob replied.
"Fact or jab, doesn't matter," Dunn said icily. "Right now, I just need New Line's stance. That punk Ratner—what are you planning to do with him?"
Bob went quiet for a long stretch before saying slowly, "Brett's under contract with New Line. He's an exec in the production department."
Dunn didn't explode like Bob might've expected. His face stayed calm, his voice steady. "Oh, well then, guess we'll each do what we've gotta do."
Charlize Theron strutted in wearing a shimmering silver-gray bodycon dress, a jacket draped over her shoulders, and oversized black sunglasses—charm and coolness rolled into one.
She walked arm-in-arm with Dunn into an elite club beneath the Hollywood Hotel.
This place was a regular haunt for Hollywood stars and wealthy bigwigs to mingle and network, with top-notch security and privacy measures.
So Charlize had no qualms about linking arms with Dunn openly.
Still, she was a little tense, a little uneasy.
"Dunn, is all this really necessary?"
Even Charlize, the one caught in the middle, thought Dunn was taking it too far.
Sure, Brett Ratner had said some crude stuff to her face that day, but he hadn't laid a hand on her. She'd vented to Dunn just to get him to back her up, give her some leverage.
So the next time she saw Ratner, she could hold her head high.
She never expected Dunn to go full scorched-earth!
He was set on wiping Brett Ratner out of Hollywood completely!
To Charlize, it felt like overkill.
Yeah, Ratner had said, "I'd love a taste of Dunn's woman," but guys, when their egos flare up, tend to blurt out dumb, reckless stuff in the heat of the moment.
Dunn coming down this hard, no mercy—it was ruthless.
But what did she, a woman, know about Dunn's bigger picture, his ambitions?
Sumner Redstone from Viacom had stepped on Dunn's face with that Six Feet Under mess. Brian Roberts from Comcast had quietly tripped him up in the TV network game too.
Those guys were media titans, heads of giant corporations. Dunn had to grit his teeth and take it.
But Brett Ratner? Some second- or third-tier rookie director daring to step on Dunn's face? That was like swallowing a leopard's worth of guts!
Sumner Redstone? Out of reach. Brian Roberts? Tough nut to crack. But a lowlife director like Ratner? If Dunn let that slide, where would he put his pride?
Use it as a doormat?
Hilarious!
The Comcast stuff wasn't widely known in Hollywood yet, but Six Feet Under was airing hot on TV—a fact no one could deny.
Dunn's company and Viacom both kept it low-key, but anyone paying attention could see it: Redstone had Dunn in check!
If Dunn didn't show some teeth now—some grit, some dominance—to clean up Hollywood's act, who knows how many clowns and creeps would start stirring trouble?
This time, Dunn was using Brett Ratner to make a point and flex his authority!
He could bow to Redstone, but that didn't mean the rest of you got to laugh!
Especially not a small fry like Ratner!
"Back in the day, this would've been an insult to the emperor. I'd charge him with gross disrespect and have him beheaded at noon—totally justified!"
Dunn didn't care if Charlize got the reference. He wrapped an arm around her and headed to their reserved private room.
Inside, the vibe was classy and fresh—complete with a fake rock feature and a mini waterfall, colorful tropical fish swimming around.
Two people were already there, eagerly standing to greet them.
One was Kent Richards, production assistant on the Rush Hour series. The other was David Anthony, the casting director for the franchise.