May 24, 2001 — 9:00 p.m.
Los Angeles, Egyptian Theatre.
Luke and the two directors stood at the entrance of the Egyptian Theatre, a cinema famous for its temple-style architecture. Its sandy-colored plaster walls gave off an old-world charm, while tall, straight palm trees flanked the entrance, instantly evoking the mystique of ancient Egypt. Inside, the scarab designs on the ceiling and the golden mask of Tutankhamun on the walls made the whole space feel like a movie set.
Looking at the sea of people filling the lobby, Director Cohen couldn't help but say, "Watching The Mummy Returns in this place must feel incredible."
He wasn't wrong. Just two days earlier, The Mummy Returns had held its premiere here—an ideal venue that perfectly matched the movie's Egyptian theme—officially kicking off the summer box office war.
Naturally, Luke and his team came to see their competition firsthand, to gauge both audience reactions and the film's performance.
"Wow, sixty percent of the showtimes are for The Mummy Returns," Director Johnston said in disbelief.
"Well, that's what happens when you throw an enormous marketing budget at it," Luke replied casually. "Across the rest of the U.S., it's still getting around forty percent of screens."
Sommers' all-out publicity campaign had paid off—major theaters were giving The Mummy Returns the best possible slots.
Cohen laughed. "That doesn't scare me. You look too calm. When you're like this, I know we're not losing."
Lately, both directors had developed near-total confidence in Luke. No matter how strong the competition seemed, they were convinced he'd find a way to win.
"Let's go," Luke said. "Let's contribute three tickets to our rival's box office. A little sportsmanship never hurts."
He queued up at the box office and couldn't help but complain internally—cash payments and paper tickets? How outdated.
When he returned with the tickets, he smiled. "Bad news. They're almost sold out. The only seats left were in the corner—and I barely got those."
"Great," Cohen groaned. "There goes my last bit of wishful thinking."
"Don't lose heart too soon," Johnston joked. "Maybe they just bought out their own tickets."
"Not likely. At least not yet," Luke said with a grin. "Come on, let's watch the movie."
Inside the theater, as soon as the lights dimmed, the film began. The two directors watched intently, analyzing every detail like true professionals. Luke, however, wasn't paying much attention to the screen—he'd already seen The Mummy Returns countless times in his past life. Tonight, he was there to study the audience.
The film, filled with grand visual effects and supernatural action, was undeniably spectacular for its time:
A swarm of scarabs devouring people alive. The high priest Imhotep kissing his lover in his decayed form. Mummies leaping from walls to attack the heroes on a bus. Imhotep summoning a face-shaped tidal wave. Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson appearing as the Scorpion King.
Every time one of these iconic scenes appeared, the crowd gasped and cheered—the special effects had clearly won them over.
Luke wasn't surprised. He had great respect for The Mummy Returns—he wouldn't have fought so hard to act in it otherwise. But respecting a rival didn't mean surrendering.
In his view, the best tribute to a classic was to surpass it—to destroy it on its own battlefield.
The movie's strength lay in its dazzling visuals and adventure pacing. But that didn't mean it had no weaknesses.
Its flaw was shallow character development.
As The Chicago Sun-Times later put it:
"The Mummy Returns sacrifices character and story for spectacle. The plot exists solely to hang visual effects upon. Without the foundation of the 1999 film, this sequel would barely have a story."
Harsh, but accurate.
And judging by the audience reactions, Luke could see it clearly—people were thrilled during the action scenes, but restless during quieter moments.
Once he confirmed his suspicions, his mission for the night was done. He relaxed into his seat and enjoyed revisiting the film that had once been one of his favorites.
When the movie ended and the crowd began pouring out of the theater, Luke finally asked, "So, what did you guys think?"
Cohen answered first, his expression serious. "It's excellent. A bit flawed, but definitely strong enough to be a box office heavyweight. I'd bet its opening weekend will clear a hundred million. Honestly, your prediction of $280 million total might not be far off."
"The visual effects are top-tier—better than Jurassic Park III, no doubt," Johnston added. "Are we sure we can beat this?"
"Of course," Luke replied calmly. "Remember what I said about timing? Sommers chose the wrong release date. Our first monster ally is about to rise—and it's going to hit them hard."
"Monster ally?" Cohen asked, puzzled.
"An animated one," Luke said with a smile. "Its name is Shrek. And it's going to punch a hole right through The Mummy Returns."
"Really? That's just a mid-budget animated film," Johnston said skeptically.
Standing in that moment of 2001, no one—except Luke—could imagine what was coming.
A $60 million animated movie, with only $30 million in marketing, was about to crush a $100 million blockbuster backed by another $100 million in promo spending.
From his past life, Luke remembered: Shrek would go on to make $267 million in North America alone, ranking third for the year—while The Mummy Returns would fall to sixth.
And those top three? Practically untouchable legends.
"Trust me," Luke said confidently. "Word of mouth for Shrek is exploding. Its screen count is climbing every day."
"But even if that's true," Cohen argued, "The Mummy Returns can still hold about thirty percent of theaters. We're still in danger."
"Don't worry," Luke said with a sly grin. "Our second monster ally is about to enter the stage."
"Another monster movie?" Johnston asked.
"No," Luke replied. "But its box office will be monstrous. One of only two true beasts of the decade."