Over the next week, Shrek kept climbing in screenings, rising from 15% of theater slots to a solid 30%.
With that increase, its weekly box office shot up to $60 million.
On top of that, its IMDb score kept climbing too—jumping from 7.7 to 7.9. The film was firing on all cylinders, unstoppable.
But if Shrek's success looked impressive, the numbers for Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone in its first week left people stunned.
It pulled in $120 million in its opening week.
That matched The Mummy Returns' first-week numbers— but Harry Potter did it with just 25% of screens, without any inflated ticket tricks. It stood tall as a true box office juggernaut.
Luke had loved the Harry Potter movies in his past life, and in this one, he admired them even more.
After all, the film indirectly helped him set a trap for Director Sommers, even if it was just a lucky coincidence.
He also noticed something this time around that he had completely missed before: the Harry Potter cast was entirely British.
Back then, as just another casual moviegoer, he never cared about where the actors came from.
Officially, the story was that J.K. Rowling herself insisted on it—demanding an all-British cast to preserve the "authentic" British flavor. Supposedly even American, Canadian, or Australian actors weren't right for the tone.
That kind of explanation might fool casual fans. But to an insider like Luke? It was laughable.
Since when did authors have that much pull in Hollywood?
This was clearly the result of heavy investment by the British film industry. They needed a global blockbuster to elevate a whole generation of British talent, so they poured resources into Harry Potter without holding back.
Sommers only saw the production budget, but he didn't see the countless hidden forces behind the film. Luke did.
So the success of Harry Potter wasn't just about quality—it was about the British industry betting everything on creating a cultural phenomenon.
With that much at stake, of course they weren't going to cast outsiders. Rowling's "request" was just a convenient cover story.
As someone reborn, Luke knew the truth: the Harry Potter franchise employed nearly a quarter of Britain's acting workforce. From leads to bit players, almost everyone involved was British.
For years, not being part of Harry Potter was a mark of exclusion in the U.K. acting world—like a career wound that never healed.
Luke cared about this because British film and TV money wasn't just powerful—it was a natural ally for him.
Powerful, because later on they'd pull off the same trick again with Game of Thrones.
That so-called "American" series? Almost the entire cast was British. Calling it a British series would've been more accurate.
And ally, because when facing Hollywood's old, stubborn, gatekeeping white men, he needed outside partners.
The British industry was the perfect one to link up with.
So he extended his olive branch, using his influence on IMDb to help push Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone's ratings upward.
Soon the film's IMDb score hit 7.6, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Shrek's 7.9. Together, they squeezed The Mummy Returns—stuck at a weak 6.4—into a corner, crushing it in terms of reputation.
As Harry Potter surged, its screen share rose even higher. Meanwhile, The Mummy Returns—already down to 20%—was squeezed even further.
The reversal was complete.
A week ago, The Mummy Returns had looked like a surefire hit. Now, everyone could see the writing on the wall.
But Director Sommers wasn't ready to accept defeat. He was still thrashing.
At the Egyptian Theatre—one of The Mummy Returns' strongholds—its screenings had plummeted from 60% down to 25%.
Sommers cornered Mr. Rand, the theater owner, in the lobby.
"Mr. Rand, I'm begging you, give me more screenings. At least keep things steady for two more weeks before cutting me down." Sommers' voice was desperate.
He had no choice but to grovel. The movie's massive marketing spend, paired with its sinking box office, had him trapped.
If things kept going this way, the goal of $600 million worldwide would be impossible.
Losing to Luke was unthinkable.
The Egyptian Theatre represented the stance of hundreds of California cinemas. If he could convince Rand, maybe he could stabilize things.
"Director Sommers," Rand said, "I'd like to help, personally. But this is business for hundreds of theaters. No one can afford to lose money. You're asking too much of me."
"What will it take for you to help me?"
"Unless you guarantee a minimum box office. If it falls short, you make up the difference out of your own pocket. Then I can keep your screenings steady."
"…"
Sommers froze. He'd already sunk years of savings into buying up his own tickets earlier. To promise a box office guarantee now? That meant mortgaging his house, taking out loans.
If something went wrong, he'd be ruined.
Was he really willing to gamble everything?
His instincts told him to back down before he destroyed himself completely.
But then—
"Well, well. If it isn't Director Sommers. You look like a clown right now."
A sharp, mocking voice cut through the lobby.
Sommers stiffened. That voice was one he hated down to his bones.
If not for Luke, he wouldn't be in this mess.
Luke had undercut his budget, saddled him with bloated marketing costs, and tricked him into choosing a May 4 release date. What he thought was a prime slot had turned out to be a death trap.
"Luke." Sommers spat each word, his eyes bloodshot. "Damn you. What are you doing here?"
"Just came with Director Cohen to pay Mr. Rand a visit. Our film's opening next month."
"You won't get anywhere!" Sommers barked.
"Better than you will," Luke shot back, smirking. "You're losing, and the way you can't accept it—it's pathetic."
"No! I haven't lost! I still have a chance!"
"Take my advice: walk away now. Don't burn yourself down to nothing."
Luke knew those words would only provoke the opposite reaction. That was the point.
"I will win," Sommers snarled. "And I'll watch you crawl out of Hollywood in shame."
He turned back to Rand. "I'll give you the guarantee. Keep my screenings."
Luke just smiled coldly. He knew then Sommers was finished.
The road to hell is paved with desperate hopes.
And the wind blows bitter cold from the rooftop.