….
The microphones attached to Andrew during the interviews were barely gone before the Hollywood machinery kicked into overdrive.
Monsoon of 2013 meant more than just [Spider-Man]'s debut, it meant a collision course between Regal's first Marvel release under MDC Studios and the juggernaut of Pixy, who were betting everything on Power Rangers: New Dawn.
Pixy had been smart.
After the Ranger War in 2011, a film that left critics both stunned and audiences gutted, the studio had deliberately taken a two-year pause.
They allowed the dust to settle, let the children who had cried through the deaths of their favorite Rangers grow older, and gave adults time to process what was essentially a cinematic funeral.
Now, with New Dawn, the marketing leaned heavily on renewal.
–"A new generation rises." read the poster tagline, splashed across theaters a full month before Regal's campaign started its wide rollout.
The clash wasn't just creative, it was logistical.
In Hollywood, release order wasn't determined by who had the bigger star, it was a chess match between marketing departments, distribution networks, and raw studio leverage.
Pixy, a decades-old titan with a spotless box office streak, moved first, securing a summer tentpole slot in early July.
They locked down the IMAX chains, the largest multiplex groups, and most of the international markets weeks before Regal even had his final trailer cut.
Regal, with MDC still a newcomer in distribution, didn't have that luxury.
His Spider-Man, though hyped from the trailer reveals and the viral fitness videos of Andrew Garfield's transformation, was a first-time outing for a studio that had never carried a blockbuster release on its own shoulders.
Red Studios had been roped in as distribution partners… but they are limited.
They could lobby, negotiate, maybe pull a few strings in Los Angeles and New York, but internationally? Pixy's claws were already dug in.
For Regal, the decision was clear: he couldn't go head-to-head on the exact day.
Pixy would flatten his debut with sheer scale.
Instead, he picked a different strategy, shadowing [Power Rangers: New Dawn] by coming out five days later.
On paper, it was a gamble with two sharp edges.
The advantage was obvious: Pixy would do the heavy lifting of dragging audiences into theaters that week.
By the time New Dawn hit, the hype for big-screen heroics would be burning, and Regal's Spider-Man could sweep in to scoop up those who hadn't bought a second ticket yet, or who left New Dawn craving something else.
But the disadvantage was equally sharp.
A five-day gap meant New Dawn would already be dominating multiplexes.
Screens were finite resources, and exhibitors didn't care about creative visions - they cared about sold seats.
If New Dawn held, Regal's Spider-Man would be squeezed into fewer auditoriums, fewer showtimes, and with reduced premium formats.
In Hollywood accounting, that was suicide.
The fights behind the scenes were brutal. Theater owners in California and Nevada were courted with lavish dinners.
Pixy executives showed early reels of New Dawn to major chains, guaranteeing them record-breaking opening weekends.
Red Studios tried to counter with promises of an extended second-week run for Spider-Man, arguing that Regal's fanbase would drive repeat viewings long after New Dawn's initial boom.
Emails flew, schedules shuffled.
Some theaters tried to balance both films, allotting New Dawn the opening-weekend lion's share and then slowly folding Spider-Man into prime slots once Regal's reviews hit.
Others refused to compromise, locking down exclusivity contracts with Pixy.
Inside MDC's offices, Regal stayed unnervingly calm.
He had always favored timing over brute force.
"Let them take the first swing." He said to his team. "Our punch will land after theirs."
Pixy, however, couldn't afford to stumble.
New Dawn wasn't just another summer release, it was their survival card.
The Ranger War had made history, yes, but it had also shaken their young demographic. If kids walked away from the franchise, there was no returning.
New Dawn had to be a cultural reset, or the Power Rangers brand would collapse into nostalgia-only merchandising.
By contrast, Regal had nothing to lose, Spider-Man, though it isn't bulletproof as an icon as it should be… but Regal was confident that whatever box office storm came his way, the film's very existence was enough to announce MDC as a serious Hollywood player.
As the first week of July loomed, billboards turned the city into a split battleground, Times Square screens alternated between Andrew Garfield web-slinging over New York and a gleaming new Red Ranger summoning his Zord against a crimson sky.
Fans online began to polarize, was 2013 the year of the web-slinger, or the rebirth of the Rangers?
The opening salvo was Pixy's.
On July 5th, Power Rangers: New Dawn finally arrived, storming into multiplexes like an army reclaiming lost ground.
Pixy executives gathered at their Century City headquarters that Friday night, phones buzzing with the first numbers.
Midnight previews had been strong, better than Ranger War even, and families had shown up in droves, children dressed in cheap plastic Ranger masks, parents leaning into the nostalgia of their own childhoods.
The marketing had done its work: "A New Beginning" had landed.
Critics were cautiously supportive.
Variety praised the balance between legacy and renewal, noting how the older Rangers passing the torch gave the story emotional heft.
The Hollywood Reporter called it "Pixy's most cinematic Rangers film yet."
Exactly what Pixy needed…
By Saturday morning, New Dawn was projected to open north of $95 million domestically.
Theaters were packed, concession sales spiking, and Pixy began to leak stories to the press: "The Rangers are back. Bigger than ever."
But the celebration was tempered with a gnawing unease.
Online chatter wasn't uniform.
Forums and early YouTube reviews pointed out pacing issues, CGI bloat, and a certain "corporate safety" in the storytelling.
Kids loved it, yes, but the older teens, precisely the demographic that had wept through Ranger War, seemed less invested.
"Too clean." one blogger wrote. "Like they're afraid to get messy again."
Meanwhile, just across the city in a nondescript office MDC had rented for their distribution team, Regal sat with crossed arms, watching the tracking numbers with his usual detachment.
Red Studios' reps were restless, worried that Spider-Man, opening only five days later, would suffocate against Pixy's wide footprint.
Regal didn't flinch.
"It's our turn next…" he said simply.
The five-day gap ticked by like a countdown.
July 6th, Saturday, Pixy hit $45 million.
July 7th, Sunday, another $35 million.
The Monday drop-off was sharper than expected, though, down nearly 65%. Families had come, yes, but the repeat audience was weaker.
Parents weren't lining up twice and the teens aren't dragging their friends back for a second watch.
By Tuesday, July 9th, Regal's marketing push detonated.
Billboards switched overnight, web-slingers replacing Zords.
New TV spots played in back-to-back slots during primetime sports, and then came the final full trailer - three minutes of Andrew Garfield slinging across New York, quipping mid-fight, and ending with that now-iconic shot of him crouched on the Chrysler Building, mask half-off, eyes burning.
Social media lit up instantly: "This is the Spider-Man we have been waiting for."
Pixy's Monday victory lap soured.
Executives scrambled as ticket pre-sales for Spider-Man surged, cutting directly into their second weekend projections.
Exhibitors began calling, quietly asking if more screens could be shifted Regal's way by Thursday night, and money talked louder than contracts.
July 10th, Wednesday night, Spider-Man premiered.
The red carpet was a carnival of flashing bulbs and deafening fans, Andrew Garfield sheepishly waving as he tugged his co-artist - Tiffany Thomas - close, Regal walking deliberately at the back with his usual quiet confidence.
Reporters tried to bait him into a rivalry quote -"How do you feel about opening right after Power Rangers?"- but Regal just smiled thinly.
"There is room for everyone." He said. "But only one of us is swinging above the city."
When Spider-Man hit theaters on July 11th, the effect was immediate.
Midnight screenings sold out across the country, lines wrapping around blocks like it was 2002 again.
Audience reactions were visceral, gasps at Peter's transformation, laughter at Garfield's awkward charm, applause when the suit gleamed under the New York skyline.
Critics, too, were impressed.
The Guardian called it "the most human superhero film in a decade." Entertainment Weekly dubbed it "an origin story that feels alive."
Even the harsher voices, like Rolling Stone, conceded: "Whatever Regal is building, it's dangerous. This is more than just a franchise starter, it's a manifesto."
By the end of its first weekend, Spider-Man had opened to $135 million domestically. forty million more than New Dawn's debut, despite having five fewer days of showings.
The numbers told the story: Pixy had won the battle of the calendar, but Regal had claimed the war of momentum.
Pixy's executives convened in hushed panic.
Their second-week drop was a catastrophic 70%.
New Dawn still made money, yes, but the narrative was brutal - "Rangers overshadowed by Spider-Man." Stockholders wanted answers.
The franchise, once the crown jewel, was suddenly the underdog.
At MDC, Red Studios uncorked champagne bottles, relief flooding the room.
For them, it was survival.
For Regal, it was only validation.
.
….
[To be continued…]
★─────⇌•★•⇋─────★
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