Resolving the "blacklist" was simple enough: just send a notice to the major agencies announcing that Dunn Films was no longer targeting Disney.
It'd be just like when Disney dropped their blacklist against Dunn Films—a tit-for-tat move that fit Dunn's sense of justice.
But Dunn was still only 22. He wasn't always the picture of maturity, especially around beautiful women or mortal enemies.
After his relentless efforts, Disney and Dunn Films had patched things up on the surface. Still, when it came to Michael Eisner—the guy who'd nearly tanked Dunn Films—Dunn couldn't just let it go and play nice.
Toying with Eisner, especially humiliating him in public, was Dunn's little game.
"You love your pride, huh? Fine—I'll make sure everyone knows your pride's nothing but a doormat!"
Dunn grinned like a villain straight out of a movie, a sly edge to his smile.
This was a big show!
Sure, Saw had crossed $70 million at the North American box office, but with a measly $1.5 million budget, it barely qualified as a "Hollywood movie." Its buzz was real but limited—not even in the same universe as Spider-Man from the summer.
Given its gritty premise, once the initial hype died down, mainstream theaters would drop Saw like a hot potato. It wasn't personal against Dunn Films—just old-school tradition. A blockbuster like Spider-Man could run for ten months if the distributor pushed it. But a low-budget B-movie? Even with a big splash, two or three months was enough to milk the market before it got yanked.
At best, it'd linger in niche horror circuits—maybe 50 screens tops.
So for Dunn, Saw was a fun little win. The profit margin was insane, but the actual cash didn't even touch a fraction of Spider-Man's haul. It wasn't the kind of thing to make the big studios sit up and take notice.
At most, they'd mutter, "That Dunn kid's something—even nails the small-budget stuff!"
Truth was, ten Saw movies couldn't match the impact of one Spider-Man.
That's why the '70s horror B-movie craze flared up and then fizzled out in Hollywood so fast.
But… was Saw really just another B-movie?
Don't forget who was behind it: Dunn.
And when Dunn was involved, Saw's significance shot up a notch.
What was the hottest topic among Hollywood's giants right now?
Co-financing deals!
After Legendary Pictures and Warner pulled off the industry's first "slate financing" partnership, they'd already kicked off three films together—smooth sailing so far. The other studios were circling like sharks, eyeing the chunk of cash still sitting in Legendary's accounts.
Who'd snag the next deal with Legendary?
Michael Ovitz, Legendary's head, had already put it out there: "We'll lock in our second partner before Christmas!"
With Dunn back in L.A. after wrapping his latest shoot, the studios weren't just hounding Ovitz—they were working Dunn too. He'd dreamed up the co-financing model, and often, his word carried more weight with Legendary than Ovitz's did.
So this Saw wrap party? On the surface, it looked low-key—just crew members and Dunn Films' industry pals.
But behind the scenes, it was a negotiation that could shape Hollywood's future.
Since Dunn sent out the invites, the studios had to show up—unless they wanted to ditch Legendary and try their own co-financing ventures.
Good luck with that. Without Legendary's slick operation bridging Hollywood and Wall Street, getting those fat checks was a pipe dream. And without Dunn—someone with deep Wall Street ties and credibility—those investors wouldn't bite.
Nobody's a fool!
Hollywood's reputation for screwing over outside investors was infamous.
Without Dunn as the middleman, any studio trying to team up with Wall Street and birth a "second Legendary" would need years of prep and a rock-solid figurehead to vouch for them. It wasn't happening.
In this tangled mess, one thing was clear: this wrap party was going to be packed with heavy hitters!
…
The Hilton Hotel in Beverly Hills was a hotspot for the elite—Hollywood's go-to for Golden Globes, Vanity Fair parties, and, of course, movie wrap celebrations.
That evening, a stretched Bentley Azure glided to a stop at the red carpet's edge. The driver hopped out, opened the back door, and three figures stepped out, instantly sparking a frenzy of camera flashes.
The lights popped like crazy, fans and reporters surging on both sides. It felt like an Oscar night!
In Dunn Films, only one person got this A-list treatment: Dunn himself.
Flanking him were his two "little secretaries," Isla Fisher and Reese Witherspoon.
Both were petite but curvy, with sweet, charming faces. Their fair skin glowed—one in a red gown, the other in a short blue dress—perfectly complementing Dunn's sharp black suit.
With an arm around each slim waist, soaking in their faint perfumes and the grand red-carpet vibe, Dunn nodded in approval.
He'd told Wes Cotton beforehand: the Saw party had to be big, bold, and flashy!
This red-carpet moment? It had Oscar-level swagger. Solid work!
Reese Witherspoon, already a bit of a name in the industry, frowned slightly and whispered, "Dunn, is this… okay?"
"What's up?"
"There's so many reporters snapping pics. You're holding us both like this—tomorrow's papers are gonna run wild!"
Dunn raised an eyebrow. "You mind?"
Reese shook her head. "Me? No way. I'm trying to make it in this business—more exposure, more fame. I'm just… worried about you. Everyone knows Natalie Portman's your girlfriend, and here you are, parading around with two young secretaries…"
Dunn chuckled, brushing it off. "So what if I'm holding you both? I'd love to take you two to bed together too. Isla, you in?"
"Sure!" Isla Fisher chirped. Her new book Gone Girl was trending toward a bestseller, and Dunn was like a god to her—she'd jump at anything he asked. "Since you started shooting A Beautiful Mind, the three of us haven't hung out in ages. Reese, you're not bailing, are you?"
"Isla, that's not what I meant!" Reese's brow creased.
Dunn pulled both girls closer, smiling calmly. "Reese, I get what you're worried about. Don't sweat it. I'm not the guy I was six months ago, surrounded by enemies. A little gossip? Doesn't faze me."
He didn't say the cockier part out loud:
The co-financing idea alone—a game-changer for Hollywood's century-old funding system—was a historic reform.
With that feather in his cap, as long as he didn't do something outrageous to rock Hollywood's foundation, even the old-guard bigwigs would give him a nod of respect.
Today's Hollywood movies couldn't dominate the globe like they used to. Other countries were building their own film industries, throwing up walls against Tinseltown. Everyone knew it: Hollywood was getting old. The rules needed a refresh to tackle the new global entertainment landscape. Without some forward-thinking changes, it risked being left behind.
And Dunn? He was Hollywood's reformer!
Plenty of veteran filmmakers were rooting for him, hoping he'd inject fresh blood into the system. He'd even heard whispers that at high-level Academy meetings, industry titans had voiced support for this young upstart.
As for the gossip?
Well, a lot of those old-timers had come up during the "casting couch" heyday—they'd been the biggest players back then.
Dunn's little habits? A minor flaw, not a dealbreaker!