The year 2000—the dawn of a new century—was a legendary one for Dunn Walker. Since 1927, Time magazine has picked a "Person of the Year" every December. In '98, it was President Clinton for steering the U.S. economy back to life. In '99, Jeff Bezos snagged it for kickstarting the e-commerce era with Amazon. And 2000? Normally, it's an election year, so the new president—George W. Bush—would've been a shoo-in.
But this year was different. Dunn earned the title "Stock God," spinning a wild tale of triumph on Wall Street. He dropped Spider-Man, sparking a global frenzy for American-style heroism. And with his loud-and-proud feminism, he basically became every woman's best friend. His jaw-dropping wins in finance, film, and cultural influence made him the media's golden boy—no contest.
So, Dunn swooped in and stole the spotlight from President Bush, landing the title of Time's 2000 "Person of the Year" on a global stage. That's a massive honor! Just look at who's made the list over the past decade:
- George H.W. Bush, who led the U.S. to victory in the Gulf War;
- Ted Turner, the media mogul who championed free speech and took swings at the establishment;
- Bill Clinton, who beat out a peak-popularity Bush Sr. to win the presidency;
- Nelson Mandela, Africa's peace warrior;
- Pope John Paul II, who mended ties with the Jewish community;
- Newt Gingrich, the Republican who ended the Democrats' 42-year grip on the House;
- Dr. David Ho, who invented the "cocktail" therapy that revolutionized AIDS treatment;
- Andy Grove, Intel's CEO, who brought the Pentium era and dragged computers into the future;
- Clinton again, for the economic boom (and that affair), alongside Ken Starr, the prosecutor digging into Watergate and Monica Lewinsky;
- Jeff Bezos, who rewrote the rules of retail with Amazon.
And then, in 2000, Dunn Walker—a Hollywood director who shook up the dot-com crash, fueled American heroism, and sparked a feminist wave—beat out Bush Jr. and Bill Gates to take the crown. As for Hollywood's "Most Influential" list? No suspense there. Who else in 2000 could even touch Dunn Walker's name?
Michael Eisner? Give me a break. For Disney, 2000 was the start of a downhill slide. The old-school animation formula was stale—people were bored of predictable stories. The rise of 3D animation was shoving Disney's 2D legacy into decline. Sure, BusinessWeek and Interbrand still ranked Disney in the top ten for brand value, thanks to its history and consumer goods muscle, but that value was slipping. Strategic shake-ups and internal fixes were looming, and financial mags had been saying it for a while. Disney's brass knew it too.
Eisner's clout at Disney was huge—twenty years of dominance wasn't something Dunn could just erase with a few clever moves. But then an old email Dunn sent came into play. He got a reply from Roy Disney, the company's number two and vice chairman, saying he'd love to sit down and chat sometime. Game on.
…
Blink, and it's a new year. A book hit the shelves with low-key buzz: Gone Girl. Part crime, part thriller, part mystery—it landed on bookstore bestseller racks right out of the gate. Why? The author's name: Dunn Walker. He didn't care much, though—no promo tours, no fuss. His focus was Hollywood.
Also on January 1st, Spider-Man hit the market on VHS and DVD. Tapes were fading out, but DVDs? This was their golden age. Thanks to a co-investment deal with 20th Century Fox, Dunn got a peek at Fox's internal numbers—including DVD sales for Titanic and Star Wars: Episode I – The Phantom Menace. Mind-blowing stuff.
The Phantom Menace started selling discs in February last year—standard, deluxe, and collector's editions—and moved 12.87 million units for $280 million. Titanic, with a longer run and versions like standard, deluxe, collector's, extended, and behind-the-scenes, sold 15.63 million units, raking in a staggering $330 million. Even after Fox handed 20% of that to distributors, it was pure profit. A DVD cost less than 20 cents to make—40 cents with fancy packaging. Insane margins.
Now, Spider-Man—a titan in the same league—was hitting shelves. Dunn Pictures (the producer) and Universal (the distributor) were pumped. It'd come in two flavors: a $19.99 standard edition and a $39.99 deluxe one. Universal's wholesale prices to distributors? $15 and $35. That's America for you—intellectual property reigns supreme. Back in the day, Hollywood was even greedier. Twenty years ago, theaters had to fork over 90% of ticket sales to distributors, surviving on popcorn and soda profits. Wild.
"Boss, can we talk?" Dunn was lost in Spider-Man daydreams when Isla Fisher ushered Kathleen Kennedy into his office.
"Oh, sure, sit. What's up?"
"It's about the director for Juno."
Dunn grinned. "Kathleen, I told you—you're the producer. As long as Natalie Portman's the lead and Rose Byrne's the supporting actress, the rest is your call."
Kathleen shook her head. "I know, but… there just aren't many women directors in Hollywood."
"True," Dunn nodded. Hollywood could be brutal to women. "But there are some, right?"
Kathleen said, "Juno is Rose Pictures' first film, and… you've been hyping it up with feminist groups. It's got big influence potential. We need a safe bet."
Translation: she wanted a badass female director.
"Got someone in mind?"
"I'm leaning toward Penny Marshall."
Dunn thought it over and nodded. "Yeah, she's solid. Besides Cameron's ex-wife, she's the big name. Didn't she launch Tom Hanks too?"
Kathleen grimaced. "Problem is, Manohla Dargis shot her down."
Manohla Dargis—early Dunn Pictures member, chief art analyst, part of Dunn's inner circle—had clout. Even Kathleen had to respect her take.
"Oh? Why's that?"
"She thinks Penny's style leans too masculine and commercial. It doesn't fit Juno's vibe."
Dunn let out an "oh" and nodded. "Makes sense. Juno isn't just feminist—it's got to have depth. Honestly, it's an awards play for my Nat."
"An awards play? Oscars?" Kathleen's jaw dropped.
Dunn laughed. "Even if she doesn't win Best Actress, a nomination's the least we can aim for, right? Manohla's got a point. If Marshall's not the fit, we'll find someone else."
Kathleen looked pained. "Famous female directors in Hollywood are a short list. Kathryn Bigelow's tied up with K-19: The Widowmaker. Jane Campion won't touch someone else's script. Even Sofia Coppola's working on her own thing." She sighed. "We can't just throw a rookie at this—it's too risky!"
"A rookie, huh?"
Dunn's eyebrow ticked up. His mind flashed to a name that once rocked Hollywood: Patty Jenkins. In 2003, she directed Monster, pushing Charlize Theron to an Oscar win. In 2017, her Wonder Woman turned Gal Gadot into every guy's dream girl. Right now, Jenkins was 30, fresh off graduating from the American Film Institute (after Cooper Union). Her student short film had solid buzz, and she was starting to hustle in Hollywood. This was the perfect moment to give her a shot.
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