It's a fact: no matter how great someone is, if they cling to power in their later years and refuse to retire, they'll turn paranoid, suspicious, and start making boneheaded moves left and right.
Sumner Redstone built his media empire, Viacom, over 15 years.
But in his twilight years, he tore it down even faster.
A bad call on Blockbuster tanked the world's biggest video rental chain into bankruptcy. Splitting Viacom and CBS slashed his personal fortune in half. Buying DreamWorks piled more misery onto an already struggling Paramount.
And out of fear his kids might seize control, he secretly bought up their shares from a trust fund at a discount—only to get sued by his son and cough up $2.5 billion in damages.
Philippe Dauman, Redstone's right-hand man, had to stay in lockstep—absolute loyalty, at least on the surface.
Carefully, Dauman asked, "But we can't just let TA Network grow unchecked, right?"
Redstone seemed in a good mood, smugly replying, "The premium cable TV market's only so big. HBO and Showtime have it all locked up. Anyone bold enough to jump in and steal a slice—heh—do we even need to lift a finger?"
Dauman's brow twitched. "You mean HBO?"
Redstone sidestepped the question, saying coolly, "It's a small-time game. Americans aren't shelling out big bucks for TV subscriptions. Eight dollars a month? That's two movie tickets."
HBO and Showtime had been around for decades, and their scale was still modest—HBO with just over 7 million subscribers, Showtime around 5 million.
Even if Dunn was sharp and talented, could he rewrite how Americans spend their money?
History showed they'd rather drop cash on movies and the big screen than waste it on the small one.
Dauman didn't buy it. He figured the premium cable market hadn't taken off before because the content wasn't good enough.
In the last five years, HBO's subscriber count doubled thanks to bold, high-quality originals like Sex and the City and The Sopranos. TA Network's recent surge came from one jaw-dropping show: Six Feet Under.
Maybe Americans weren't against spending big on TV—they just hadn't had anything worth the price tag before!
But Dauman didn't dare challenge Redstone outright. The old man seemed dead certain, so he treaded lightly. "I hear Band of Brothers is being shot like a movie—$1.2 billion budget. It's making waves."
Redstone brushed it off. "TV's shown movies before. Does it beat the theater experience? Nope. The market's rules are the market's rules—no one's turning that tide!"
Dauman sighed, feeling stuck but playing along. "Fair enough. Even if we don't move on TA Network, HBO will. Heh, they're the top dog in premium cable—they'll feel the heat more than us."
Redstone shot him an approving glance. "Exactly. Think big, think broad! For Viacom right now, Paramount's pooled investment deal matters more. Plus—哼哼—Dunn's biting off way too much!"
"Oh?"
"Dunn Films is all over the place—animation, TV shows, now a network. Where's the cash coming from? Six months ago, I might've been wary of him. Now? Not so much."
Dauman's eyes flickered with realization. "Right—Dunn just took a huge hit in the stock market. A billion bucks, they say? Heh, even a blockbuster like Titanic couldn't plug a hole that size."
Redstone nodded. "Honestly, Dunn's the sharpest young guy I've ever met—driven, ambitious. But everyone goes through that starry-eyed phase. It takes real-world knocks to see things clearly. Dunn's got a bright future, but what he's missing is time."
Michael Ovitz, on behalf of Legendary Pictures, had just bought a private jet—a Gulfstream, $28 million—and invited Dunn to check it out.
Hollywood's got the highest density of private planes in the world. Too many stars, sure, but it's also a work thing.
Film shoots hop around the globe, so every major studio owns at least one or two dedicated jets. Execs need to zip between sets, too—it's a must-have.
Dunn Films currently leased three planes: one for President Bill Mechanic, one for Marvel Studios' Nina Jacobson, and one for general use.
Dunn was already planning—after raking it in come September, he'd buy a few outright.
Leasing meant scheduling ahead, booking in advance. A last-minute need? Good luck—the rental companies couldn't always deliver.
Dunn headed to a small private airport in West Hollywood. Michael Ovitz was riding high, exuding some of that old swagger from his CAA days.
"Michael, I've already reached out to Redstone. You need to follow up," Dunn said, giving the little plane a quick once-over. It didn't impress him much.
Ovitz, now calling the shots at Legendary, had Hollywood kissing his ring again. He'd grown a bigger presence. "No problem. Paramount? I'll have someone on it tomorrow!"
Dunn tagged along as they toured the plane's interior. "Start talks, but don't rush to sign anything," he said quickly.
"Hm?" Ovitz's step faltered.
With anyone else, stalling wouldn't matter. But Redstone was in the mix now—dragging it out too long could look like a snub to the old man.
Dunn thought it over, then said firmly, "Look, pooled investments are my ace in the hole. If they don't sweeten the pot, I'm not letting Paramount anywhere near it!"
Ovitz's pulse jumped. He eyed Dunn. "You negotiated with Mr. Redstone?"
He didn't say it out loud, but the unspoken hung there: You're not on his level, are you?
Dunn shook his head. "Not exactly. We've talked on the phone a few times. I figure some things don't need spelling out—he'll get it."
"That's tricky!" Ovitz winced.
Redstone wasn't just a media and entertainment titan—he had deep roots on Wall Street, too!
He'd started with a tiny drive-in theater company and, in under 20 years, spent billions to build his empire—all fueled by Wall Street money.
Owning just 13% of Viacom's shares, he still held over 75% of the voting power. That's how much Wall Street trusted him.
In a past life, Paramount pioneered "pooled investments" not because of some genius in-house, but because Redstone's clout and connections made it happen.
Dunn gritted his teeth. "Whatever it takes, at least until September—uh, until Band of Brothers airs—I need TA Network safe from Viacom's pressure."
Ovitz cracked a grin. "Oh, that's it? Should've said so!"
"You've got a fix?"
"Too easy! We draft a prelim agreement—full contract signing waits until Band of Brothers airs smoothly. Bake that into the terms. Paramount and Redstone will get the hint."
Dunn's eyes widened, incredulous. "That works?"
"Why not?" Ovitz smirked, tapping his chest. "Forgot my old gig? I'm an agent!"
Dunn burst out laughing. "Nice! Agents really do rule at contract games!"
Just then, his assistant Isla Fisher handed him a phone. "It's Mr. Mechanic," she said quickly.
"Bill, what's up?"
"Band of Brothers hit a snag."
Bill Mechanic's voice was heavy, like he was holding back anger.
Dunn frowned, puzzled. "DreamWorks is handling distribution, and we're the biggest investor with oversight. What could go wrong?"
Mechanic growled, "It's because DreamWorks is the distributor!"
"Hold up—what's going on?"
"I just got word from DreamWorks. They're reopening the North American TV rights bidding for Band of Brothers."
"What?"
Dunn yelped, thinking he'd misheard.
What the hell?
Dunn Films poured $1.2 billion into Band of Brothers, tying with DreamWorks as the show's top investor.
A month ago, Dunn Films, DreamWorks, and Tom Hanks' Playtone had sealed an internal deal: Dunn Films would buy the North American TV rights for $50 million.
Factoring in favors and their investor status, $50 million was a steal.
But now, with three months until the premiere, DreamWorks pulled this stunt?
As the distributor, they'd already hyped it up!
Band of Brothers was set to debut globally on TA Network, September 9!
"Didn't we sign a contract?"
"We were slated to sign June 25—next Monday. DreamWorks had the promo out, and Steven and Tom gave their word, so I didn't push legal or copyright to rush it."
Mechanic let out a heavy sigh, guilt creeping into his tone.
Dunn waved it off. "Bill, this isn't on you—it's DreamWorks! Wait—who's trying to snatch the rights?"
Mechanic said grimly, "HBO!"
Dunn felt a bitter lump rise in his throat.
He'd been plotting for over a month, aiming all his arrows at Viacom's TA Network.
He'd dodged that crisis clean, only for HBO to pop up out of nowhere!
Fine—guess they think I'm an easy mark!