Hollywood in the '90s was the era of mega-stars.
During that time, the "20 Million Club" was born, putting the biggest names in Hollywood on the same level as top producers and directors, with matching paychecks and prestige. Tom Cruise, Tom Hanks, Kevin Costner, Jim Carrey, Mel Gibson, Bruce Willis, Jackie Chan, Will Smith, Nicolas Cage—you name it. Among them, the "Two Toms and a Kev" stood out as the cream of the crop.
But when the new millennium rolled in, the superstar era came to an end, and the special effects era took over Hollywood. Even though it was just 2001, the shift was already clear. The past couple of years, the biggest hits were all effects-driven blockbusters.
A lot of action stars were about to follow in the footsteps of Stallone and Schwarzenegger, slowly fading into the background.
Mel Gibson, in Dunn's past life, was a prime example.
Back in the '90s, he was unstoppable. Every movie he starred in was a guaranteed hit, and his per-film salary peaked at an unprecedented $25 million! But come the new century, he fell off the pedestal fast, overtaken by rising stars like Tom Cruise, Leonardo DiCaprio, and George Clooney.
When the ideal roles dried up, he scraped together his own script and made The Passion of the Christ. The movie was a massive success!
But here's the catch: Mel, a devout Catholic, wove some subtle jabs at Judaism into the film's take on doctrine. That didn't sit well with Hollywood's bigwigs, many of whom were Jewish. So, instead of saving his career, this hit movie tanked it even further.
The fallout was predictable. Mel's resentment toward the Jewish power players who ran Hollywood grew, and one drunken rant—conveniently caught on camera—got blasted to the world. Then came a flood of scandals: domestic violence, animal cruelty, misogyny, violent tendencies—you name it. In the end, Mel Gibson slunk back to Australia, tail between his legs.
Dunn didn't have much love for this batch of '90s stars. They'd been spoiled rotten by the superstar era, casually tossing out $20 million demands like anything less was a waste of their time.
But there was one exception: Mel Gibson.
Over the years as Dunn climbed the ladder, plenty of people had given him selfless help—Mel included. Sure, they saw his potential and were investing in talent, but help was help!
Dunn believed in paying it forward. Now, with the special effects wave crashing in, he'd do what he could to keep Mel Gibson's star status intact and his Hollywood career steady.
Mel was a loyal, tough guy, and as a non-American, he had a natural disadvantage when it came to pay. In Hollywood, male actors out-earned females, and American actors out-earned foreigners.
This summer, two big hits—Never Sinking and Mr. & Mrs. Smith—both starred Mel Gibson. For Mr. & Mrs. Smith, he pocketed $25 million, and for Never Sinking, $20 million. Solid paydays, sure, but he didn't demand a cut of the profits like some divas—an advantage of being a foreign actor.
That said, skipping a profit-sharing deal didn't mean he missed out entirely. Per Hollywood tradition, when a film hit it big, the studio dished out bonuses to the crew, actors' guild, directors' guild, writers' guild, and film associations—usually about 5% of the global box office. Sony Pictures, an outsider in the game with shaky performance, had been the most generous with bonuses over the past decade. It was simple: share the wealth, secure happier collaborations down the line.
By late July, Mr. & Mrs. Smith had been out for four weeks and finally crossed the $300 million mark worldwide! North America brought in $150 million, overseas added $160 million, with France alone chipping in over $40 million. A strong showing, but it fell short of Universal Pictures' pre-release expectations.
Why? Because Universal's surprise hit, a racing flick called The Fast and the Furious, came out of nowhere and crushed it at the box office, even stealing some thunder from Mr. & Mrs. Smith. Talk about ironic.
Luckily, Never Sinking held strong with solid word of mouth. It didn't tank despite a slew of new releases. By late July, its North American box office hit $420 million, though overseas numbers were less impressive at $360 million, totaling $780 million globally!
The $1 billion milestone felt close… yet so far.
After 10 weeks in North America, Never Sinking's weekly haul had dipped below $10 million. Overseas markets had peaked too, now sliding down the curve. At this rate, its global take would likely land between $450 million and $480 million overseas.
On August 1st, Dunn called James Cameron into his office.
"There's a check on the desk for you," Dunn said casually, not even looking up as he scribbled away on some papers.
Cameron picked it up and took a sharp breath—$50 million, right there in his hands! As Never Sinking's producer, director, and writer, he'd earned a $15 million salary plus 10% of the global box office.
Dunn set his pen down and grinned at Cameron, who was staring at the check like it might vanish. "That's the first chunk. We'll settle the rest next month—company cash flow's a little tight right now."
Thanks to HBO driving up the price, Dunn had shelled out an extra $30 million for the North American rights to Band of Brothers. Then, to poach HBO's content team, he'd coughed up another $10 million in buyout fees. Add in the recent greenlighting of Chicago and another project, and Dunn Films' accounts were running on fumes.
Thankfully, late last month, Universal wired over the first North American box office split for Never Sinking—$180 million. Plus, video rentals for Saw and Spider-Man had pulled in over $20 million. After paying Cameron's first bonus chunk, Dunn Films still had $150 million in liquid funds.
Cameron waved the check with a smirk. "Good thing I signed an investment profit deal—only 15% capital gains tax. If this were a bonus contract, personal income tax would've taken half for Uncle Sam!"
Dunn chuckled ruefully. Back when he was green and didn't know better, he hadn't looped in 20th Century Fox to finesse the books. For Titanic, he'd paid personal income tax on that massive $180 million cut—ouch.
"What're you writing? Not another script, is it?" Cameron nodded at the papers on Dunn's desk.
Dunn smiled. "Just an idea, an outline. I set the framework, and the writing team fills in the details."
"Man, I don't know where you get all these ideas," Cameron said, shaking his head, curiosity getting the better of him. "Mind giving me a hint—what's it about?"
"Archaeology… adventure, I guess. A treasure-hunting story."
"Like Indiana Jones?"
"Uh… not quite. Anyway, let's drop that—what about you? Never Sinking's a hit. Got any new plans?"
Cameron grimaced at Dunn's words. "A hit? Way off my expectations!"
Dunn sighed. They'd hashed out Never Sinking's box office a million times already.
Cameron's bar was sky-high. At minimum, he wanted it to be the fourth film to break $1 billion globally. If possible, he'd dreamed of topping Spider-Man's $1.26 billion to claim the number-two spot in history.
But now? That looked tough.
Forget $1 billion—beating Spielberg's Jurassic Park at $930 million was a stretch.
With a long sigh, Cameron plopped onto the office sofa, his face stern. "I've made up my mind. If this doesn't crack $1 billion, I'm scrapping my long vacation plans until I make a real blockbuster."
Dunn laughed. "Great! To keep you directing, I'll have to figure out how to stop this thing from hitting $1 billion!"
Cameron didn't even glance at him, oozing confidence. "Don't kid yourself—you won't."
Dunn grinned. He wouldn't, true.
Not because he cared about Cameron's health and wanted him to rest, but for Dunn Films' long-term gain.
Avatar kicked off in 2005, taking four full years of prep, shooting, and production before its 2009 release. It was 2001 now—could Cameron squeeze in another film in the next four years?
Doubtful. Titanic took him four years. Never Sinking? Four years again. If Cameron sank the next four years into some random project—even a successful one—by 2005, he'd likely shelve Avatar for that long vacation. Not worth it.
After some deep thought, Dunn decided to bet on Avatar. "If I can, I'll talk to Universal, tweak the marketing, see if we can spark a new surge for Never Sinking."
Cameron's eyes lit up as he locked onto Dunn. "I knew it—you're not just a businessman!"
Dunn's expression softened with a light sigh. "Back when I snagged Titanic from you… I've always felt a bit guilty. So, with movies, I'll do whatever I can to help you out."
Cameron waved it off grandly. "Let's not dredge up the past. Besides, your Titanic was a knockout! If I'd directed it, who knows if it would've hit that box office legend status."
"Maybe… possibly… or maybe not, heh…" Dunn smiled.
Over the past few years, he'd aggressively tapped resources from friends, even swiping Cameron's big ship. Now, with his own strength solidified, it was time to give back.