When it came to Bill Mechanic and James Cameron freaking out over their own team, Dunn could only roll his eyes and sigh.
Let's be real—Kirk Douglas was just an old guy with a wide network and some tangled connections. Even if things got ugly and they went toe-to-toe, so what? Was he really scarier than Disney?
Disney's reach was all about the market, while Kirk Douglas had sway over awards season. Losing a fight with Disney could bankrupt Dunn Films, but clashing with Kirk? Worst case, his movies just wouldn't snag any trophies. Big deal.
Plus, Kirk only had some pull with the Oscars—he couldn't rig the whole show.
Right now, Dunn didn't want to stir up extra trouble, but that didn't mean he was a pushover!
"Bill, quit jumping at shadows. He's just a washed-up has-been—what's the fuss? Dunn Films is getting stronger every day. Don't hype up his clout and sell us short!"
Hearing Dunn brush it off like that, Bill Mechanic frowned. "Dunn, sure, we're raking it in at the box office—that's a fact—but it's not enough. Hollywood runs on two legs: ticket sales and the Oscars. Awards are a huge part of how studios measure their clout!"
He'd made this point to Dunn before. To boost Dunn Films' influence enough to buy out Universal Pictures, the Oscars were unavoidable. Universal's execs wouldn't dream of bowing to a company with zero Academy cred.
Dunn, brimming with confidence, had his cards ready. "We're on a roll in Hollywood, and with our co-financing deals, we've done a ton for the industry. People owe us a few favors, right?"
Bill's tone grew serious. "Dunn, don't underestimate him. If Harvey Weinstein's the Oscars' reigning champ, Kirk Douglas is the undefeated general! Harvey's big claim to fame was pushing Gwyneth Paltrow to that Best Actress win, but you really think he pulled that off solo?"
"Hm?"
Dunn raised an eyebrow, and Cameron leaned in, clearly hooked on this juicy Hollywood gossip.
Bill continued, "Back then, Winona Ryder was the frontrunner for Shakespeare in Love. She'd been racking up Golden Globe and Oscar noms for years—total hot streak. But she made one wrong friend."
"Gwyneth Paltrow?" Dunn guessed.
"Exactly. Gwyneth visited Winona's place, spotted the script, and fell in love with the role. So she got her godfather, Steven Spielberg, to pull some strings."
Cameron's brows twitched. "So… Steven stepped in and got Paltrow the part?"
Bill shook his head. "He tried, but Harvey said no. At that point, Gwyneth had a few films under her belt, but her rep was meh, her acting wasn't proven, and she had zero box office draw. Harvey, thinking ticket sales, stuck with Winona."
"Then how'd Paltrow end up with it?" Dunn pressed.
"Her parents are old-school film folks—especially her dad, who used to work under Kirk Douglas."
That clicked it for Dunn and Cameron. In the end, it had to be Kirk Douglas himself who leaned on Harvey Weinstein. Even Shakespeare in Love's slew of Oscars amid all that controversy? Probably tied to Kirk too.
Dunn mulled it over, then waved it off. "Whatever, it takes two to tango! You guys know how this started—it wasn't me who kicked things off. If that old geezer wants to bury the hatchet, I'm game!"
Bill frowned. "Dunn, he's an industry vet—older than me by a generation! He's got his pride. No way he'll make the first move."
Dunn smirked coldly. "His pride matters, but mine's just a doormat? Gimme a break! I'm giving him a shot at peace because the timing's off right now. Otherwise, you think I wouldn't take him on full force? It's a new era—old fossils like him still daring to strut around!"
"Dunn, you—"
"Enough, Bill! I've got this handled!"
Dunn cut him off, firm as steel.
If it were someone like James Cameron or George Lucas—guys with a decent reputation—he might've smoothed things over nicely. Take Tom Rothman at 20th Century Fox: he'd pulled plenty of shady moves on Dunn in the past, but it was just business, not personal.
Kirk Douglas, though? That guy was an old sleaze.
Dunn, groveling to him with an apology? Fat chance!
---
Chicago's casting was wrapped, and the project had officially moved into pre-production. Since it was a musical, the supporting roles went to theater troupe actors, while the leads were set for a month of song-and-dance training.
The two female leads? No surprises there: British actresses Catherine Zeta-Jones and Rachel Weisz.
As for the male lead…
Kathleen Kennedy had initially pitched Al Pacino, but budget constraints killed that idea. Director Rob Marshall suggested John Travolta, who had tons of musical experience, but the guy's quirky streak meant even a Dunn-produced flick couldn't lure him in—he was sick of the same old roles.
In the end, after Glenn Frey's nudge, Dunn greenlit Richard Gere—a star who'd ruled the scene a decade ago. Sticking with the original lead was a safe bet.
At a fitness center in Beverly Hills, Dunn swung by to see the main cast practicing their dance moves. After greeting everyone, he spotted a familiar figure: Michael Douglas.
That lunch a while back had a big crowd, and Chicago's newbie director, Rob Marshall, wouldn't dare lie to the Douglas family about what went down. The truth was clear: Michael had misjudged both Catherine Zeta-Jones and Dunn.
Seeing Dunn here, Michael's face stiffened a bit. After a moment's hesitation, he walked over with a dazzling smile. "Dunn, still making time to drop by with how busy you are?"
Dunn glanced at him, keeping it cool. "For the movie, I don't mind the grind. But it's a shame when all that hard work gets twisted into something it's not by certain people."
Michael's face flushed, and he gave an awkward chuckle, lowering his voice. "Dunn, about that day… it was a misunderstanding. I hope you won't hold it against me."
"Misunderstanding?" Dunn gave him a long, amused look. "Mike, you finally figured that out?"
"Yeah, I thought it over later and realized I jumped the gun."
"Oh, really? Heh. Good thing you came around. If you'd kept pinning that crap on me, I might've just asked your wife out and had some fun—clear my name the hard way. Can't get blamed for nothing and miss out, right? That'd be too pathetic! Don't you think?"
"Yeah… uh…" Michael caught the jab, quickly pivoting with a grin. "We're old pals, huh? Traffic was our first gig together, and it shined at this year's Oscars—tons of noms, plenty of wins."
Dunn nodded lightly. "Chicago's gonna be even bigger."
Michael bobbed his head eagerly. "Oh, for sure! Anything you produce is bound to be a winner!"
The guy kept piling on the flattery. At fifty-something, bowing and scraping like that, he was laying it on thick. Dunn's irritation started to fade, a faint smile creeping onto his face. "With both of us pushing this film, we'll definitely snag an Oscar for Cate."
Michael grinned. "Absolutely! My family's got… some sway with the Academy."
Dunn shot him a sharp look, wondering if there was a hidden dig in there, then shut it down. "Yeah, old man Douglas is an industry legend. We had a little spat on the phone the other day… he's doing okay health-wise, right?"
"Health? He's fine, all good. Just getting up there, you know… heh, sometimes he's slow to turn the corner. In my opinion, a quick apology could smooth this over, and we'd be done with it."
Michael Douglas was clearly playing the smart middleman, knowing full well he couldn't afford to piss off Dunn Walker right now.
Dunn stood for the market—for money!
Sure, his old man had connections and resources, but could those pay the bills? All that influence was useless if it didn't turn into cash.
Take Marlon Brando: revolutionized acting worldwide, yet his later years were a mess, and he died drowning in debt. Or retired President Clinton, scrambling to pay off Lewinsky settlements with speeches and books, turning into a media punchline.
The older generation clung to resources, networks, pride, and dignity—empty fluff. But Michael's generation? They'd woken up to the magic of the market.
Money ruled!
Plus, with a younger wife to support—not just financially, but in her career too—he needed Dunn. After Dunn chewed out Kirk over the phone that day, the old man's temper flared so bad he ended up with mouth ulcers, stuck on a liquid diet for days.
Michael just wanted to play peacemaker between the two.
Dunn saw right through him—and no way was he playing along!
"Apologize? Mike, you're too polite. Old man Douglas is getting on in years—I heard he had a stroke a while back? An industry vet, half a patient—no need for him to say sorry. I'm not that petty!"
Dunn waved it off grandly, all righteous and magnanimous.
"Uh! Huh?"
Michael nearly choked on Dunn's words.
Apologize?
This kid actually thought the old man should grovel to him?
What a gutsy move!
Dunn's lips curled into a smirk, a cold laugh in his head: "Me, apologize to that old dog? Dream on—what a ballsy bastard!"