Who is Barry Diller?
The man who ruled Hollywood in the '80s!
Why was Michael Eisner such a domineering tyrant at Disney? Because back in the day, he and Jeffrey Katzenberg were both Barry Diller's little sidekicks, learning every trick in the book from the master himself.
After News Corp acquired Twentieth Century Fox, the traditional big three public TV networks—CBS, NBC, and ABC—were off-limits to foreigners. Rupert Murdoch had no choice but to start his own network. So, he called up the legendary Barry Diller, a force to be reckoned with, to build the Fox Network from scratch.
How tough was that gig?
Back then, the three major public networks—CBS, NBC, and ABC—had the market carved up like a Thanksgiving turkey, each pulling over 30% of the share. It was basically a three-way monopoly!
For an independent film company in Hollywood, breaking the stranglehold of the six major studios was already a pipe dream. But cracking into the even more tightly locked-down world of public television? That was next-level impossible.
Yet Barry Diller took the Fox Network and, against the relentless pushback from those three giants, carved out a foothold. He snagged a solid 15% of the market, turning Fox into the fourth major public network in the U.S. today.
Because of that, the big three—outside of Viacom's CBS—saw their shares drop to around 25% each.
But here's the kicker: this Hollywood legend, the guy who came up with the "high-concept" movie theory and birthed the Fox Network, hit a wall—twice—thanks to two titans of industry.
The first? Rupert Murdoch.
Barry Diller, riding high on his contributions, demanded more control and equity in the Fox Network. He came in strong, but Murdoch hit back harder. With ruthless precision, Murdoch bought out his contract, reclaimed the shares, and kicked him to the curb.
That's the emperor-level swagger of a media mogul for you!
The second? None other than Sumner Redstone!
Before this, Barry and Redstone were actually on decent terms—friendly, even. That is, until they both set their sights on Paramount, the crown jewel of Hollywood studios at the time.
Paramount was pricey—way too pricey for anyone to buy outright with their own cash.
Redstone went with a leveraged buyout, a classic move in the capital markets back then. Barry, on the other hand, teamed up with Wall Street private equity firms for a controlling stake. And let's not forget: in the '80s, it was Barry, alongside his two protégés Michael Eisner and Jeffrey Katzenberg, who turned Paramount into Hollywood's top dog, steering it to the peak like a three-horse chariot.
So, when it came to management support, Barry had the upper hand by a mile.
Everyone thought this was going to be an epic showdown!
But nope—it was a total blowout.
Redstone's connections and influence came through in a big way. Behind the scenes, he pulled strings and got the Wall Street money backing Barry to pull out at the last second.
The result? Predictable. Redstone became Paramount's sole bidder.
Now, Paramount's management didn't exactly love Redstone, so after he sealed the deal, he cleaned house, swapping out a ton of execs. The current Paramount chair, Sherry Lansing, was handpicked by Redstone to step up in that chaotic mess and take charge.
Redstone's boldness and cutthroat style shone through in that acquisition, no question.
But it doesn't end there. The competition drove Paramount's stock price through the roof, forcing Redstone to shell out an extra $3 billion. In the end, he paid a jaw-dropping $10 billion to claim Paramount Pictures.
Redstone was furious—and he wasn't about to let it slide.
The fallout? Barry Diller's Hollywood career was toast.
He couldn't stay in California, couldn't hack it in New York, and ended up running off to Denver to crash with TV mogul John Malone.
Now, with Malone pulling out of the cable TV game, Barry's had to reinvent himself. Word is, he got some cash from Malone and, in this post-dot-com bubble era, decided to dip his toes into e-commerce.
He's done with the media biz for good.
It's a brutal lesson right there in front of us. A guy like Barry Diller—someone who shaped the modern Hollywood blockbuster and built the Fox Network from nothing—still ended up with his tail between his legs.
Dunn Walker isn't about to recklessly poke the bear that is Sumner Redstone.
If it came down to a real, no-holds-barred fight, Dunn might just have to pack his bags and hightail it to Silicon Valley, banking on Netflix to stage his comeback.
Dunn took a deep breath, his face stiff as a board. "Mr. Redstone, I handed the broadcast rights for American Idol to CBS instead of Fox or ABC, which the younger crowd prefers. I'm actively pushing for a co-investment deal between Paramount and Legendary Pictures. I even let Fantastic Four, a $30 million investment, get licensed out for a measly $8 million to—"
Before he could finish, Redstone cut him off, feigning confusion. "Huh? Why are you bringing that up? I was talking about Six Feet Under. Did you mishear me?"
Dunn clenched his teeth, his face turning ashen.
Nearby, Penelope Cruz, Rose Byrne, and Abbie Cornish—who were helping him change—froze, barely daring to breathe, just standing there dumbfounded.
Clearly, the invincible Dunn Walker they'd always known was in deep trouble this time!
Was it really trouble?
Maybe. Maybe not.
In a flash, Dunn saw it all crystal clear.
It was simple: Redstone just wanted to air Six Feet Under on HBO once.
Tarzan TV's rise came from months of killer content and the massive boost from Band of Brothers.
HBO thinking one rerun of Six Feet Under would turn their fortunes around? Fat chance.
The real issue wasn't about rights—it was about Dunn backing down.
At its core, this was about attitude.
Redstone, sitting atop his multibillion-dollar Viacom empire, didn't sweat the small stuff. What he cared about was his dignity as a business titan!
Dunn had been playing little tricks to keep Redstone off guard while Tarzan TV shot up, looking like it might steamroll HBO. That was a challenge—a provocation!
How could Redstone let some young upstart like Dunn climb over him?
And let's be real—why did Dunn have such a massive rep in Hollywood?
Externally, it was the string of box-office hits and his "American Dream" rags-to-riches story. Internally, it was his "package investment" strategy and the way he'd mercilessly stomped on Disney's Michael Eisner.
Redstone wasn't about to let that happen to him!
If word got out that Dunn had beaten Redstone and used him as a stepping stone to launch Tarzan TV into the stratosphere, how could Redstone save face?
So, the whole thing was straightforward: Redstone wanted Dunn to admit fault, compromise, and bend the knee!
Six Feet Under was just the tool to make that point.
Getting Dunn to say "sorry"? That was a fantasy—it'd be like starting a war. Redstone was sharp; he knew that. What he wanted was respect, not a brawl.
Letting Tarzan's hit show Six Feet Under air on HBO would send a clear message to the industry: Sumner Redstone isn't Michael Eisner!
What Eisner couldn't pull off, Redstone could.
Dunn went quiet for ten seconds, then burst out laughing, his tense face relaxing like he was chatting with an old buddy. "Oh, Six Feet Under! Haha, look at me, I totally heard that wrong!"
"Oh?" Redstone paused, his smile carrying weight. "So… no issues then?"
"Of course not!" Dunn's tone flipped 180 degrees, brimming with enthusiasm. "When does HBO want to air it? I'll set it up right now."
"How about now? Tarzan just finished its first run—perfect timing to ride that wave," Redstone said, not holding back. When he spoke, he made sure to squeeze every advantage for his empire.
"No problem, we can hand over the rights tomorrow!"
Dunn agreed cheerfully, no hesitation.
It wasn't exclusive second-run rights anyway—besides Tarzan, at least 50 smaller regional stations across the country would air it eventually.
Redstone was pleased with Dunn's attitude. "And the price…"
"Price? Mr. Redstone, you're too kind!" Dunn laughed heartily, playing the generous card. "You're a legend, someone I've always looked up to. You asked personally—how could I charge you? It's free!"
Redstone chuckled twice, and even over the phone, you could feel his energy radiating.
"Alright then, it's settled. Oh, and that package investment thing—I hear it's still up in the air?"
"Easy fix. I'll fax Legendary Pictures right now and light a fire under them," Dunn replied.
"Mm."
Redstone nodded slightly, quietly impressed. Dunn's shift from defiance to deference gave him a rush—like the time he'd escaped a fire at Warner Studios, a burning drive still smoldering in his chest.
This kid's something else!
Of course, Redstone was confident no young punk could shake his throne.
…
The call ended, and Dunn's smile vanished, his face turning dark, cold, and furious!
Tarzan TV was on the verge of breaking out—it was inevitable.
With summer blockbusters fading, Band of Brothers was now North America's hottest piece of TV, its $80 million price tag only fueling the hype.
Dunn had braced for pressure from Time Warner or HBO, but Redstone striking first? That was a curveball.
That old fox!
Dunn had always been the one stepping on faces, basking in the glory.
This time, Redstone had turned the tables!
For someone who'd barely tasted failure since his rebirth, how could Dunn stomach this?
With his foresight and the "sunglasses system" cheat codes, he still couldn't take down Redstone?
Hmph!
Dunn gritted his teeth, muttering coldly, "A gentleman's revenge can wait ten years, Mr. Redstone… just you wait!"