In his past life, at this year's Golden Globes, A Beautiful Mind swept up Best Picture (Drama), Best Actor (Drama), Best Supporting Actress, and Best Screenplay.
But for Best Director, it lost out to Robert Altman's Gosford Park.
Even though Dunn Tanaka's version of A Beautiful Mind earned more praise and box office cash than the original, he didn't expect the Globes to suddenly grow a heart and hand him Best Director.
His sights were set on Best Screenplay.
In the original, Akiva Goldsman won that award for A Beautiful Mind. This time around, Dunn wrote the script himself. If he didn't snag this one, it'd be crystal clear—he was being targeted by the Golden Globes!
Natalie missing out on a nomination was bad enough, but stripping him of an award he deserved? Dunn wasn't above teaching the Globes committee a lesson!
If this were the Oscars, he'd keep his mouth shut and swallow the bitterness—think Leonardo DiCaprio, running the gauntlet for years, eating dirt, and still kissing up to the Academy every time.
The Oscars are the global temple of cinema, a dreamy gala dripping with prestige, tangled up in politics. Even Dunn couldn't take them on.
The Golden Globes? That's a different story.
Sure, it's America's second-biggest film award after the Oscars, but in terms of scale, influence, political clout, and authority, it's not even in the same league.
Plenty of A-listers don't get half as excited about the Globes as they do for the Oscars.
All things considered, Dunn had more than enough room to flip the table on them!
"Six Feet Under! It's Six Feet Under!" Nicole Kidman grabbed Dunn's arm, buzzing with excitement—more hyped than he was. "Look, look! Six Feet Under won! The Globes aren't out to get you after all!"
In the big TV category—Best Drama Series—Six Feet Under beat out 24, Alias, CSI, The Sopranos, and The West Wing to take the crown.
But that didn't prove the Globes were fair. It was just business as usual. In his past life, Six Feet Under won this award too.
"The real test is Best Screenplay. If they don't give it to me, that's straight-up targeting!" Dunn watched the Six Feet Under crew rush the stage in a frenzy, clapping mechanically, his face blank. "Screwing over Natalie? Fine, I can chalk that up to the Globes kissing Kirk Douglas's ring—I'll settle that score with the old geezer later. But if they snatch Best Screenplay from me too… hmph!"
Nicole laughed, half-exasperated. "Snatch it from you? Who says it's yours by default? Besides, it's just a lousy screenplay award—does it even matter that much?"
"It's not about how big the award is—it's the principle!" Dunn's face hardened. "What's mine is mine! I can choose to pass it up or give it away, but no one gets to yank it out of my hands! Even if it's trash, I'm the one who decides!"
Nicole was speechless. She discreetly pulled out her phone and texted Natalie. Dunn's temper was spiraling—she couldn't rein him in anymore. If this blew up, it'd rock the whole entertainment world!
A bit later, the TV awards handed out Best Supporting Actress, going to Rachel Griffiths from Six Feet Under. No surprise there—last year, it was the top show behind Band of Brothers. Awards like that were par for the course.
Then, in the Best Miniseries category, Band of Brothers won without a hitch!
Normally, the three big producers—Steven Spielberg, Tom Hanks, and Dunn Walker—would all take the stage.
Spielberg adjusted his bow tie, stood up, and gestured for Dunn to join him.
Dunn forced a thin smile, waved him off, and stayed planted in his seat—no intention of stepping up.
Right then, his phone buzzed with a text from Natalie: "Nicole says you're about to go to war with the Globes?"
Dunn fired back: "Yup."
Natalie: "Don't. We both know who's behind this—Kirk Douglas."
Dunn: "And the Globes are his accomplices!"
Natalie: "If you do this, Kirk gets to sit back and watch the fireworks. Don't fall into his trap!"
Dunn: "The Globes? They can't trap me!"
Natalie's replies slowed. Spielberg was already onstage, giving a spirited speech. A minute later, her next text came: "The Globes have sway. This could hurt your career."
Dunn typed back: "I build my career to make your life better—not to sacrifice your happiness for my success. That's putting the cart before the horse!"
---
After the Best Miniseries award wrapped, it was back to the movies—and the moment Dunn had been waiting for: Best Screenplay!
Nicole's nerves kicked in hard. She traced a cross over her chest, clasped her hands, and muttered a prayer: "Please, let Dunn win this. God bless, hallelujah!"
The presenter was Stephen Gaghan, the Traffic screenwriter—an old acquaintance.
He cracked a few lukewarm jokes, then slowly opened the envelope. His smile faltered, looking forced as he lifted his head and said, "Julian Fellowes, Gosford Park."
The second he finished, the Gosford Park crew erupted in applause.
Over at A Beautiful Mind, things went quiet.
Nicole's face drained white as paper. Her glance at Dunn carried worry—and a flicker of fear.
This was it. Trouble was brewing.
Sure enough, Dunn hissed through gritted teeth, "They actually went for it. Alright—great!"
Next up, Best Director went to Robert Altman for Gosford Park too.
Nicole's heart sank like a stone. All joy from the night evaporated. She stared blankly, a chill settling in: "Done. It's over. We're toast!"
The whole A Beautiful Mind crew was in a funk.
Yeah, Russell Crowe and Nicole Kidman nabbed acting awards, but who was the real soul of this film?
Dunn Walker—producer, director, and writer rolled into one!
Now, the Globes had ripped two awards out from under him. No way he'd be happy about that!
Especially after Natalie Portman didn't even score a nomination.
On Dunn's other side sat Ted Sarandos, Dunn Pictures' VP of production and executive producer on A Beautiful Mind. He knew his young boss's temper well and leaned in, whispering, "Our people are running this awards dinner."
The message was clear: it's our team—don't trash our own gig!
The Golden Globes dinner was produced by Dick Clark Productions, a company Dunn Pictures had acquired. If Dunn made a scene, he'd be tanking his own operation.
"NBC's broadcast fees only net us 10%—the Globes Association takes the lion's share," Dunn shot back. "Sacrificing a small loss on our end to hit the enemy harder? Worth it."
No way he'd back off over a measly 10% cut.
The Globes dinner had been Dick Clark Productions' gig since day one—decades of partnership. Dunn had plenty of leverage and guts to take them on!
Twenty minutes later, the night was winding down. Just one award left—the big one: Best Picture (Drama)!
But this one was a no-brainer.
The five nominees were: In the Bedroom, Mulholland Drive, The Man Who Wasn't There, The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring, and A Beautiful Mind.
In the Bedroom, Mulholland Drive, and The Man Who Wasn't There were too niche—touchy subjects. They hadn't won squat all season.
The Fellowship of the Ring? Forget it. No chance.
It's just the first of a trilogy. Everyone in Hollywood knows the best is yet to come. If it won now, what happens with the next two?
Even ignoring reviews and fan hype, logic alone pointed to A Beautiful Mind as the winner!
Presenter Cameron Crowe called out "A Beautiful Mind," and the room exploded—the loudest cheers of the night!
The buzz for A Beautiful Mind was deafening. It earned this win fair and square!
Maybe… some of that applause was for Dunn, a quiet show of support.
They were all insiders. Everyone knew what was up with this year's Globes.
Natalie Portman not getting a single nomination? That was outrageous!
Tilda Swinton from the long-forgotten The Deep End got a nod, but Natalie didn't? There had to be some shady dealing.
The Globes have a rap sheet of scandals. While the Oscars keep tweaking their voting to stay legit, the Globes cling to their 90-something journalist panel, stuck in the past.
That baggage had a lot of guests clapping extra hard for Dunn.
Speaking out publicly? No way. But applause? That they could do.
With A Beautiful Mind clinching Best Picture, Dunn smirked, rising slowly. Ted Sarandos stood too—he was the exec producer, ready to hit the stage.
The rest of the crew watched Dunn with eager eyes.
For big awards like this, the whole team often goes up.
But Dunn motioned them down, pressing Ted's shoulder. "Sit. I'm going alone."
"Huh? Wait—"
Ted froze, stunned.
Not because he cared about the spotlight—he didn't. But because he saw it now: Dunn was dead serious.
Sure enough, Dunn's voice dropped cold: "Let the gunfire come at me alone!"