By now, calling Dunn a genius doesn't even cut it. Flipping through his résumé from the past few years, "miraculous" is the only word that fits!
This was Dunn's first win of the night. As he stood up, nearly everyone in the room rose to their feet, clapping for him.
It was almost like worship.
The loudest moment of the evening!
Except… the A Beautiful Mind crew didn't quite match the energy. Their reaction was noticeably lukewarm.
They'd all overheard Dunn's earlier chat with Ted Sarandos.
To them, this standing ovation felt like the calm before a storm—lightning and thunder about to crash down.
Stepping onto the stage, Dunn flashed a smile as he took the trophy from Cameron Crowe, tossing it lightly in his hand with a playful smirk.
Cameron congratulated him, then, during a quick hug, whispered fast, "Steven asked me to remind you—stay calm!"
Dunn glanced at him, amused. Oh right, Cameron Crowe's one of Spielberg's protégés.
"I've got it under control!"
Dunn waved it off casually and stepped up to the mic. The banquet hall fell silent instantly, guests settling back into their seats, their eyes twinkling like stars in the night sky.
"Wow! This is wild—I actually won!"
Was that a joke?
Dark humor, maybe?
Some guests didn't catch it at first, but polite chuckles rippled through the crowd anyway.
Up on stage, Cameron Crowe's knees buckled—he nearly faceplanted. He shot a look at Spielberg in the audience, his face dripping with dread.
Trouble's brewing!
Dunn kept his cool, grinning as he continued, "I didn't expect to win, so I didn't prep a speech or anything. But since I'm up here, I've gotta say a few words. You guys can judge how I do off the cuff."
"Let's start with the Golden Globes' organizers, the Hollywood Foreign Press Association. Everyone knows it's a group of journalists covering the American film industry. They kicked off the Golden Globes back in 1944, and tonight marks their 59th year. Over those decades, the Globes have grown bigger, more influential."
"But the number of judges? That's barely budged—still just around 90 entertainment reporters. No professional voting body, no solid voting system. That's why, unlike the Oscars or Emmys, they don't have a bunch of technical awards."
The audience was thrown off.
What's he getting at?
A history lesson on the Golden Globes?
What's the point?
Then Dunn's tone shifted, his voice rising a notch. "But over the decades, some issues have cropped up. The Golden Globes' judges are all members of the Hollywood Foreign Press—just 90 or so people. Every awards season, film companies throw lavish parties, giving producers, directors, and actors direct access to these voters."
The room erupted in gasps!
Faces twisted in shock.
What's Dunn doing? Airing the Golden Globes' dirty laundry?
Most people had heard whispers of his beef with Kirk Douglas.
But was this really necessary?
All this over Natalie Portman not getting a nomination?
Isn't that a bit much?
Last year, Natalie did win Best Supporting Actress at the Globes, after all.
No nomination this year, and he's tearing the whole thing down? Overkill, right?
Dunn didn't care. He pressed on, calm as ever. "Back in 1975, at a media mixer in Dallas, a bunch of judges openly said they'd 'remember' the studios that treated them extra nice. In 1981, tycoon Meshulam Riklis invited voters to Vegas for a good time. The next year, his girlfriend Pia Zadora conveniently snagged Best Newcomer."
Now the hall was buzzing.
Dunn was dropping real scandals—headline-making messes from the past!
The bribery fiasco especially—after that, the Golden Globes issued a public apology, stripped Pia Zadora of her award, and even axed the Best Newcomer category to save face.
But this was Dunn's acceptance speech for Best Drama Motion Picture! He was dragging the Golden Globes through the mud!
Backstage, Leslie Nielsen, the executive vice chair of the Golden Globes committee, was in charge, calling the shots. Hearing this, his face went white. He started yelling, "Stop him! Make him stop!"
Greg Bonner, the night's producer, frowned. "Stop? How?"
Director Lloyd Bochner chimed in, "Yeah, Mr. Walker's on stage. We can't just drag him off, can we?"
"You idiots! You useless clowns!" Leslie Nielsen was practically climbing the walls, pointing at them, trembling with rage. "Mute him! Cut the mic!"
Greg and Lloyd exchanged a glance, lips twitching, shoulders shrugging faintly.
They acted like they hadn't heard the furious committee bigwig.
Greg turned and walked off, head high.
Lloyd went further, barking into his headset, "Stay calm, keep filming, business as usual!"
Leslie Nielsen nearly spat blood, eyes bulging red and terrifying. "Lloyd, are you insane? Didn't you hear what he's saying? If he keeps going, we're done—finished! Did you hit your head or something?"
Lloyd smirked dismissively. "On the contrary, I'm perfectly clear-headed."
"You heard Dunn Walker! He's trashing the Golden Globes! If it goes down, you're going down with it!" Leslie was losing it.
"Me, go down? Ha, that's rich. If I interrupt my boss mid-speech, that's when I'm toast!"
Lloyd let out a scornful huff, his gaze dripping with mockery and disdain.
So clueless!
"Boss?"
Leslie froze, dumbfounded.
Then it hit him—the company producing tonight's ceremony, Dick Clark Productions, was a fully owned subsidiary of Dunn Films!
Dead.
He was so dead!
As vice chair of the Golden Globes committee, he had no real power here. Dick Clark Productions held the reins—he'd been sidelined!
…
The audience was stunned too.
Why hadn't they cut Dunn's mic? Couldn't staff just escort him offstage?
They're letting him ramble on like this?
Tomorrow's headlines would explode!
But everything at the venue rolled on like normal.
It almost felt like the Golden Globes committee was okay with Dunn's speech.
No way, right?
The committee would let him say this outrageous stuff?
And… Dunn wasn't done!
"You'll see rumors in the papers all the time—Foreign Press members taking cash, trips, perks from studios, then pushing those companies' films or shows in the vote. And the organizers? They've been quietly selling red carpet photo spots to random no-name outlets."
Dunn's face turned serious, scanning the crowd like some righteous warrior, bold and unyielding. "I'm not slandering or making this up—I've got proof! The Golden Globes gala is produced by Dick Clark Productions, under Dunn Films. Whether they sold those spots? Easy to check."
Now it clicked for everyone.
Dunn was dropping a bombshell!
"The Globes' judges double as press critics. With personal stakes and benefits on the line, they can easily sway media takes on a project. Some have even been sued by old studio partners, accused of taking lavish gifts for nomination favors."
"I'm saying all this because I want Hollywood—hell, filmmakers worldwide—to have a fair, open shot at competition, like the Oscars. But what the Golden Globes have been up to lately? It's heartbreaking, frustrating, exhausting!"
"I used to think this shady stuff was just old history. But dig a little, and nope—it's still happening! Tons of studios host screenings for the Foreign Press, dressed up as boozy parties or fancy dinners. You barely see that at other press events."
"The 'Hollywood Foreign Press Association' label's got this shiny, misleading vibe. When winners thank them over and over on stage, people assume it's some elite crew of media pros picking the best—such a supreme honor."
"But is that the truth?"
Was Dunn's speech out of line?
To a lot of folks, sure.
But to him, it was restrained, clever even.
He knew the root of this mess was Kirk Douglas. Still, no way could he name-drop him here—tomorrow, the world would be buzzing with Hollywood's ugly infighting.
The Golden Globes? Just an award show run by a handful of reporters, not deeply tied to Hollywood itself.
Smearing them wouldn't tarnish Hollywood's image. That was enough.
So Dunn's rant stayed laser-focused on the Golden Globes and the Foreign Press, not a whisper about Kirk Douglas.
The Globes love playing enforcer, sticking their nose in other people's fights, huh?
Fine—then they can sit tight and take the fall as the scapegoat!