After a full afternoon of hashing things out, they finally nailed down a complete strategy.
This plan had five parts, dubbed by Dunn as "The Slap Plan."
It was a step-by-step, five-pronged approach—while also carrying the hope of delivering a metaphorical slap to Kirk Douglas's face.
Part One: Jack Ripke, CAA's VP, would handle wining and dining the Oscar Best Actress selection committee, greasing the wheels and building rapport.
Part Two: Rick Nicita, CAA's COO, would work the upper echelons of the Academy and Oscars committee, drumming up buzz for Natalie.
Part Three: Bryan Lourd and Dunn would team up to repair Dunn's tarnished image among Hollywood filmmakers after this mess, rallying more support and seizing the public narrative.
Part Four: Kevin Huvane, CAA's CEO, would smooth things over—at least on the surface—between Dunn Pictures and the Golden Globes, easing their pressure on the Oscars.
Part Five: Lee Gabler, CAA's board chairman, would personally take a copy of Juno to the White House, screen it for President Bush, and leverage top-tier connections to bulldoze a path straight to the Oscars!
These were CAA's heavy hitters, and as Natalie's agents, they'd gone all-in on Dunn. They'd spare no effort.
Michael Ovitz, Dunn's business partner and older confidant, volunteered to pitch in too.
Through Legendary Pictures and his deep industry ties, he'd rally Hollywood studios to pressure the Oscars for Natalie's nomination.
Dunn wasn't banking on him pulling it off, though.
Typically, securing an Oscar Best Picture nod costs around $3 million in schmoozing, networking, and marketing. Best Actor runs $3-4 million. Best Actress? Usually caps at $2 million.
But for Natalie, Dunn slapped $5 million on the table!
Add in CAA's sky-high connections, and even with Kirk Douglas's sway over the Oscars, Natalie's nomination was pretty much a lock.
With roles assigned, everyone was swamped and got to work immediately.
Dunn invited Bryan Lourd to a nearby coffee shop.
They needed to tackle the hit to Dunn Pictures' internal reputation.
This had to be fixed. Even if Natalie scored an Oscar nod, Dunn wouldn't gain much cred if his industry standing stayed in the gutter.
Tanking the Golden Globes didn't sit well with a lot of filmmakers' interests.
"Hollywood needs an award like the Globes—something authoritative to pick up where the Oscars leave off," Bryan cut straight to the chase.
Dunn ordered two coffees, smiling at him. "How about we team up and start a new film award to replace the Globes?"
Bryan chuckled. "You run a movie studio, I run a talent agency. If we cooked up an award, you think anyone'd take it seriously?"
Dunn got serious. "Credibility's not the issue. If we make the voting transparent and partner with legit stats firms, we can lock it down. Plus, with our star power connections, we wouldn't struggle for buzz."
Bryan shook his head. "It's not that easy. The Globes took over 20 years to go mainstream. A new festival? It'd take ages to build clout."
Dunn's temper flared. "This won't work, that won't work—so what's your fix? We can't just let the industry hate me forever, right?"
Bryan teased, "Hate? What's that matter? They gonna give you the cold shoulder? Anyone eating in this business has to deal with Dunn Walker's reach."
Dunn waved him off, annoyed. "You think I care about the little guys? They're ants—can they sway me? I'm worried about the big studios! The Globes mean exposure. For arthouse films, it's free promo and a ticket-sales boost. Without it, those companies lose a revenue stream!"
Truth be told, Dunn never saw Kirk Douglas as a real threat.
The Oscars are an award, sure, but they're also a business—they need income!
Favors, face, whatever—none of it trumps profit.
If the Globes had known Dunn would flip out over Natalie's snub and blast them publicly, the HFPA would've been nuts to side with Kirk Douglas.
They'd have kissed Dunn's boots instead.
Kirk Douglas's influence? Way overblown!
The real reason Dunn was going all-out for Natalie's Oscar nod wasn't that old man pulling strings—it was the risk of the major studios tripping him up behind the scenes.
Sure, Dunn was chummy with plenty of studio execs, but those slick suits were masters at smiling to your face while stabbing you in the back.
Keeping the Globes' prestige intact served their bottom line better.
Dunn's real fear was them meddling to protect their profits, tanking Natalie's Oscar shot.
Not some shadowy geezer like Kirk Douglas!
Bryan finally dropped the grin, his face tightening. "A new festival? That's a long-term play—we'd need to strategize hard. It's not time yet. Who knows, maybe the Globes'll cave once they see our muscle. As for the industry's take? That's easy."
"Oh? Easy?"
"Yeah—if you're willing to put something on the table."
Dunn's voice went cold. "Put something up? You're not suggesting I pay off the other studios to cover their losses from me trashing the Globes, are you?"
Bryan smirked. "Cash? Nah, that's off the table. But… remember how you dodged the Big Six's chokehold with that 'portfolio investment' idea? You could pitch a fresh Hollywood concept—something that fits Dunn Pictures' 'New Order, New Model, New Power, New Hollywood' vibe."
Dunn rolled his eyes. "What, you think I'm God? Portfolio investing was a stroke of genius—I'm tapped out of big ideas."
"No, you've got it! You definitely do!" Bryan said with ironclad certainty.
"Huh?"
Dunn frowned, unsure.
Bryan sipped his coffee, then spoke slowly. "Back in the day, Barry Diller cooked up the 'high-concept' film idea. Teamed up with Michael Eisner and Jeffrey Katzenberg, they pulled Paramount back from the brink of bankruptcy. In just a few years, it was Hollywood's top dog."
"Then Disney was teetering, so they brought in Eisner and Katzenberg—creative trailblazers. Eisner took Diller's theory and ran with it, adding 'first and second base'—tight budget control on top of high concepts."
"With that mindset, Eisner basically cracked a movie formula. In his first five years at Disney, they made 33 films—29 turned a profit. Staggering results. He flipped Disney from near-collapse to thriving, earning a rep as a genius film analyst!"
"But lately, that formula's fizzled. Eisner tried jumping on the big-budget 'event film' trend, but you've seen the results—disastrous. Diller and Eisner's old playbook? It's outdated. Hollywood needs a new formula."
Dunn mulled it over. "So you think… I've got my own movie formula?"
Bryan grinned. "Obviously! Every film you've backed has made money. Even a snooze like Girl, Interrupted hit $100 million worldwide—mind-blowing!"
Dunn smiled modestly. "Just luck."
"Luck?" Bryan scoffed. "Save that for the kids. Dunn Pictures' films—especially the commercial ones—rake in numbers that make me jealous! You've got a system, a winning formula. Share it, and I bet even the biggest problems melt away."
Dunn's eyes widened. "You mean… spill my filmmaking philosophy to everyone?"
"If you're up for it, the studio giants'll hail you as a savior! It'd do more for Hollywood than portfolio investing ever did. Up to you, though."
As an agent, Bryan was dying for Dunn to spill his "secret sauce."
More good movies meant more star-making opportunities.
Lately, with mega-hits like Jurassic Park, Titanic, Independence Day, Star Wars: Episode I, and Spider-Man, studios had gone all-in on big-budget blockbusters.
High stakes, high risk—but one win could bankroll a studio for a year!
Between May 2000 and May 2001, Spider-Man alone outgrossed 90% of Dunn Pictures' total revenue!
Problem was, blockbusters weren't a game everyone could play.
Even Warner's Batman & Robin flopped, and Waterworld sent A-lister Kevin Costner tumbling to C-list status.
Filmmakers and studios were lost on how to nail these beasts.
How do you blend effects and story to hook audiences?
Outside of Dunn Pictures, every studio had paid a $100 million-plus tuition fee—and still flunked the test!
Dunn sat in thought for a long stretch.
Bryan watched him, brimming with anticipation. "So?"
Dunn muttered, "It's not impossible…"