Dunn Studios had officially signed a deal with CBS, giving them exclusive rights to air the first season of American Idol. All the related TV spin-offs and extras would go to CBS too. For instance, there's this "Hometown Journey" segment where the final three contestants get a chance to return home and rally votes before the finale. From the moment they step off the plane, CBS would broadcast it all live—reuniting with family, throwing big celebratory parades, the works. These uplifting, feel-good, family-friendly stories always hook viewers in a big way.
American Idol comes with a whole lineup of marketing tricks too. Beyond the show itself, there's a ticketed compilation tour, a partnership with Universal Records to drop albums, and even a charity performance week for the idols to give back. But despite it being such a hot property, ABC didn't even try to fight for it—they just handed the opportunity to their rival, CBS, on a silver platter.
Dunn passed up better offers from NBC and FOX, choosing CBS instead. The contract? Five million dollars upfront, plus a 55% cut of the commercial ad revenue. According to Bill McNick's projections, that ad split alone could rake in $120 million for Dunn Studios!
Meanwhile, Dunn was mulling over something else entirely.
Was Michael Eisner seriously about to let it all fall apart?
Was he really just going to sit there and watch Dunn Studios hand American Idol to his arch-nemesis CBS without lifting a finger?
Lately, Dunn had been fielding calls left and right from big shots at NBC and FOX, all scrambling to snag the American Idol broadcast rights. But Michael Eisner? Not a peep. Maybe he figured Dunn would demand an arm and a leg and decided to stay quiet. Or maybe… he genuinely didn't care.
Compared to ABC's woes, Disney's real headache was its theme parks. The new Disney California Adventure, aimed at adults, had barely any visitors since opening and was getting zero buzz. Over in Europe, Disneyland Paris was bleeding money year after year. Then came the 9/11 attacks, slamming the global tourism industry—and Disney parks took the hardest hit.
Of course, the lower you sink, the more room there is to climb. Think of the Asian Tigers during their boom years—GDP doubling like crazy, pulling off economic miracles left and right. But once they hit "developed" status and things leveled off, even a 3% growth rate was a stretch. Disney's in the gutter now, which means the conditions are ripe for some impressive numbers.
At a recent board meeting, Michael Eisner boldly declared that over the next five years, Disney's annual growth rate would top 20%. Maybe that's where all his confidence was coming from.
…
Dunn didn't really want to help CBS take down ABC. Ideally, CBS and ABC would slug it out until they both collapsed—best-case scenario for him. But no dice. Michael Eisner's brain must've short-circuited or something, because he'd suddenly cut off all contact with Dunn.
Lately, Dunn and Natalie had been practically living at Universal Records' recording studio, working on their track Something Just Like This. They'd recorded a ton of versions, but the producer still wasn't happy. The issue wasn't Dunn—he was channeling "Prince" vibes right now, his singing skills at peak level. No, the problem was Natalie.
Sure, she bragged about being the lead singer in some band as a kid, but that was all smoke and mirrors. Those children's theater gigs were about being cute and charming, not actual talent. Recording a single now? That takes real skill. Natalie knew she was the weak link. Dunn never said it out loud, but she could tell. She was ambitious, though—bought herself an iPod and loaded it with demo tracks from session singers, listening to them nonstop whenever she had a spare moment. Girl was putting in the work.
That day, Dunn and Natalie rolled up to Universal Records' headquarters in Hollywood—nice and close by. Same routine: meeting up with the legendary producer David Gordon to polish the song.
"Let's get it done today!" Dunn said, hyping Natalie up while sneaking a wink at David. The guy was a riot—a Black dude with a knack for comedy.
Natalie huffed, "I've made up my mind. If it's still not good this time, just edit it in post. This is dragging on too long and messing with my studies."
David let out an exaggerated yelp, like some sitcom star. "Natalie, you've finally seen the light!"
Dunn cracked up.
Natalie shot him a glare.
David shrugged it off. "Every singer gets some post-production polish. Even Madonna! Britney too—sometimes the notes are too high, and they tweak it later. No shame in that."
Post-production tuning is normal—fixing off-key notes here and there. But full-on editing? That's next-level. Like singing a song a hundred times, cherry-picking the best line from each take, and stitching it all together into something perfect. With that kind of editing, even a tone-deaf kid could sound like Elvis. Problem is, it strips away all the artistry and turns it into a scam.
Up until now, Natalie had insisted on doing it herself. But with February almost over and no solid take in sight, she was ready to throw in the towel.
Dunn grinned. "Edit it, whatever. Movies get edited too—what's the difference? Besides, you're an actor, not a singer. No big deal."
"But why are you so good at it?" Natalie pouted, sulking.
"Me? Ha, I'm just in the zone right now. Give it a few months, and maybe I'll be worse than you." Dunn waved it off. "Come on, let's hustle. Michael Eisner's got a Senate Commerce Committee hearing at 9 tonight."
"Piracy stuff?" Natalie asked.
"Yup."
"Oh." She nodded. "Yeah, that's worth keeping an eye on. Piracy's getting worse every day."
…
In David Gordon's office, Dunn and Natalie were glued to the TV, soaking in Michael Eisner's speech.
Protecting film and TV content from digital piracy was a huge deal for Hollywood. Internet downloads were running wild, hammering the DVD business. The music industry had it even worse—kids were grabbing pirated songs left and right instead of buying albums. Even a giant like Universal Records was staring down a bleak future. Word was, AOL Time Warner was already planning to ditch their music division to cut losses. Warner Records was about to go solo.
Eisner's speech was clearly polished to perfection—sharp enough to make a point, but careful not to ruffle too many feathers among Hollywood's tech partners. In the panel discussion that followed, he was grouped with News Corp's COO Peter Chernin and Intel's senior VP Emerson Lee. No more scripted PR fluff—this was off-the-cuff.
Without the safety net of a prepared statement, Eisner's tone sharpened. He tore into online piracy with a cold edge. "I can't negotiate with those companies. They're a bunch of thieves—they think they can grow by stealing!"
Senator Ben Nelson from Nebraska jumped in. "Which company are we talking about? If it's blatant infringement, the law will handle it!"
Eisner paused, then said slowly, "Well, some companies… computer companies… their ads are everywhere. Full-page spreads, billboards all over San Francisco and LA. It's right there in black and white."
"What's it say?"
"Rip, mix, burn!"
Eisner was getting fired up now, oblivious to the weird looks around him. "They're pushing this slogan to get kids to buy their computers. 'Rip, mix, burn.' In other words, buy this machine, steal whatever you want, and share it with your friends!"
Watching from the TV, Dunn's eyebrow twitched. "Rip, mix, burn" sounded way too familiar.
"David, you know this tagline?" he asked, racking his brain.
David shook his head. "Heard it somewhere, but I can't place it."
Natalie, sitting beside him, let out a little huff and tossed the iPod hanging around her neck into Dunn's lap.
"What's this for?"
"You're asking about the slogan, right?"
Dunn's face froze. "You mean…"
"Yup. 'Rip, mix, burn'—it's Apple's TV ad for the iPod." Natalie tilted her chin up, a smug little smirk on her face.
Dunn might be good at everything—singing included—but when it came to raw smarts, Natalie had him beat by a mile. She never forgot a thing she'd seen.
"HAHAHA!"
Dunn burst out laughing right there in someone else's office at Universal Records, cackling so hard tears streamed down his face.
"Hey! Have you lost it?" Natalie stared at him, stunned.
David looked equally baffled. "You… you okay, man?"
Dunn didn't even hear them. For once, he completely lost it, howling with laughter. "Yes, yes! It's the iPod ad! Eisner, oh Eisner! I'd only heard of The Great Gatsby—turns out it's The Great Eisner! Unreal! You've gone and pissed off Jobs now—good luck with that!"
What's done by fate can be forgiven; what's done by your own hand, you're stuck with.
Dunn had tried to sweet-talk Steve Jobs into selling Pixar's contract and ditching Disney, but Jobs shot him down. And now? Eisner's house was on fire.
In a formal, dead-serious setting like Congress, Michael Eisner had just publicly blasted Apple for promoting piracy. This was no smaller than Dunn slamming the Golden Globes for shady dealings at an awards show!
Talk about a plot twist!
Things just got interesting.