In the U.S., employees' work hours are tightly regulated—eight hours a day is not just a norm, it's enforced by law and ingrained in the culture.
But for truly ambitious, goal-driven high achievers, those rules don't apply.
Take Elon Musk, the head of PayPal. The guy's a workaholic, clocking over 18 hours a day! He crashes at the office every night, sprawling out on the floor in a sleeping bag. Come morning, his staff literally kick him awake, and he's right back at it.
Then there's Steve Jobs, Apple's big shot. A vegetarian who's up at 4 a.m. every day—working out, checking emails, kicking off his workday. More often than not, he's burning the midnight oil too.
Or Bill Mechanic, president of Dunn Pictures. He's pushing past 14 hours daily, especially since the company took on the STA Network. The guy's so swamped he's holding conference calls in the shower!
Even Disney's Michael Eisner has no personal life left—every ounce of energy goes into work. Sleep, then work, rinse, repeat.
The more successful someone is, the harder they tend to grind. For these people, it's not about overtime pay—it's a burning obsession, a relentless pursuit.
Dunn, though? He's the odd one out. He caps his workday at eight hours, no exceptions. And even within those eight, he's often off doing something random.
Like firing off a flirty email to some actress, making a sweet call to a pretty girl, or straight-up inviting a gorgeous woman to his office for a little "quality time."
Sure, Dunn's technically the CEO, but in reality, he's more like the chairman of Dunn Pictures—focused on big-picture strategy.
That said, he's hands-on with one key area: content creation.
Whether it's movies or TV shows, Dunn's the final say on every project.
Recently, the lead for Ghost Rider was locked in: British actor Clive Owen. Tall, ripped, with those bluish-gray eyes that ooze a wicked charm—he's perfect for the "Ghost Rider" vibe.
Nicolas Cage has a bit of that devilish edge too, but Clive's got the physicality nailed.
The original Ghost Rider from Sony Pictures leaned hard on Cage's demonic transformation as its only hook. Low budget meant a thin plot and lackluster visuals—critics tore it apart.
Even so, Ghost Rider 1 raked in $230 million worldwide.
Dunn's version? No cutting corners. Budget's a hefty $150 million.
And the script? It's a full-on production!
To nail it, Dunn set up a "Project Management Committee" led by veteran producer Frank Marshall. He pulled together the production team, writers, market analysts, Marvel Entertainment's creative crew, and Marvel Studios' script department—everyone brainstorming to craft a classic.
The writers Dunn handpicked through his "Sunglasses System" are scripting wizards, no doubt. Problem is, their genius doesn't always sync with market trends. Classic doesn't guarantee fan love.
That's where the production and market analysis teams come in, syncing everything up.
Just yesterday, Frank Marshall shot down a Ghost Rider draft. With Dunn's okay, he brought in a heavyweight writer to join the committee: Frank Darabont.
Who's Frank Darabont?
Only the producer, director, and writer behind The Shawshank Redemption and The Green Mile!
Dunn's all over this. He even sent a note to the committee, suggesting the script's core could draw from Buddhist philosophy, summed up in one line: "If I don't go to hell, who will?"
For lighthearted flicks like Spider-Man or Ant-Man, the script's a breeze—just tweak the comics and toss in some witty humor.
But for darker, serious stuff like Daredevil or Ghost Rider, it's a tightrope walk. They need market appeal plus real depth—philosophical meat that's tough to pull off.
The Daredevil script's in the hands of the Nolan brothers, and Dunn's confident they'll deliver.
Ghost Rider's script, though? Trickier.
But what's really gnawing at Dunn isn't Ghost Rider—it's finding a hit TV show to keep STA Network climbing!
Band of Brothers put STA on the map as America's hottest premium cable network!
Once it wrapped, though, viewers were left hungry for more. Compared to Band of Brothers, other shows just don't hit the same.
Dunn gets it, but the million-dollar question is: what's the next big topic for a breakout series?
That day, J.J. Abrams dropped by, offering to team up with Dunn Pictures on a big-budget show.
In other words, he was ditching his ABC project, Lost.
Dunn was thrilled. Weakening Disney was a bonus, but snagging Abrams—a sci-fi genius with endless potential—was the real win.
Sure enough, when Abrams heard Dunn hadn't settled on a concept for the big show, he jumped in: "I heard Dunn Pictures nabbed the TV rights to Stephen King's classic The Dark Tower. That true?"
Dunn chuckled and nodded. "Yeah, it's true. But… I don't think The Dark Tower's ripe for adapting. Not yet, at least."
"It's got a huge name, though," Abrams pressed, puzzled. "Stephen King's got over a hundred million fans. That fits your 'hit formula'—the added value from an existing property."
"True," Dunn said, "The Dark Tower has some built-in value, but not enough! What's hot right now? Epic fantasy! The Ghost Rider script's leaning that way too… Never mind, forget that. Point is, with The Chronicles of Narnia, The Lord of the Rings, and Harry Potter blowing up, magic and fantasy are the biggest trends out there."
"Harry Potter?"
Abrams blinked.
Dunn grinned. "First movie, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, hits theaters this Christmas. It's gonna crush it."
Abrams nodded. Dunn-produced films? Box office gold, no question.
Still, Abrams thrived in sci-fi, not fantasy—a bit of a snag for him.
What concept could he pitch?
Creativity alone wouldn't cut it. Per Dunn's theory, a hit needed "added film value"—an IP like a novel, real event, historical tale, game, or toy to build on.
Abrams raised an eyebrow. "I caught a movie the other day—oh, you produced it, actually. Zack Snyder's Resident Evil. Super fun, tons of potential for adapting. Last year's Tomb Raider, this year's Resident Evil—game adaptations could be a goldmine."
Dunn nodded. "Yeah, Resident Evil's solid. Zombies have a lot of room to grow as a genre."
Truth is, Dunn had been mulling it over lately—maybe shoot The Walking Dead and go all-in.
It's AMC's flagship show, with influence in North America rivaling Game of Thrones. And the director? Frank Darabont, no less!
But then he thought twice. Nope, wouldn't work.
AMC's The Walking Dead came from a 2003 comic that ran for seven years before hitting TV. Its success was tied to that IP.
In 2002, it'd be an original concept—no prior buzz to lean on. It wouldn't pop like it did in another timeline.
Still, Dunn had a plan. Shoot The Walking Dead ASAP. Once Darabont wrapped Ghost Rider's script, bring him on to direct!
It's a gritty, end-of-days drama packed with human struggles—not about cheap thrills or suspense, but deep character work and meaning. Perfect for boosting STA's brand.
That said, The Walking Dead would just be a supporting act. STA needed a true ace up its sleeve!
Dunn said, "My original idea was adapting The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings into a show, but with the Rings movies out now, the timing's off."
Abrams, still hooked on the earlier thread, mused, "Epic fantasy's hot, game adaptations are hot—combine the two, and you might get some serious sparks."
"What?"
Dunn's eyes widened, practically jumping out of his seat.
Abrams froze. "Uh… what? I said… sparks, you know, a figure of speech—"
"No! The line before that!" Dunn's voice buzzed with excitement, his gaze intense.
Abrams blinked. "Before that… I said combine epic fantasy with game adaptations."
"That's it!"
Dunn slapped his thigh, grinning ear to ear.
Abrams caught on, his own excitement building. "Mr. Walker, did… did you just get an idea?"
"Haha!" Dunn laughed heartily. "Jeff, you ever played a game?"
"What game?"
"Warcraft."