To be honest, the fact that Chamber of Secrets lost its daily box office crown didn't seem like a big deal to the general public.
Most movies peak in their first week anyway—except Titanic, of course—so if Die Another Day pulled higher numbers on its opening day than Chamber of Secrets, wasn't that pretty normal?
No matter how mighty Harry Potter was, it couldn't stop others from making money.
But at Warner, Die Another Day's sudden surge was treated like the sky collapsing.
Because right now, they couldn't afford to lose.
They had run every forecast, every simulation, and all the data said 007 wouldn't even come close.
And now? Die Another Day beat Chamber of Secrets?
OMG—
Forget the publicity and marketing headaches that would follow.
Just the fact that their projections were wrong was enough to get half the department fired.
If you predict the competition's numbers and miss by 20% or 30%, fine. Even 60% or 70% for new films, fine—it's Hollywood, not physics. The business is gambling, and if a miracle like Spider-Man happens, no one can stop it.
But this?
A century-old franchise, no cast change, and you're off by 100%?
What's that sitting on your neck, a butt? You forecasting with your rear end?
"M–Fxxk!!"
"Can anyone tell me what the hell is going on!!?"
When Die Another Day's box office came in absurdly high—way beyond projections—Nathan Bailey ditched his weekend and stormed back to the office.
No choice. Chamber of Secrets' performance was his department's responsibility.
If the numbers went sideways, his head was first on the block.
"Uh… Boss…"
"007's success might have something to do with Halle Berry."
Since the projections were completely off, Warner's operations team had already started tearing through their own work in panic before Nathan even arrived.
They discovered that Die Another Day's breakout had little to do with Pierce Brosnan—by now, his Bond had long passed its sell-by date. The one breathing new life into the franchise was the new Bond girl: Halle Berry.
Miss America before entering the industry, stunning looks, commanding aura.
Her early career hadn't been impressive, but lately, her luck had been off the charts.
She played Storm in X-Men—which had a crazy 3.95 ROI, a guaranteed moneymaker—and then earlier this year became the first Black woman in history to win an Oscar for Best Actress.
Everyone knew that her win was "political" after last year's big plane incident in New York.
America's media had gone full crusader mode, uniting every possible symbol of diversity to "spread freedom and democracy." Halle Berry became the poster child for that narrative, which is how she snagged the golden statue.
But really, who cared how "legit" her win was?
Awards can be manipulated. Box office numbers can't.
And the movie that won her the Oscar, Monster's Ball, was the textbook case of low-budget high-return: a $4 million investment that brought in $45 million, an ROI of 11.25.
That's insane for a drama film.
On top of that, Monster's Ball's VHS sales were through the roof—since its June release, Lionsgate had already pulled in another $100 million from tapes alone.
So yeah—Halle Berry's name meant money.
Her appearing in 007 would definitely give the film a serious boost.
"Oh! Sxxt!!"
"Why the hell didn't anyone tell me this sooner!?"
Nathan lost it.
"Bang!"
He slammed his fist on the desk, roaring, "All this is the kind of thing that changes box office outcomes!"
"So why the hell didn't you note it in the report!?"
He was certain—he hadn't seen Halle Berry's name anywhere in the last analysis.
So… someone falsified the report?
Damn—
That report governed Harry Potter's marketing strategy!
And Harry Potter was Warner's crown jewel!
How the hell could anyone mess with that!?
The room went dead quiet.
The three staffers exchanging nervous glances finally spoke up:
"Boss, before today, we honestly didn't know how much commercial weight Halle Berry carried."
"When her market impact was that unclear, we didn't think it appropriate to list her in the report…"
Look, taken alone, X-Men and Monster's Ball looked great on paper.
But in her overall career? Not so much.
Her film Swordfish—a Warner project, no less—was an utter flop. $102 million budget, $147 million gross. Total failure.
The exec who greenlit it had already been fired.
And while Monster's Ball did well, the Oscar boost made it impossible to isolate her actual box office pull.
Worse, after winning Best Actress, her TV ratings, talk show appearances, and endorsement sales all dropped.
Revlon's CEO even said publicly that they'd dump her after her contract expired next year.
And that man also happened to be the head of Marvel.
So yeah—the boss of Marvel thought his own Storm couldn't even sell makeup.
Imagine what that implied for Marvel merchandise sales.
From a business standpoint, Halle Berry was basically chocolate:
Fine for humans, fatal for dogs.
No one could tell which project was which.
"That's why you left her out of the report?"
Nathan flipped through the materials again.
"Yes."
The bespectacled man in front nodded carefully.
"I get it. That's sound logic."
Nathan paused, nodded, and the three staffers visibly relaxed.
But then—
He shook his head again. "No. Chamber of Secrets isn't a normal movie."
"It's the only pillar propping up Warner's film division right now."
"In that case, any factor that might affect its box office—no matter how small—should be listed."
"So! Tell me!"
"Why didn't you include it?"
His eyes were bloodshot now, voice low and sharp.
Even if Halle Berry's market value was fuzzy, writing her name down would've taken what—five seconds?
And those five seconds would've saved everyone's ass once things went wrong.
But because her name wasn't there, nobody could dodge responsibility now.
He was right, and they knew it.
Finally, one of them sighed, "Boss, you were out of the company in the first half of the year, so there's something you don't know."
"We really couldn't write Halle Berry's name in. Mr. Meyer hates her right now."
"Hates… her?"
Nathan blinked.
"We're talking about Halle Berry—how did this turn into a DC thing?"
"Uh…"
After a quick round of eye contact, one of them explained:
"Boss, you know DC's Catwoman, right? DC wanted to reboot the project and cast Halle Berry. Mr. Meyer approved it, but…"
"She asked for twenty million."
Nathan froze. "How much???"
To understand his disbelief, you need to know where Warner came from.
Their late chairman, Steve Ross, had dreamed of turning Warner into a Disney-style entertainment empire—he even built a studio in Australia and bought the Six Flags amusement parks.
If he hadn't died suddenly, the theme park project might've been completed by now.
DC was supposed to be the crown jewel in that plan.
In 1989, Warner released Batman, directed by Tim Burton—specifically made to promote Warner's new Batman Adventure attraction at the Australian park, which opened in 1992.
The park was the vinegar, the movie was the dumpling.
And since Batman did well, Warner planned more DC adaptations. After Batman Returns introduced Catwoman, a solo Catwoman film became a priority.
Then Steve Ross died—December 20, 1992—just three days before the park even opened.
Chaos followed. Power struggles tore Time Warner apart, and with that, Warner lost control of its theme park rights.
Suddenly, making DC movies meant others would profit from the merchandise, not Warner. But not making them would waste all of Ross's groundwork.
They were trapped.
Internal wars and outside vultures picked the company apart. Business stalled. The Batman franchise fizzled, and Tim Burton's planned trilogy never happened.
Normally, that would've been the end of DC films—rights issues, low returns, no incentive.
But this year changed everything.
Because failure learned to walk again.
After Spider-Man exploded, DC got greedy.
If Sony could print money off incomplete rights, why couldn't they?
Barry Meyer agreed—they needed hits.
So DC pitched Batman, Superman, Catwoman… all back on the table.
Batman was already moving forward with Memento's director Christopher Nolan in talks. Superman was still stuck—no solid director yet. But Catwoman? That script had been gathering dust for a decade, ready to go.
And Halle Berry fit the look.
So Warner called her in.
She asked for $20 million.
And that's when Nathan finally understood why her name vanished from every report.
She wasn't worth $20 million. That kind of paycheck meant you were guaranteed to draw $300 million in box office, minimum—and she couldn't.
If she had publicly embarrassed Barry Meyer by treating him like a cash cow, who in their right mind would then write, "Halle Berry could boost 007's numbers" in a report?
You'd be fired before you finished typing the sentence.
So yeah. Nobody dared.
Nathan's eyelids twitched.
Suddenly, life back in Britain didn't seem so bad.
Sure, facing Columbus and Isabella was nerve-racking, but at least they had good tempers.
Leavesden felt like a vacation.
But now?
How was he supposed to explain this to Meyer?
"Uh, boss, that actress you called an idiot just smacked you in the face"?
Yeah. Good luck with that.
As long as he dared say that—
Barry Meyer would've blown his head clean off!
"OMG—"
"What kind of crap do I run into every damn day…"
Nathan Bailey buried his head in his hands, the very picture of misery.
The three subordinates standing across from him exchanged glances. After a long silence, seeing that Nathan still wasn't speaking, the one in front finally said,
"Boss, I don't think you need to worry too much about this."
"Because Mr. Meyer reads the same reports we do. Once he sees Halle Berry's name on Die Another Day's cast list, he'll understand what's going on. And once he understands, he won't be asking us for an explanation."
"Besides, we don't think Halle Berry will make that big of a difference to 007's box office."
"At most, it'll bump things for a day or two."
"Her commercial value isn't that high anyway. And MGM literally had her take her clothes off in the movie."
"We already checked: MGM's marketing for Die Another Day hyped her as 'paying tribute' to Ursula Andress. You know, the first-ever Bond girl in Dr. No—who debuted in that white bikini. In other words… the sexy route."
"When MGM resorts to that kind of stunt to push tickets, the 007 series might as well be over."
Just as Warner's staff predicted—
Even though Die Another Day did dethrone Chamber of Secrets as North America's single-day box office champion, Barry Meyer didn't come after Nathan Bailey. Because… the man still had his pride.
That outcome let Nathan breathe again.
And once MGM's promotion went full "borderline scandal," the movie's buzz basically imploded.
If even the distributor can't say what's good about a film—its plot, visuals, anything—then the film's just plain garbage.
If Die Another Day were an R-rated erotic film, sure, a risqué ad campaign could spike sales.
But it wasn't. It was PG-13.
How much "borderline" can a PG-13 movie even get away with?
So—
Yes, Die Another Day made $16.61 million on opening day.
But its second day? $19.04 million.
That's just a 14.6% rise.
A terrible sign.
Because Chamber of Secrets, on its eighth day, still climbed 69.9%, pulling in $18.7 million.
Even though Die Another Day stayed slightly ahead, that weak growth proved one thing:
Everyone knew MGM was full of idiots.
So—
When Sunday, the 24th, rolled around, Chamber of Secrets reclaimed the North American single-day crown, earning $12.51 million and pushing its total to $148 million.
Meanwhile, Die Another Day crashed. Its box office was slashed in half, only $11.4 million that day.
And then came Rotten Tomatoes.
Die Another Day: 46% fresh, 31% audience score.
Certified garbage.
Chamber of Secrets, after ten days, still held 85% critic and 83% audience.
The winner was obvious.
Nathan Bailey finally unclenched the knot in his chest.
His career was tied to Chamber of Secrets' performance, after all.
He really didn't want it to fail.
But—just when everyone thought 007's challenge had passed—
At noon on the 25th, CNN's midday news dropped a bomb:
"The new James Bond film Die Another Day officially opened across North America last Friday, taking $47.07 million in its first weekend and topping Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets' $42.22 million to claim the #1 box office spot for week 47 of 2002."
"A stunning result! After the previous Bond entries underperformed, could this mark a new dawn for the old IP? Meanwhile, Harry Potter's slip comes as a surprise—its predecessor dominated the charts for weeks. Has the magic faded? Was Sorcerer's Stone just a fluke? Does HP lack the staying power of SW?"
"That said, Chamber of Secrets continues to perform brilliantly outside North America."
And with that—
Warner exploded.
"Holy crab—"
"Who the hell released that story?!"
When Barry Meyer heard CNN dissing HP live on air, he smashed a chair in his office.
What, you think he didn't flip the desk because he was calm?
It was solid wood. The man's not the Hulk.
His secretary, trying not to sigh, explained, "Sir, it was Ted Turner's order."
"Hhh—"
"Fff—"
"Hhh—"
"Fff—"
Barry Meyer inhaled. Exhaled. Inhaled again. Exhaled again.
Then crash—he kicked the chair halfway across the room.
He wanted to strangle Ted Turner with his bare hands.
But he couldn't.
Because Ted Turner was AOL Time Warner's largest individual shareholder.
You don't pick a fight with your own overlord.
Yes, Barry had the powerful Ross family behind him—
but unless Turner crossed a serious line, they couldn't risk an open war.
And technically, Turner hadn't done anything "wrong."
CNN was just reporting facts. No fake news, no slander. Even if CNN didn't say it, other outlets would.
And indeed—
NBC, CBS, FOX, USA Today—everyone jumped in to report 007's "comeback" and HP's "fall."
Public perception turned, and Chamber of Secrets' North American run took a heavy hit.
It was the same story that hit Star Wars earlier that year.
SW, HP—everyone knew how strong they were. So if something could beat them, people had to see it.
The god bled, and the crowd wanted proof.
That curiosity fed Die Another Day's box office bump.
MGM was ecstatic.
They flooded the press with paid stories: "Bond defeats Potter!"
And once 007's numbers rose, the dominoes fell.
If a rival film could earn as much as Chamber of Secrets, then—
sorry, Chamber, your showtimes are getting cut.
And without screens, how's your box office supposed to grow?
So even as Warner scrambled to save face, Chamber of Secrets slipped back to second place in the North American charts after November 25.
And from then on…
007 kept edging it out.
Every day.
But that wasn't even the worst part for Warner.
The daily difference between Chamber of Secrets and Die Another Day was only a few hundred thousand dollars—never more than a million.
Death by a thousand cuts.
Barry Meyer completely lost it.
Meanwhile, analysts began predicting that, at this rate, Chamber of Secrets would top out around $250 million in North America—far below Sorcerer's Stone's $310 million.
So unless Chamber's overseas numbers surpassed Sorcerer's by $60 million, it wouldn't reach the same height.
And Sorcerer's Stone had made $657 million overseas.
To beat it, Chamber would need $717 million.
Possible? Barely.
But only one movie had ever gone beyond that—
Titanic.
So…
This year, Chamber of Secrets might lose to The Lord of the Rings.
Warner might lose to New Line.
The Ross family might get their butts kicked by Ted Turner.
"Ohhhhh—"
"Looks like Isabella's gonna lose!"
In sunny California, where she'd just wrapped Ella Enchanted and was getting ready for Christmas, Anne Hathaway jumped up, thrilled.
——
(A few notes on Warner's internal chaos)
① Practically every analyst back then predicted Chamber of Secrets would hit $1B worldwide. It didn't—mostly because Die Another Day screwed things up.
② Warner had actually planned a Catwoman movie as early as 1992, with Tim Burton attached to direct, but Steve Ross's death derailed it.
③ Halle Berry was notoriously arrogant in the early 2000s. When Marvel boss Perelman congratulated her on her Oscar, she demanded higher pay and endorsement fees, threatening not to return to X-Men otherwise—right in public.
④ Her outrageous asking price for Catwoman disgusted Warner, but they still paid her $12.5 million, fooled by her 007 "bump." The film bombed, she got blacklisted by all six majors, and her career flatlined.
PS: Everyone knows about Warner's inner warfare, but for the record—Ted Turner and the Ross family's feud was way worse in real life. After AOL merged with Warner, new CEO Gerald Levin (a Ross man) was literally cursed out by Turner in a board meeting. The photo of it was in the papers.