"The biggest challenge in adapting Batman is how to showcase Bruce Wayne's power. In the comics, this superhero's intelligence and combat skills reach the pinnacle of human potential, backed by immense wealth and high-tech gadgets. When necessary, he can even go toe-to-toe with superpowered heroes like Superman or Green Lantern. In comics, anime, or TV shows, these traits can unfold gradually through the plot, but in a film that's usually just around two hours, highlighting them becomes difficult. One misstep, and Batman could come across as utterly ordinary."
Inheriting memories from over a dozen people, Simon's mind held exhaustive details on various versions of the Batman films.
Starting with Tim Burton's first Batman, Bruce Wayne almost habitually got overshadowed by villains. Even in later films like Justice League, Batman—the supposed team leader—was reduced to a marginal background character, showing none of the enduring charm this iconic superhero should have.
The Batman character had been around since 1939—half a century—with some live-action versions, but none left a lasting impression on audiences. This was the main reason Warner was so hesitant about a film adaptation. Superman could soar through the skies and display superpowers, but Batman was ultimately just a mortal. No one knew what techniques or style to use to bring this superhero to the big screen.
In the restaurant.
Terry Semel listened to Simon's analysis and asked, "Simon, do you think you can solve these issues?"
Simon took a sip from the nearby mineral water, set down the glass, and said, "Of course—otherwise, I wouldn't be interested in adapting Batman into a film."
Terry Semel looked curious. "Tell me more."
Simon's actual plan was to launch the DC superhero universe ahead of time, linking characters like Batman, Superman, and Wonder Woman in a series of blockbuster films. Compared to Marvel's higher special effects demands, current technology could handle the DC universe without much trouble.
But.
He couldn't reveal that to Terry Semel outright—he'd prepared another pitch.
"Over half a century of comics, Batman has been given too many skills—that requires choices. So, I plan to focus on showcasing Batman's personal combat prowess and his high-tech arsenal, like the Batmobile, Batplane, and so on. Compared to Bruce Wayne's intellect and strategy, these elements are the easiest to wow audiences. If Warner hands the project to Daenerys Films, I'll set up a dedicated special effects and tech team to tackle these issues."
Terry Semel shook his head. "Simon, that's too vague."
Simon replied, "It's not something I can explain in a sentence or two—it involves too much. Take personal combat, for example. Terry, in my view, Hollywood hasn't produced a single noteworthy action film yet. I plan to draw from martial arts films from across the ocean. Martial arts films—you know them?"
Terry Semel nodded. "Vaguely, yes."
Simon smiled. "If you're interested, I can recommend a few. Eastern martial arts have thousands of years of history. Their wuxia novels are like superhero comics—stories of people upholding justice and punishing evil. And compared to the graceless brutality of boxing or wrestling, Eastern kung fu on screen delivers a shocking visual impact."
Terry Semel suddenly said, "I remember—Bruce Lee."
"Exactly, that kind of kung fu."
But Terry Semel hesitated. "I have some recollection of Bruce Lee's films. Simon, do you think his style of action could work for Batman?"
Simon said, "According to the comics, Batman masters over a hundred fighting styles, many of them are martial arts. And of course, I won't just copy wuxia films—I'll tailor a custom action design for Bruce Wayne."
Terry Semel looked at Simon. "You?"
Simon deftly twirled his utensils in his hand, smiling at Terry Semel. "Terry, I know a bit about fighting techniques. And if needed, I'll hire professional action choreographers."
Simon's mind brimmed with classic action scenes. He envisioned Batman's fighting style as crisp and lethal—crafting a custom set from films, TV, and video games in his memories would be effortless, without even needing a dedicated choreographer.
In fact, Hollywood didn't have professional action choreographers yet—that role surged in the late '90s with filmmakers from across the ocean entering Hollywood, when action films started improving.
Currently, Hollywood action scenes were basically street-brawl level.
Terry Semel watched Simon's hand movements, recalling the incident two years ago where he'd taken on five youths and broken their legs. He no longer doubted this young man could design Batman's action sequences. But inwardly, he couldn't help marveling—what couldn't this Hollywood intruder do?
"Simon, if I'm understanding right, you want to handle Batman's production entirely?"
"Yes, I'll write the script and direct it myself. Terry, you know I prefer full control of my projects. So far, my films have all been very successful."
Terry Semel asked, "What about the film you owe Disney?"
"I'm planning to buy out my directing contract with Disney soon. If they refuse, it'll come after Batman—the contract doesn't require I fulfill Disney's before others."
Thanks to Run Lola Run's success, Disney's deal with Simon was very lenient.
This was standard for many top directors. Like Spielberg—his four-film deal with Universal post-Jaws remained unfinished, yet he'd collaborated frequently with Paramount and Warner.
"Since you have so many ideas, Simon—what about the budget? How much to make this film?"
Simon said, "Fifty million dollars."
Terry Semel was clearly startled. "For one?"
"Of course."
Simon nodded, understanding Terry's reaction.
A decade ago, Superman's $55 million budget set a record.
But actually, Superman's $55 million covered material for a trilogy—even 2006's Superman Returns reused Marlon Brando footage from it.
Hollywood budgets were exploding, but few reached $50 million.
In Simon's plan, he'd spend the next half-year refining Batman's tech aspects. Daenerys Films would establish its own effects studio like Lucas did for Star Wars—all requiring massive investment.
On another note, quoting $50 million was also to push Warner out as much as possible.
In the original timeline, Tim Burton's Batman had a $35 million budget, with Warner bringing in UK record giant PolyGram to co-invest—leading to shared profits on sequels.
To cut costs, Warner signed Hollywood's most suckerish all-channel profit-sharing deal with Jack Nicholson as the Joker.
After Batman's success, Nicholson raked in over $50 million from box office, video sales, merchandise— a record unbroken until after 2000.
Warner also overlooked sequels, not locking in long-term deals—causing constant lead changes in '90s Batman films, hurting box office.
Post-success, Batman became a goldmine. Outsiders puzzled at Warner's blunders, but it boiled down to zero confidence in a live-action Batman.
Fairly, Simon felt Burton's Batman had few highlights—downright poor.
Michael Keaton's Bruce Wayne was more everyman than later Ben Affleck versions, lacking Batman's charisma. Kim Basinger's heroine was off-key throughout; even the praised Joker was just Nicholson's average—harshly, standout only because the lead was so bad.
So why Burton's Batman success?
Simple.
As a half-century-old icon, Batman in American hearts was like [redacted] across the ocean. Everyone knew Bruce Wayne turned vigilante after witnessing his parents' murder—like how folks knew the [chingchong redacted] from a well.
Thus.
This generations-embedded superhero's first big-budget live-action film—many, even non-comic fans, entered theaters from sheer name familiarity. Let alone comic-raised fans.
So, the first big-screen Batman, if not total trash, was destined to succeed.
Burton's quirky, innocently weird style didn't suit superhero films. Batman's hit was timing.
Proof: Burton's sequel Batman Returns doubled budget but tanked box office. Later sequels aping his style worsened, bottoming with 1997's Batman & Robin.
Batman IP lay dormant until Nolan revived it—then DC predictably fell into another Nolan-dug pit.
Now.
In a Burbank restaurant near Warner Studios, confirming Simon's $50 million solo investment for Batman, Terry Semel looked hesitant. Simon noted it but didn't press; they ate quietly.
After two or three minutes, Terry Semel said, "Simon, Warner's eager for you to direct Batman, but we won't fully relinquish it. At least, we'll co-invest—so $50 million is too high."
Simon shook his head. "Terry, for superhero films like Batman, we need big investment for audience buy-in. Like Superman—first film's $55 million budget, over $300 million global. Last year's Superman IV, Cannon slashed to $17 million—North America barely $15 million, overseas zilch. Skimping leads to failure."
Terry Semel, knowing this better, paused. "Simon, write the script first—we'll assess. Maybe not $50 million needed."
"Per my plan, it'll only exceed $50 million—never less," Simon shook his head. "Terry, I know Warner can't risk $50 million, so I'll do it myself. Hand me Batman—maybe I'll make another box-office champ like Run Lola Run. Of course, distribution's Warner's. Win-win."
Terry Semel pondered, then said, "Simon, if you solo-produce Batman, fine—but Warner grants Daenerys only filming rights. Copyright stays ours."
Simon asked, "Like Cannon and Salkind's Superman IV?"
Last summer's Superman IV—Cannon got just filming rights; copyright still with British producer Alexander Salkind.
Terry Semel nodded. "Yes."
Simon shook his head. "Terry, I won't build the film just for Warner to kick me out."
Terry Semel denied, "We wouldn't."
Simon said, "How about a five-year license? If Daenerys doesn't start a sequel in five years, rights revert to DC."
Terry Semel thought. "Three years max, and Warner retains sequel investment rights."
Simon insisted, "For big-budget series, three years is too short—must be five. And if Warner wants sequel investment, Daenerys gets some distribution rights."
They haggled over ten minutes, settling a preliminary deal.
Daenerys gets five-year Batman rights; post-start, no sequel in five years—rights auto-revert to DC.
But on sequel investment/distribution, merchandise profits, etc.—many details unfinished; further talks needed. Yet this lunch outcome thrilled Simon beyond expectations.