The Unsinkable clocks in at 135 minutes, while Pearl Harbor drags on for 183 minutes. So, when this movie wraps up, that one's still chugging toward its end.
Over here, the crew's holding a post-screening thank-you event, but Dunn's sitting it out. He pulls out his phone to check the updates from his insiders.
Thirteen text messages!
Dunn scrolls through them one by one, a smirk creeping onto his face.
"When the leads kissed, some people in the audience laughed!"
"David Thomson, the critic from The New Republic, looked dead serious. He scribbled a long rant in his notebook, all huffy—definitely not good vibes."
"The romance dragged on too long. A lot of folks were visibly annoyed—I even heard boos."
"I saw some people dozing off."
"Famous critic Roger Ebert kept shaking his head during the screening. He didn't seem happy with it at all."
"…"
James Cameron sidles up quietly. Like Dunn, he's not into these fan-pleasing gigs and has handed them off to the lead actors.
"Got any news?"
"What do you think?"
"Good news?"
Dunn chuckles and hands over the phone. "See for yourself."
Cameron skims the messages, a sly grin tugging at his lips. "Is it really that bad? This is a premiere, man. You'd think the audience would at least show some basic respect."
Dunn shrugs. "Maybe… that movie's so rotten even a premiere crowd can't stomach it."
Cameron sighs. "If that's true, it's no fun. No competition at all."
Dunn bursts out laughing. "You're such a sneak!"
The night's festivities are just getting started.
Dunn Pictures and Universal Studios are throwing a joint party at the Lois Hotel—a celebration of this pretty solid premiere, and a chance to drum up some buzz.
Dunn shows up a bit late. He got a call.
Two days from now, on Saturday night, the TARZ network's airing Saw. Latest stats show the network's installed in 24 million households.
Paid subscribers haven't spiked, but thanks to Spider-Man's pull, TARZ is making a name for itself across North America.
Of course, Saw deserves some credit too.
Horror flicks are a staple for niche cable channels!
Most movies shine brighter in theaters, but horror? Sometimes watching it on your couch at home hits different.
Dunn arrives just in time to spot Mel Gibson coming from the restroom. He waves with a grin. "Hey there, big star!"
"You talking to me?" Mel Gibson flaps a hand dismissively. "These days, it's all about the young guns."
Dunn wags a finger. "This summer, you've got two blockbusters—The Unsinkable and Mr. & Mrs. Smith. No question, you're the brightest star of the season!"
Mel Gibson waves it off, a little exasperated. "Alright, enough with the flattery. I've heard it all before. Besides, you're the producer on both. If anyone's the star, it's you!"
Dunn cracks up. "You sound like you're not feeling it?"
Mel Gibson shakes his head, exasperated. "I'm just wiped out! These past weeks, bouncing between promo for both movies, running around, plastering on smiles for every event—my face is about to cramp up."
"Hmm, once this craziness dies down, how about I take Nat to Australia… maybe hit up your place for some hunting?" Dunn says, perking up.
"Anytime, mate!" Mel Gibson lights up, then pitches an idea. "You should buy a ranch down there. Land's cheap—you could snap up a huge farm. Forget hunting with rifles, you could roll out tanks!"
"Whoa, seriously?" Dunn's eyes gleam. Now that sounds tempting.
Mel Gibson grins. "You're Dunn Walker, man. The Aussie government would roll out the red carpet. Safety-wise, no cannon fire, but speeding around? Totally doable."
"Sweet! Everyone else races cars—we'd race tanks!" Dunn laughs heartily.
Mel Gibson gives him a long look. "You're not joking? If you're serious, I could make some calls."
Dunn pauses. "I've always had a plan to snag a big estate in Australia."
Mel Gibson smirks. "Cool, I'll keep an eye out. If nothing fits, just build one to your liking. You're not exactly short on cash."
The tank thing? No need to dwell on it—just a young guy's wild daydream.
If Dunn actually went for it, it'd be too flashy, clashing with his big-shot persona.
Everyone's got their way to unwind, sure.
But it can't be too far off from who you are, or it'll turn into a joke.
"I'm also planning to build a place of my own in L.A., so no rush," Dunn says, switching gears. "Oh, by the way, my business is branching into TV now. We're shooting a bunch of shows this year—The Wire, The Punisher, and Six Feet Under 2 are locked in. We'll need tons of actors. If you want, I can save some spots for you."
"TV shows?"
Mel Gibson raises an eyebrow.
He's a movie star legend—TV's not really his world.
Dunn explains, "The movie market's limited, resources are tight, and there's only so much room. TV's a bigger playground by comparison."
"Our Aussie crew mostly sticks to movies…" Mel Gibson's brow twitches, suspicion flickering in his eyes. "Wait a sec—you're not scoping out some pretty girl again, are you? Not enough hotties in movies, so you're eyeing TV now? Trying to sweep up all the Aussie beauties?"
"No way!" Dunn laughs it off. "Fine, forget it. The TV biz is big enough anyway—never too late to jump in."
Mel Gibson waves a hand, getting serious. "Let's talk business. I've got a project I've been itching to get off the ground, but for all sorts of reasons, it hasn't happened."
Dunn's heart skips. Not The Passion of the Christ, right?
That movie made bank but stirred up a storm of controversy, ticking off the Jewish community big time. Even Dunn would have to tread carefully.
"Not a religious flick, is it?"
"Nah." Mel Gibson shakes his head.
Dunn breathes easier and grins. "No problem then. With our friendship, your project's a go—even if it flops, I've got your back!"
"A movie with me starring would flop?" Mel Gibson shoots him a mock glare.
"Haha!"
"Know how I got famous?"
Dunn blinks, waiting for the answer.
Mel Gibson sighs nostalgically. "Two franchises. Mad Max made me a star in Australia, and Lethal Weapon made me a Hollywood name."
Dunn's mind clicks—suddenly, it's making sense.
Lethal Weapon is Warner's series. The latest, fourth installment hit in '98 with Jet Li as the big bad, raking in $285 million worldwide.
Meanwhile, Mad Max is an Aussie creation. As Mel Gibson's star rose, Australian film companies couldn't keep up with his salary demands. After 1985's Mad Max 3, no more sequels came.
Sure enough, Mel Gibson says, "Australian cinema's been slipping lately—especially commercial stuff. They can't crack overseas markets anymore. I want to use Mad Max to give Aussie films a boost."
Dunn shrugs. "It's not just Australia. With Hollywood's effects era taking over, movies worldwide are losing their shot at global reach. English-language films especially—top talent flocks to Hollywood. It's a one-horse race now."
Mel Gibson sighs. "Still, you've got to try. Mad Max in Australia is like 007 in the U.S.—a generation's memory."
Dunn nods. "Mel, we're brothers. You want to shoot a Mad Max sequel? I'm all in! But… I need to know—who's the main player here? Dunn Pictures, or some tiny Aussie film outfit no one's heard of?"
Mel Gibson locks eyes with him. "You've got ideas?"
Dunn says, "As a friend, I'd back you no question. But Dunn Pictures is a company—a Hollywood company. It's got to keep its Hollywood pride!"
Hollywood studios often team up with overseas companies for co-productions.
But the lead producer? Always Hollywood!
The Mad Max rights sit with Australia's Village Roadshow and George Miller's production company—two outfits that don't have the clout to negotiate with Dunn Pictures.
Dunn Pictures investing at all is a huge favor!
Mel Gibson gets it and nods, relieved. "No worries, I'll smooth things over with the Aussie side."
Dunn smiles. "If possible, Dunn Pictures would love to buy up all the rights."
Mel Gibson shuts that down fast. "No chance! This series is George Miller's baby—he wrote and directed the first three. He's not handing over control."
"George Miller… yeah, he's a headache!"
Dunn's brow furrows, lost in thought.
In his past life, George Miller teamed up with Warner for Mad Max: Fury Road. The visuals were jaw-dropping, the experience electric.
But massive budget disputes soured things between Miller and Warner.
That led to Warner half-assing the marketing and botching the release schedule—pitting it against Avengers: Age of Ultron, Pitch Perfect 2, and Tomorrowland. A killer flick like that only pulled in $378 million, making it the year's biggest box office letdown.
Miller, furious, dragged Warner to court over every excuse he could find.
Dunn's not about to sign up for that kind of thankless mess.