The whole idea of the "summer blockbuster" actually came from Steven Spielberg.
On June 20, 1975, Jaws premiered in North America. In its opening weekend, it devoured seven million dollars at the box office, reached twenty-one million in ten days, and broke one hundred million in fifty-nine days.
When the jaw-dropping numbers came out, reporters asked Spielberg how he felt. The then-young director said:
"I want to thank American students the most. It was they who walked into theaters during that blazing summer, and that's why Jaws could create a legend and reach the top..."
That's when the concept of the "summer movie season" was born—because Spielberg made capitalists realize how much spending power students had.
Uh... Seven million in the first week was already wild, especially since back in 1975, there was no such thing as a nationwide release.
When Jaws opened, it only screened in 409 theaters across the U.S.
At its widest, it played in just 954.
So if you calculate the per-theater attendance, even without adjusting for inflation, Jaws would have grossed over fifty million in its opening weekend if it had released nationwide.
Fifty million dollars. In 1975.
That's god-tier.
Now, since the U.S. summer break usually starts in mid-to-late May—Memorial Day (the last Monday of May) is a federal holiday and marks the start of school vacations—it's natural that once kids are off, no one's returning to class in early June. So in North America, the summer movie season officially runs from May 15 to August 31.
With that definition clear, the film that opened the 2003 summer season was The Matrix Reloaded. In just eleven days, it crossed 200 million in North America, annihilating every competitor.
But even under that pressure, some masters still thrived.
That would be Jim Carrey's Bruce Almighty.
It opened on Memorial Day and hit one hundred million in only seven days.
The whole industry was stunned.
Everyone thought, This might be Jim Carrey's best performance yet. Some even predicted it could gross half a billion worldwide.
Unfortunately...
Eight days after its release, Finding Nemo swam into theaters.
Pixar's coronation work flattened Bruce Almighty's momentum.
From then on, there was only one voice echoing through North American theaters:
"Nemo—!"
"Nemo—!"
"Nemo—!"
"Hahaha, that dad's such a goof!"
In a Los Angeles theater, Peter Hernandez was laughing so hard he nearly fell out of his seat, cracking up at Marlin, the anxious clownfish dad.
His panicky reactions—born from his timid nature—were both ridiculous and endearing. His deep love for his child added a warm touch to the film.
"Man, Pixar is incredible—every movie is funny and touching!"
"Yeah, ever since Toy Story, they've never missed. Unlike Disney. After The Lion King, it's been downhill. In the new century, they've totally fallen off."
"Well... not totally. Last year's Lilo & Stitch was pretty good. And this year, they've got that pirate movie coming up. I saw the trailer—it looked awesome."
"Eh, I didn't like Lilo & Stitch. And that pirate movie… you really think it's that good?"
"Of course! If you don't believe me, stay after Nemo and watch the trailer."
"Okay, deal."
The guy chatting with Hernandez was his roommate—his first friend after moving to L.A.
Like Hernandez, he'd come to Los Angeles at Dr. Dre's invitation two and a half years ago. But after all that time, he still hadn't taken off.
He was still an assistant at Aftermath Entertainment.
And Hernandez? Same deal.
In Journey to the West terms, even a low-ranking demon outranked them.
Their daily grind was soul-crushing—fetching coffee, running errands, cleaning the office, joining drunken karaoke sessions. They couldn't even get studio time, let alone release a track.
So when boredom hit, they'd go to the movies.
Pixar always hit the spot.
That 100-minute underwater adventure brought them pure joy.
As the credits rolled and the lights came up, they stayed seated instead of leaving, watching the trailers play—something pretty common in Western cinemas.
Since movie tickets there rarely have detailed info and staff don't bother checking, you can just stay seated and sneak into the next showing if you want.
Basically, if you've got the guts, you can buy one ticket and watch all day.
Of course, Hernandez and his buddy weren't that dumb. California didn't have "zero-dollar theft" laws back then; if you got caught, that was breaking and entering.
Why risk a misdemeanor for a movie ticket? Only a brain full of soup would do that.
So they just stayed a few minutes.
One trailer after another appeared:
—A cool guy driving a Nissan GT racing others (The Fast and the Furious).
—Another guy, furious on screen, transforming (The Hulk).
—Three women in black leather kicking criminals (Charlie's Angels).
Then a rom-com trailer popped up—
"Oh, Fox really knows how to milk it. Kelly Clarkson and Justin Guarini in a movie? Seriously?"
"Hahaha, I know! They're singers! Why act?"
"Right? That's gonna be the worst film of the year."
"Agreed. Singers should just sing. Fox really thinks everyone's Isabella now? Ridiculous."
The movie was From Justin to Kelly, made for the American Idol finalists.
Fox called it a "reward for the winners" and a "thank-you to fans," but anyone with two brain cells knew it was a cash grab.
Even Kelly Clarkson herself had no faith in it.
After all, the media already exposed how the project was rushed: Fox saw Universal make a killing with Eminem's 8 Mile, so they decided to make their own idol movie. They greenlit From Justin to Kelly in three weeks and shot it in six—including rehearsals.
Actors who couldn't dance suddenly had to "learn" choreography.
Everyone knew it was doomed.
If that movie became a hit, they said, they'd eat their own crap upside down.
As the two ranted, another trailer appeared—Pirates of the Caribbean.
The first shot made Hernandez's friend gasp.
A young woman looked into a mirror, revealing a pirate coin around her neck—
"Wait! Isn't that the girl from The Voice? Lily's sister?"
"Yeah." Hernandez grinned. "That's Keira Knightley, a British actress."
"Ohhh—so she's the female lead? I liked her in The Voice! She was great!"
"Exactly! That's why I'm excited for Pirates! Her scenes in The Voice were hilarious—like when she gave Isabella that painting. And that ending, when she made the fan T-shirts, was actually moving. So yeah, I don't think she'll do a bad movie."
Reputation matters in Hollywood.
Good reputation draws audiences in.
Bad one… well, enjoy your murder-mystery dinner gigs.
When Keira Knightley played the older sister in The Voice and shared scenes with Isabella—who was busy turning the "beaver" meme into gold—it left a strong impression on moviegoers.
So yeah… her being the Pirates lead? Worth watching.
"I think this one's a must-see."
The two-minute trailer ended quickly.
Pretty girl, funny action, solid effects—it had everything.
"Wanna go together?" Hernandez asked.
"Sure." His friend nodded without hesitation.
They were smiling—one happy to discover a new movie, the other pleased his recommendation worked—when the next trailer began.
A light, melodic strumming filled the theater.
"Wait… isn't that the intro to Love Story?"
They froze, halfway out of their seats, and turned toward the screen.
A bright room appeared—a music room.
Isabella sat in the middle, holding a guitar, eyes closed, lost in the music.
"Ohhhhh…"
Hernandez's friend was stunned.
"I-I-Isabella?"
He blinked hard, thinking he'd misseen it.
"What—did she release a new movie? How did I not know about this?"
Hernandez frowned, narrowing his eyes. He didn't know either—and he was a loyal Coypu fan.
So… what was this?
On screen, the Beaver Girl finished the intro of Love Story.
Everyone expected her to start singing—
but she stopped, set the guitar down, and touched the piano beside her.
As her fingers pressed the keys, a soft, reflective narration came through the speakers:
"When I was very, very young, I fell in love with music."
"I thought the rhythmic, melodic sounds were beautiful."
"I wanted to listen forever, to try recreating them… but I failed."
"Even so, I was lucky. When my family learned about my dream, they sent me to study music—to learn piano. They supported me, and helped me chase my dream."
"I'm very grateful to my family."
Dang.
She hit a loud chord—deliberate or not, no one could tell.
The screen suddenly tore apart, like invisible hands ripped a giant photo in two.
As the image split, a new world emerged.
It was a rainy day.
Isabella sat quietly in a glass sunroom.
Fat raindrops fell from the sky, crashing hard against the panes and making sharp crackling sounds. Sheets of water poured down from the roof like a waterfall, warping the world outside the glass into a blurry, distorted mess.
Her eyes were empty as she stared at the foggy view until—
the melody of "Tears in Heaven" began to play.
With the whirring of the projector, a voice tinged with nostalgia filled the theater:
"But then, a sudden accident brought my journey of chasing dreams to an end."
"My family went through a tragedy—my father left me forever."
"When he passed, my dream of music died with him."
"His death broke me. The cruelty of reality made it hard to breathe, but—"
"I was lucky."
"Because I met her…"
As the wistful words faded, the torrential rain vanished in an instant.
The sky cleared without warning, and a burst of warm sunlight drove away the gloom. Isabella stood up, startled.
With her movement, a faint silhouette appeared on the transparent glass wall of the sunroom.
But it wasn't her reflection.
It was—
"Hermione Granger?"
Besides Hernandez and his friend, there were plenty of other people in the theater—it was the summer season after all, peak movie time.
The moment a blonde girl in Hogwarts robes appeared on screen, the theater erupted in gasps.
Some were confused—no one knew what Isabella was talking about anymore.
Some were thrilled—because Isabella was the biggest star on Earth.
And when someone never missed once, anything she did instantly became a must-watch.
But none of that mattered.
As the audience murmured in surprise, the girl on screen reached out her hand.
Isabella's fingers met hers through the glass. In the next moment, ripples spread like water, and a magical transition swept everyone into Hogwarts—
Scenes from The Sorcerer's Stone and The Chamber of Secrets flashed by in a rush until the Prisoner of Azkaban set appeared, flipping like pages in a memory book until it finally stopped.
By the Black Lake, a playful figure stood with hands behind her back, smiling toward the unseen camera.
"Harry Potter changed my destiny and gave me a new life."
"I'm truly grateful to Rowling for believing in me, and to all of you for your support."
"Of course, I also want to thank Harry Potter's director Chris Columbus and Warner Bros., because with their help, The Voice movie could be made."
"The Voice was like a reflection of my own musical dream."
"Its success—and your love—surprised me."
"And now…"
She lifted her wizard's robe, drew her wand, and gave it a graceful flick.
In an instant, the world around her transformed.
The deep Black Lake vanished, replaced by a dazzling stage.
Her Hogwarts uniform melted away, replaced by a sparkling princess gown.
At the same time, the melody of "The Climb" swelled through the theater speakers.
"Your support allowed my musical dream to continue."
"It also made Warner Bros. see the power of dreams, the sound of people chasing them."
"So, after much discussion, we decided to bring The Voice from the screen into reality."
"If you love music, if you love to sing, if you have a dream—"
"Then you can join the soon-to-begin The Voice of America."
"And I…"
"I'll be waiting for you this summer—on that stage."
With a whoosh, the stage lights burst on.
Brilliant white beams illuminated Isabella at center stage, making her look almost holy, and drenched the vast stage in radiant color.
After a brief pause, the image blurred—then the The Voice logo slowly appeared.
Beneath it hung two rows of logos:
The first—Disney, Warner Bros., Coypu.
The second—Coca-Cola, McDonald's.
The sudden reveal hit the audience like a sledgehammer.
No one had heard of this before.
No media outlet had ever reported it.
And yet—
as the preview faded and the next movie's reel began, the whole theater exploded into uproar:
"W-W-What—The Voice is becoming a reality show?"
"Wait, what? When did this happen? How did I miss this?"
"Did Isabella just say she's going to be in it?"
"Yeah! She said she'll be waiting for me this summer! Does that mean if I enter, I can meet her?"
"No way—are you serious?"
"How do we sign up? Did it say how to apply at the end? I didn't catch it!"
The roar of excitement could've torn the roof off the place.
The noise was deafening, but no one cared.
The news was too big.
Isabella was too famous.
And Isabella… well, her reputation was impeccable.
The commotion snapped Hernandez's friend back to life. His eyes widened, breathing quickened, and even in the dim light, his pupils gleamed.
"Peter… I don't think we have time to watch Pirates of the Caribbean anymore."
Hernandez, still frozen in disbelief, turned his head stiffly.
When he caught the fire in his friend's eyes, his own lips twitched into a grin.
"Go?" he asked, licking his lips.
"Go."
Without another word, his friend bolted—vaulting over the row dividers, flipping down from the seats, and sprinting into the exit tunnel.