A private airfield in south Chicago.After the Daenerys Entertainment Falcon jet touched down, Robert Iger and Ira Deutchman warmly escorted a middle-aged couple off the plane. The Uncle Buck crew, currently shooting nearby with John Hughes's collaboration, had even sent a car to pick them up, an attentive touch.
Once the couple departed, Iger and Deutchman reboarded. The jet lifted off and continued east.
Inside the cabin, once level flight resumed, Ira Deutchman pulled a thick Academy member directory from his briefcase. He flipped to a name and jotted a few notes beside it.
It was already Monday, January 23.
Over the weekend, Deutchman had secured rights to six stage plays and, starting Friday, hosted three consecutive evenings of receptions aimed squarely at awards lobbying.
The couple who had just disembarked, the wife an Oscar voter in cinematography, had mentioned at Saturday's gathering that they were returning to Chicago today. Deutchman had immediately offered them a ride on the company jet.
Such small, low-cost favors left deep impressions.
Oscar nominations had not yet been announced, but Daenerys's campaign was already in full swing.
Robert Rehme was focused on expanding overseas distribution. Gaumont, by its nature, depended on awards prestige for survival, so Simon had handed the studio's awards push for last year's films to Deutschman.
After failing to secure sex, lies, and videotape, Deutschman realized his original strategy of buying finished films for distribution would not be easy.
While adjusting plans, success this awards season had become the key to earning Simon's approval during his probationary year.
Both his recent UK trip and this New York visit had been packed with meetings leveraging years of awards-related contacts, while remotely directing the studio's hired PR firms and marketing teams. He was leaving no stone unturned.
The Golden Globes, an Oscar bellwether, were this coming Saturday. That campaign was wrapped. His focus now shifted fully to the Academy.Under normal circumstances, Rain Man's current momentum made it the awards-season favorite.
Yet Simon did not want director Barry Levinson or star Dustin Hoffman to win, while insisting on Best Picture and hoping Dead Poets Society could take Best Director. That was the real challenge.
Iger and Deutschman both strongly supported Simon's collaborative ethos and practiced it themselves, so they got along well. Two of the three weekend receptions had been held at Iger's home.
They talked the whole flight. Two hours later the Falcon landed again, this time not in Los Angeles, but Salt Lake City, Utah.
The fifth Sundance Film Festival had opened the previous Friday. Though Deutchman knew any film Daenerys expressed interest in risked being snatched by rivals, he still wanted to scout promising titles or emerging filmmakers worth cultivating, and the festival would hardly lack Academy voters ripe for personal glad-handing.
Simon's directive to Deutschman was simple: steady progress.
More than three thousand Academy members, one by one, court them, build relationships, map the terrain. One day the entire system would be mastered.
In the original timeline, the Weinsteins's Oscar dominance had not come from lobbying every voter every year. It was the deep, decades-cultivated network and influence that made them unstoppable.
The Falcon finally reached Santa Monica airport around 11:30 a.m.
Iger sent his two staffers to Burbank and headed to Daenerys headquarters alone. Amy's assistant Vanessa was waiting.
After brief greetings, Vanessa said, "This way, Mr. Iger. Ms. Pascal is in a meeting. She said you should join her directly in the conference room."
Iger, puzzled, followed her to a small meeting room in the office building.
Inside, Nancy Brill paused her presentation at the projector screen when she saw him. "Good morning, Bob."
"Good morning." Iger nodded to Nancy, shook Amy's hand as she rose, and took the seat beside her. "Sorry to interrupt, Nancy. Please continue."
Vanessa handed him a folder. Nancy resumed: "Two years ago Blockbuster won its lawsuit against Nintendo over game rentals, gaining the right to sell and rent cartridges. Once Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles is developed, we can distribute through Blockbuster's channels and control both domestic pipeline and marketing."
Iger listened while quickly scanning the materials
It was a proposal for a Nintendo FC game based on Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. The title immediately reminded him of the Atari crash several years earlier.
Atari had originally been Warner Bros.' game console and software division.
In 1977 the Atari 2600 exploded across America, reaching a peak where one in three households owned one.
But after success, Warner milked the platform mercilessly, allowing a flood of low-quality developers to churn out garbage titles.
The market became saturated with junk, eroding consumer patience.
The tipping point came in 1982 with Warner's rushed, six-week E.T. game, widely considered one of the worst ever made, riddled with amateur bugs.
Of the four million cartridges produced, only 1.5 million sold. The rest were buried in a landfill.
Worse, consumers abandoned Atari entirely.
Sales plummeted. The North American game market, over three billion in the early eighties, shrank to a hundred million by 1985.
Analysts predicted at least twenty years for recovery.
Yet after a brief ice age, Nintendo, learning from Atari's mistakes, filled the vacuum with strict quality controls like licensing fees.
In recent years the market had begun rebounding. Unfortunately, it had become largely Japanese territory.
Nancy finished, discussed a few points with Amy, then politely sought Iger's thoughts.
Iger rubbed the twenty-eight-page proposal, total budget only two million, and asked, "Nancy, acquiring game rights costs two hundred thousand, but you're allocating just five hundred thousand for development. Can quality be guaranteed?"
Of the two-million total, two hundred thousand for rights, five hundred thousand for production, three hundred thousand for studio overhead, and one million for manufacturing and marketing post-completion.
Nancy nodded confidently. "Game development's main cost is labor. Since this is our first foray, I plan a small studio of about ten people. Five hundred thousand is ample."
Iger pressed, "Marvel properties like Spider-Man or Fantastic Four are even bigger and perfect for games. Why Turtles?"
Nancy shook her head. "I asked Simon. He said no."
Iger raised an eyebrow.
"He's extremely protective of Marvel, no room for negotiation. I tried Lord of the Rings too, refused. Run Lola Run's ancillary rights are already bundled and sold. But with the live-action Turtles film greenlit, I researched and saw the characters suit a side-scrolling beat-'em-up perfectly. Mirage Studios hadn't sold game rights yet, so I grabbed them."
Iger was no gaming expert. Since Nancy had already addressed the obvious concerns, he held back further comment.
They talked a bit more, then headed to a nearby restaurant for lunch as the hour struck noon.
Having only just closed the Blockbuster investment, Nancy had quickly produced another initiative, this one adding pressure on Amy.
Amy had considered games herself but lacked time to pursue it.
Now Nancy's proposal meant the new studio would fall under Consumer Products, not a direct subsidiary like Daenerys VFX or Pixar. Success would largely redound to Nancy. Failure would cost a negligible two million.
So over lunch, though she tried to hide it, Amy found herself leaning slightly more toward Iger.
Iger's mild manner lacked Nancy's relentless drive.
Amy, of course, had no idea of Simon's expectations for Iger.
Consumer Products, even after years of growth, would never rival Television in revenue. And located in Los Angeles, it would always remain under close corporate oversight. Iger, running Television from the East Coast, was effectively a regional viceroy.
After brief small talk, work inevitably surfaced.
Daenerys's TV production was West Coast based. With spring season approaching, Iger would resume weekly LA flights. This trip involved several shows plus a bigger issue.
"Regarding Who Wants to Be a Millionaire," Iger said, "Tom took me to lunch yesterday and laid it out. If we won't concede, ABC will cut second-season episode orders and shift the time slot."
Noting Nancy's confusion, he clarified, "ABC chairman Tom Murphy."
Nancy nodded silently.
Amy asked, "Their terms?"
"Halve the per-episode fee, and ABC wants a share of in-show product placement revenue."
Amy frowned. "Simon won't agree."
Nancy glanced between them and asked Iger, "Bob, how much are we making on Millionaire?"
As head of Consumer Products, she knew merchandise numbers but not overall revenue. The annual audit was incomplete. Iger did not hide it. "Based on last year's figures, about one hundred eighty million. Full first season, roughly two hundred fifty million."
Nancy's eyes widened. Her lips parted. She thought she had misheard. "Total revenue?"
Iger shook his head. "Net profit."
Nancy took a slow, deep breath.
Exhaling, she stared at Iger. "Two hundred fifty million? How is that possible?"
A beautiful woman's surprise is gratifying. Iger smiled patiently. "Unlike scripted shows with thirteen or twenty-six episodes, Millionaire runs sixty-nine per season, at two million per episode. Post-winter-break last year, ABC paid eighty-three million for the season under our deal, plus thirty million for the fifteen preseason episodes, total licensing alone one hundred ten million. In-show advertising brought fifty-six million. Syndication and international licensing about twenty-seven million."
Nancy listened intently, then calculated aloud. "Total revenue around one hundred ninety-six million, net one hundred eighty. Yes, that tracks. God, no wonder our young boss spends so freely. His companies never have cash-flow issues. He prints money."
But deeper reflection revealed the issue.
Among the Big Four networks, NBC was healthiest.
Networks ran fiscal years from the final calendar quarter.
Per GE's public filings, NBC's 1987–88 revenue, hurt by the writers' strike, was three point three billion, with profit only three hundred ten million, down from three hundred eighty the prior year. Margin under ten percent.
Yet Millionaire delivering Daenerys two hundred fifty million net seemed plausible.
A network aired twenty to thirty primetime shows weekly.
Like studio films, most broke even or lost money. A few carried the load. Add massive overhead, and NBC's three hundred ten million annual profit was impressive.
Millionaire occupied the choicest real estate, three weeknights at eight, full hour. Its phenomenon-level ratings generated ad revenue comparable to a studio's billion-dollar blockbuster.
Daenerys's costs were roughly twenty million production plus minor upfront marketing.
Thus total revenue around two hundred eighty million, under ten percent of a network's annual take, yet with near-ninety percent margins. Prime slot, richest profits, none of the network's overhead or loss-making shows. Daenerys was raking it in.
Nancy quickly asked, "How much does ABC make off the show alone?"
Iger considered. "Roughly eighty million."
Nancy's gaze flicked between Amy and Iger. She pulled a silent, wry face.
Amy and Iger exchanged a wordless look.
Daenerys banking two hundred fifty million while the platform owner, supposedly holding the power, earned less than a third. Anyone would balk.
Tom Murphy's willingness to negotiate stemmed mainly from ABC's desperate need for the show.
Though average per-episode ratings trailed Survivor, Millionaire aired three nights weekly versus Survivor's thirteen-episode seasons.
Thanks to Millionaire's stratospheric numbers, ABC, previously just ahead of upstart Fox, had after fall begun threatening NBC's top spot in overall share.
In such a strong position, ABC dared not drop the show lightly.
But if Daenerys refused compromise, any forward-thinking management would move heaven and earth to reduce dependence.
After a pause Amy said, "Simon has to decide this one. Bob, talk to ABC again, then draft a report and send it to Melbourne."
Iger nodded. With stakes this high, that was all they could do for now.