Hollywood: titanic director

In the end, during Game 6 of the 2000 NBA Finals, the Los Angeles Lakers beat the visiting Indiana Pacers 116-111. After twelve long years, they claimed the championship title again—the 12th in Lakers history. 

"Shaq" O'Neal was a beast in those six Finals games, averaging 38 points, 16.7 rebounds, assists here and there, and 2.7 blocks per game. He dropped 40 points in three of those games, including an unreal performance in Game 2. Kobe got injured early, so Shaq carried the team solo with 40 points, 24 rebounds, 4 assists, and 3 blocks—like something out of a superhero comic. Thanks to that jaw-dropping run, Shaq snagged Finals MVP. 

Watching Kobe and Shaq hug it out after the game, Dunn couldn't help but feel a little nostalgic. Memories last forever, right? Natalie, though, stayed pretty chill. She couldn't care less about basketball, but she loved the wild energy in the arena after the Lakers won. 

"Zen Master" Phil Jackson stood on the sidelines like a statue, cool as ever, exuding this quiet confidence while reporters snapped pics. Ron Harper crouched on the floor, hiding his face as he cried. Glen Rice draped himself in a Lakers cape, bouncing around like an excited kid. 

But the one who really caught her eye was Oscar-winner Jack Nicholson. The old man was as hyped as anyone out there. He stood courtside, busted out some awkward dance moves, and sent the Staples Center into a frenzy like never before. 

When the championship celebration hits, that's when fans lose all sense of reason. 

Two stone-faced guys sitting quietly behind Dunn—his private security—warned him it was time to go. Things were about to get even crazier. Dunn grabbed Natalie's hand and walked over to Jack Nicholson. "Sorry, my security team's telling me I've got to head out." 

"Huh? Oh, alright, see ya!" Jack was still riding the high of the win, but then it clicked—wait, this was Dunn Walker! He paused, a little slow on the uptake. "Oh, right—that movie you mentioned… who's directing? You?" 

Dunn grinned. "I'm the producer. Tim Burton's directing." 

"Tim… oh, him! Yeah, we've worked together twice. He's a great director with some wild ideas," Jack said, tossing out a casual compliment. "Send a script to my agent later. If the role's decent, I'll give it a shot." 

Then, without waiting for Dunn's thrilled reaction, he turned back around, hugged the Lakers' owner, and kept his cool—well, mostly. 

Meanwhile, Universal's internal analysts faxed over their take. They weren't too optimistic about Spider-Man's long-term box office run compared to giants like Titanic or Star Wars: Episode I. Sure, it had raked in over $350 million in North America in under 20 days, but hitting $550 million? That'd be tough. 

With tickets at $5.40 a pop, Universal didn't think Spider-Man could pull in over 100 million moviegoers. Its story didn't have the depth of Titanic, and it lacked the cultural legacy of Star Wars. Relying on a small group of comic diehards and Dunn's loyal fans to keep buying tickets just wasn't enough firepower. 

At current prices, matching Titanic's $600 million or The Phantom Menace's $580 million in North America was a pipe dream. With the internet booming, TVs getting sharper, and shows getting better, Americans had more entertainment options than ever. Movie theaters weren't the only game in town anymore. Unless some groundbreaking film came along—like Star Wars, E.T., or Titanic—getting 100 million people into seats was off the table. 

Dunn got where Universal was coming from. To drag folks away from their computers and TVs back to theaters, you'd need something new—big screens, 3D, Dolby surround sound. That combo of cutting-edge tech and a killer movie was the only way to recreate those old-school box office legends. 

But then Universal's marketing team sent some good news. While Spider-Man might not break records in North America, its overseas haul could surprise everyone. The Phantom Menace leaned hard into American culture, which turned off some foreign markets, leaving its overseas take at $600 million. Spider-Man, though? Way more universal. 

The "Spider-Man" character was brand new to moviegoers everywhere—stateside and abroad—hitting everyone with the same fresh concept at the same time. No one overseas would feel left behind. Based on its steady overseas performance so far, topping Titanic's $1.28 billion record might be a stretch, but beating The Phantom Menace's $600 million? Totally doable. 

The original Spider-Man pulled in $820 million globally. Now, Dunn had cut the fluff, kept the good stuff, and made his own version. With James Cameron's "mirror possession" vibe and the "world's richest director" hype, adding a few hundred million more to the tally didn't seem too crazy. 

Like Steven Spielberg said at a party once, these days, the name "Dunn Walker" alone was worth $500 million!