"Congratulations, sir. Both Mr. Bean and Power Rangers Force have an average viewer rating of approximately a 7 out of 10," Lisa noted, placing the analytics sheet tenderly on Harry's desk.
Harry leaned back in his chair and let out a sigh, an unusual smile softening the edge of his generally focused expression. He expected it to do well -- but expecting something and seeing it, were two completely different things.
"A 7," he said. "Solid. Not revolutionary, but consistent. That's enough to pacify the board."
Lisa grinned. "Pacify them? At this pace, you could make them applaud."
Harry stood with an exaggerated stretch. "Give the whole office tomorrow off. They deserve it."
Later That Day -
"Congratulations, Harry. I knew your vision would pay off," Mason said proudly from the receiver.
"Thanks Uncle. But it wouldn't be possible without your help. All those 'supplies' you snuck into our storage closet? Those really came through for us."
Mason chuckled. "What can I say? It is art to be able to smuggle expensive camera rigs and generators through a cafeteria entrance. Plus, you know your mom had me promise her I would be there for you, without being too incriminating."
Harry hesitated, then asked, "Has she... called?"
There was a pause.
"No." Mason said slowly. "She hasn't. She was happy about the ratings though. I think... she still hasn't got over your father's death. It really hit her harder than anyone thought it would."
Harry stared at the wall in his office. He hadn't known this version of his mother very long. But in her eyes, he saw the same fierce maternal instinctive protectiveness as his real mother had once had.
"I'll call her," Harry said finally.
"Do. She misses you."
After a very small silence, Mason said, "So what's next? New show? Movie?"
Harry shrugged. "Waiting on the board to decide - they haven't approved my position yet."
"They will." Mason insisted. "Now that your shows are earning some unreal cash, those old men will come around. I'll put some pressure on where needed."
Harry laughed. "I appreciate your soft influence."
"Please. I'm charming. Classic. Graceful."
"You bribed a janitor to sneak in a prop wardrobe," Harry deadpanned.
"Gracefully," Mason said, before hanging up.
_____
Miraculously, and even unbelievably Mr. Bean exploded. It grabbed a 20% share of the national TV programming block for three months across the board – something unheard of for a non-verbal sketch show aimed primarily at children.
What analysts and viewers alike were also surprised to find was the demographic of the audience.
Yes, kids watched...but teenagers, college kids, and even young working professionals latched onto the character's odd-ball chaos and freedom.
Even young mothers were extolling Rowan's performance online. There were hashtags, and there was a fan page with the tagline "I Want a Boyfriend Like Mr. Bean" which Harry found to be both disturbing and funny.
"The Internet is still in its infancy. If they did this during lockdown....I am frightened to think what they will come up with for Rule 34."
Amidst the glare of penetrating drama and reality television, Bean had something unique:
Simplicity. Believableness. Relatable absurdity.
____
JTV Headquarters – Private Reception
"Something to celebrate Mr. Curtis. Mr. Atkinson," Harry said lifting his glass of champagne in his office. "To dedication...and to believing in your odd little character."
Rowan Atkinson was beaming from ear to ear. "I can't believe this is a dream come true. I never thought I'd actually become the dream."
Richard Curtis, thoroughly red-cheeked and four drinks in with wobbly fondness, banged their glasses together.
"I pitched this to every network, you know," he said slurred. "The BBC, Channel Four, Granada. One exec told me I was writing a show about a socially maladjusted mime who needed therapy!"
Harry laughed. "Well, sincerest thanks to that exec. His rejection made me a millionaire."
"You saved me," Richard replied, pointing his glass at Harry with a slightly wobblier reverence. "I was sinking. Nobody believed in this."
Harry pointed back with a grin, and with a few drinks also at that point. "No, you saved me. If any of these shows tanked, the board would have sent me back managing the obituary column at Jackson News."
They all laughed.
While Mr. Bean was top of the ratings, Power Rangers Force was slowly building but thriving. It was in the mid to low 5% in TV share, but as for merchandising, it was a supernova. Toy stores could not keep the figures in stock. The kids were wearing Red Ranger lunchboxes and bringing Blue Ranger thermoses to school. JTV had license deals with McDonald's, Kellogg's, and other businesses doing a line of brightly colored sneakers called Morphs with Nike Kids.
Where Power Rangers didn't register the Nielsen ratings...it dominated at retail.
And that meant: money.
A lot of it.
On a quiet Tuesday, Lisa walked into Harry's office to find him—shirt sleeves rolled up—on the phone, screaming at someone.
"I said I wanted the Rangers lunchboxes shipped to every Toys "R" Us by the 15th, or I'm pulling your rights faster than a Netflix cancellation!"
She paused, "Sir... who exactly are you yelling at? And what is netflix?"
"Global licensing manager," Harry said, hanging up. "They were late on the packaging redesign. The Blue Ranger still has two left hands."
Lisa blinked. "How did you even notice that?"
Harry raised an eyebrow. "I'm a producer. A billionaire. And a control freak. Pick your poison."
She sighed and handed him a folder. "Also... we don't own a private jet, sir. So maybe next time, don't promise to send 'a company plane' to fly the Rangers cast to Comic-Con?"
Harry waved a hand. "Details, Lisa. We'll rent one. Or I'll steal Mason's."
"Remind me again," she said dryly, "Were you always like this, or was it the crash that made you this eccentric?"
Harry smirked. "A little of both."