Dunn had always kept a close eye on the animation industry—not just to take a swing at Disney's core business, but to secure the future of Dunn Pictures. Who could've imagined that in 2004, when General Electric's NBC group scooped up Universal Pictures for a mere $4 billion, Pixar's market value had already soared past that figure? The animation division was, without a doubt, Hollywood's rarest gem.
Making animated films wasn't like producing live-action movies, where money, connections, and resources could get you pretty far. Animation demanded talent—technical wizards, sure, but also creative minds, modelers, artists, animators, voice actors, and more. It was a whole ecosystem that even the slickest studio systems couldn't just conjure up.
Take Twentieth Century Fox: their animation department floundered for over a decade before they finally cut it loose and bought Blue Sky Studios to fill the gap. Universal, Columbia, Paramount—their animation arms were little more than names on paper. Dunn knew how tough animation was, so he figured he'd start small. His plan? Team up with Viacom's Nickelodeon channel under the Viacom umbrella to roll out a series of kids' cartoons. It'd be a double win: chip away at Disney Channel's dominance while nurturing his own animation talent pool.
But now, things weren't looking so great.
Bill Mechanic caught the heavy look on Dunn's face and held up three fingers. "Three issues. First—and this is the one I'm most worried about—the soul of any animation department: Chris Meledandri."
"He won't come over?" Dunn guessed, picking up the hint.
Bill sighed. "Chris is currently the top dog at Fox Animation, working hand-in-hand with Blue Sky Studios. They're about to drop their first fully computer-made 3D animated film. He's poured his heart into it, and he's not about to ditch it right before it pays off."
*Ice Age*, Blue Sky's famous series, did end up being a massive hit. Dunn couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment. Chris Meledandri was a titan in the animation world, a name that stood shoulder-to-shoulder with DreamWorks' Jeffrey Katzenberg and Pixar's John Lasseter. Irresponsibly or not, you could say that in today's Hollywood, no one else could carry the banner of animated films like those three.
Jeffrey Katzenberg had chaired Disney Animation from 1984 to 1994, ushering in its second golden age with classics like *The Little Mermaid*, *Beauty and the Beast*, *Aladdin*, and *The Lion King*. But in '94, a major power shakeup at Disney sent a slew of execs packing, including Bill Mechanic and Katzenberg himself. Without Katzenberg's vision, Disney Animation tanked. For the next decade and change, Hollywood's animation scene became a three-way standoff between Pixar, DreamWorks, and Blue Sky—until Disney bought Pixar, put John Lasseter in charge, and turned things around with hits like *Frozen*, *Tangled*, and *Zootopia*.
Now, with Chris Meledandri staying put at Fox, Dunn's dream of building his own animation talent from scratch was pretty much dead in the water.
"What's the second issue?" Dunn asked, rubbing his forehead like a headache was brewing.
Bill said, "Your idea to buy into Nickelodeon? Viacom shot it down."
"What?" Dunn could hardly believe his ears.
With Comcast brokering the deal, Dunn vouching for the content, and Disney Channel breathing down their necks, how could Viacom say no?
"It's not that they're against working together," Bill explained. "They just don't want us reaching too far into their sandbox. Why fend off a tiger outside only to let a wolf in the house?"
That hit the nail on the head. Viacom was a media conglomerate, a rival to Disney, sure—but it also clashed plenty with Dunn Pictures. Their Paramount Pictures alone guaranteed competition with any film studio. And right now, HBO's biggest rival, Showtime, was a Viacom-owned cable network. Dunn Pictures had recently snapped up Starz, dipping its toes into the same market and setting up a future threat to Showtime. No way Viacom would let Dunn Pictures muscle in on their cable TV turf.
Dunn let out a cold laugh, his face dripping with disdain. No wonder Viacom went downhill fast in the years to come—splitting off assets left and right, shrinking from a near-$100 billion giant to a measly $10 billion shadow of itself. Their vision was laughably narrow. Sumner Redstone must've been too senile—or too busy disowning his son—to remember how to run a company or think strategically. Classic short-sightedness.
Partnering with Dunn Pictures would've at least locked in half their stake. Sitting back and letting Disney Channel steamroll everything? They'd be left with nothing but crumbs.
"A creaky old family business," Dunn sneered. "This is all Viacom's got."
Bill shook his head. "Nickelodeon's got its own animation studio. Maybe they don't think they're at the end of their rope yet."
Dunn raised an eyebrow. "What, they won't even take our cartoons?"
"Not quite," Bill said. "Nickelodeon's thrilled to air superhero cartoons. It's Marvel that's got a different take."
"How so?"
"Marvel Entertainment and Marvel Studios aren't on board with turning their superheroes into kiddie cartoons. Nina's especially dead-set against it—she thinks it'll tank Marvel's high-quality film image. And Kevin said something I think makes a lot of sense."
"Kevin?"
"Yeah, Kevin Feige, Marvel Studios' assistant president," Bill paused. "He said if you're building a big 'Avengers' franchise, you need a consistent tone running through it. Fun, witty, mass-appeal entertainment is the way to go. No need to worry about missing the kids' market—more and more of them will flock to theaters down the line."
"Makes sense!" Dunn nodded approvingly. "Alright, let's shelve the mainstream superheroes then. We can do a *Fantastic Four* cartoon instead."
A *Fantastic Four* movie was a tough nut to crack—special effects were one thing, but the four main characters' setup was a mess too. Dunn had no plans to tackle it anytime soon. Turning it into a cartoon for Nickelodeon, though? That could work. Years later, once special effects caught up and Marvel films ruled Hollywood, they could ride that wave to launch a movie. By then, a cheap cartoon from now wouldn't drag it down much.
Even though Viacom nixed the partnership, Dunn still had to make cartoons. They'd bailed him out during his PR crisis, and handing over cartoon rights would square that debt.
"By the way, Bill, how's your relationship with Jeffrey Katzenberg?" Dunn mused after a moment.
Bill glanced at him, surprised. "It was decent when we worked at Disney. After he left to start his own thing, we drifted apart."
Dunn's eyes lit up with hope. "Bill, what if I bought DreamWorks Animation?"
Animation was non-negotiable. If Chris Meledandri wouldn't budge from Fox, Dunn would set his sights on another animation legend.
"Huh?" Bill blinked, caught off guard.
Dunn's excitement bubbled over. "Bill, DreamWorks is in rough shape. They've sold off publishing, games, and internet divisions. The music arm's bleeding money year after year, and animation's even worse. Last year's *Sinbad* didn't hit its box office goals, and this year's *Shark Tale*? Total flop!"
*Shark Tale* hit theaters at the end of March with a $95 million budget. Two months later, it'd only pulled in $43 million worldwide. Experts predicted it wouldn't break $80 million total. Sure, animated films had strong merchandising potential, but that relied on box office clout to drive it. A disastrous haul sealed its fate as a major loss. Hollywood had been buzzing about DreamWorks Animation's bankruptcy for a month already.
"It'd be tough," Bill said, not sold on the idea. "Jeffrey's a DreamWorks founder—animation's his baby. He'd never sell it. Same reason the music division's still around despite years of losses—David Geffen runs it himself."
Dunn wouldn't let it go. "Bill, I need you to make a few trips on this one. Dunn Pictures has to have an animation arm. If not today, then tomorrow. If not tomorrow, then the day after. Animated films are a must!"
Hollywood's windowed marketing model only solidified in the '90s. Animation? Still ahead of its time. Its massive potential was crystal clear to Steve Jobs and a forward-thinker like Dunn, but most big studios treated their animation wings like afterthoughts—including Bill Mechanic. He was old-school, his mindset a bit too conservative to share Dunn's burning passion for animation.
Still, seeing how fired up Dunn was, Bill could only follow the boss's lead. "Alright, I'll reach out to DreamWorks. But… Dunn, if you're serious about animation, I'd suggest having a few backup plans."
Dunn smiled and nodded. "I know."
Besides Blue Sky and DreamWorks Animation, what else was out there?
Pixar!