Entertainment: Starting as a Succubus, Taking Hollywood by Storm

DreamWorks Headquarters

The conference room was clouded with cigar smoke.

Jeffrey Katzenberg, puffing on a cigar, listened to Spielberg's self-criticism. His face, obscured by the smoke, gave away no emotion.

David Geffen, annoyed by the drifting smoke, waved it away and complained, "Can't you smoke outside?"

Then, turning to Spielberg, he said, "For now, we need to focus on publicity. We must create a buzz for Minority Report. The promotional tour with Tom Cruise needs to continue. What's his response?"

"I couldn't reach him this afternoon," Spielberg replied, frustrated. "I called his agent, but I still haven't heard back."

"Then keep calling!" Katzenberg snapped, his tone revealing his growing impatience.

To be honest, Katzenberg was fed up. DreamWorks had been founded with lofty ambitions—to become Hollywood's "seventh major studio."

But now?

Ha! If it weren't for my animation division, DreamWorks' stock would've plummeted into the abyss by now. Spielberg's live-action department kept losing money, and Geffen's music division was struggling against the rise of online music sharing.

Damn it, I should've thought this through before rushing into this partnership.

The cracks in the foundation were becoming visible.

"Steve," Geffen said, "you need to keep pressuring Tom Cruise. He's also invested in this movie."

Geffen shook his head, visibly disheartened.

To be fair, even he hadn't expected the film to fail. That Spielberg could also misfire was a shock.

Geffen had a sinking feeling that this failure might lead to DreamWorks falling apart entirely. Katzenberg had been vocal in his dissatisfaction, his own music division profits were thinning, and now Spielberg had stumbled.

No wonder he's upset. I'd feel the same way in his shoes.

Suddenly, an idea struck Geffen. "Steve, Jeffrey—didn't we discuss collaborating with Martin before? Maybe it's time to seriously approach him."

Spielberg, eager to recover his waning reputation, immediately latched onto the suggestion.

"I've spoken with Martin before, and he didn't seem opposed to the idea. I've got my eye on his novel, Ready Player One. It's perfect for a film adaptation—actually, all of Martin's works are. But—"

Spielberg hesitated before continuing. "But Martin insists that Meyers Pictures must be a major co-investor, with at least a 50% stake."

"That's a good thing!" Geffen exclaimed, slapping his thigh. "Every movie Meyers Pictures has invested in has been a massive hit at the box office!"

Katzenberg nodded. "Agreed. Getting Martin involved is a smart move. Disney and Warner Bros. have already established strong partnerships with him—why should we push him away? Besides, if Ready Player One is Martin's intellectual property, we won't get adaptation rights without him."

Hearing his partners' agreement, Spielberg felt relieved. He truly believed in Ready Player One and was eager to direct it.

"It's settled, then. Having Martin as an investor might actually be a good thing. He usually reduces his acting fees when he co-invests, unlike Tom Cruise, who demands both a share of the profits and a high salary."

To be fair, Cruise's demands weren't unreasonable. Unlike Martin, he didn't have the foresight to guarantee a movie's success, so his high salary acted as his safety net.

Miramax Headquarters

Harvey Weinstein put down the newspaper and scoffed. "Tom Cruise loses again. He doesn't have the box office pull he used to. Is this aging superstar on the verge of irrelevance?"

Harvey's relationship with Cruise had soured after Cruise rejected several of his offers.

And after the rumors of Cruise's "hidden relationships" surfaced, Harvey suspected Cruise might have been behind the leaks.

So, seeing Cruise fail brought Harvey a sense of schadenfreude.

But when he saw yet another success from Martin, that glee quickly faded.

Damn it, why can't this guy fail even once?

At that moment, Bob Weinstein entered the room with Quentin Tarantino.

Harvey composed himself and asked, "Quentin, how's the filming for Kill Bill coming along?"

"Smoothly," Tarantino replied. "We'll finish by the end of the year. But can't we get Martin for a cameo? His action scenes as Legolas and Neo were amazing. I love his fight choreography, and his popularity is off the charts. We could use that."

Harvey sighed inwardly, regretting his fallout with Martin, but he refused to swallow his pride.

"Forget about Martin. His action scenes were good because of the Hong Kong stunt teams. Why don't you hire a few of them for cameos instead?"

Tarantino, aware of the tension between Harvey and Martin, wished they could reconcile. But seeing no chance of that happening, he nodded.

"Fine. The Hong Kong stunt actors are great. Or maybe someone from Japan, like Sonny Chiba," Tarantino suggested.

While Tom Cruise fumed, DreamWorks' trio worried, and Harvey Weinstein regretted, Martin was back in the Dominican Republic, continuing the filming of Pirates of the Caribbean.

By mid-August, The Matrix had finally completed its four-month theatrical run, grossing $423 million in North America and $646 million worldwide.

Surprisingly, the film's international gross was lower than its domestic take, which defied expectations.

But the end of The Matrix's run didn't bring relief to other studios.

Spider-Man continued its global box office dominance.

Unlike The Matrix, Spider-Man's North American earnings of $310 million were comparable, but its international performance far outstripped it.

Of course, Spider-Man also had a much higher production budget—equivalent to the cost of three Matrix films combined.

Meanwhile, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone was proving unstoppable.

In terms of global box office appeal, Harry Potter outperformed even Spider-Man. As a perennial bestseller across international markets, the Harry Potter franchise had amassed an enormous fanbase.

Not even Marvel's most popular character, Spider-Man, could compete with that.