Illusiveone
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97: Redoing my Life, Presenting the DCU
🕑 Added 2024-08-14 16:17:49 +0000 UTCAs I walked into Chris’s office, he looked up from his desk, clearly preparing to leave. His jacket was already draped over one arm, and he was in the middle of gathering a few papers.
“Where were you?” Chris asked, his tone casual but with a hint of curiosity.
“I was getting some coffee,” I replied, trying to keep my voice equally nonchalant.
Chris checked his watch, then glanced back at me. “Well, I just called the meeting now, so let’s go.”
“Yeah, I was there when Buddy and Henry decided to start early. Victor messaged you, didn’t he?” I asked, recalling the brief conversation I’d had with Victor just minutes ago.
“You met Victor?” Chris asked, a flicker of interest in his eyes.
“Yeah, nice guy. I think I’ll have his support today. He was very passionate about superhero media,” I said, remembering how animated Victor had been when discussing his ideas.
Chris gave me an amused look, his lips curving into a slight smile. “You know he’s after my job, right?”
“What? No… He is? Why would you think he’s after your job?” I asked, surprised.
Chris’s expression shifted, becoming more serious. “You’ll see. You’re going to have to deal with inter-company politics like this, Danny. You’ll have to answer to a lot more people. Some in Nebula are not happy with how the merger happened.”
“I see,” I replied, understanding the underlying tensions more clearly now.
Chris patted my shoulder, his tone lightening. “Come on, let’s go.”
Together, Chris and I walked to the conference room. The room was expansive, dominated by a large, polished table that stretched nearly the entire length of the space. The walls were made of glass, offering a breathtaking view of the city skyline. Sunlight filtered through, casting a warm glow across the room, but the atmosphere inside was anything but warm.
Seated around the table were the board members, a mix of executives from both Stardust and old Nebula. Buddy, the former head of Nebula, sat at the head of the table, but his role as Chairman was largely ceremonial. He had little real decision-making power, serving more as a symbolic bridge between Nebula and Stardust. Everyone respected his opinions though they would not have to listen to it.
Victor, whom I’d just spoken with, was engaged in a quiet conversation with Rebecca ‘Becky’ Thompson, the CFO she was formerly of Nebula. Becky was someone I knew well—she had been pestering me for weeks about my “so-called secret project” and why it would require such a significant budget. She was sharp, no-nonsense, and clearly determined to meet the quarterly company earnings.
Around the table, other board members exchanged polite nods and brief words, but there was an undercurrent of tension. This was a room full of powerful people, each with their own agenda, and today I had to convince them all.
I had to sell them on the idea of the DC Cinematic Universe—no, more than that, I had to sell them on the very concept of a cinematic universe. The stakes were high, and every word I was about to say could either make or break the future I envisioned.
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The meeting began and various matters were discussed and decisions were made, but it was clear that the real reason everyone had gathered was yet to be addressed. As the discussion on financial reports and operational updates wound down, Chris stood up, his movement immediately drawing the attention of the room.
“The other matter we’re here to discuss today,” Chris began, his voice commanding the room, “is because of Daniel.” He motioned toward me, all eyes in the room following his gesture. “He has a proposition to present to the board regarding the DC IP’s, which, as we all know, has been the lingering question on everyone’s mind—how are we going to go forward and use these characters?”
Buddy, sitting at the head of the table, nodded in agreement. “Well, Daniel,” Buddy said, his tone encouraging but serious, “we’re all here. Let’s hear what you have to say.”
I stood up and walked over to the large screen at the front of the room. It was already connected to a PC, and with a few clicks, I brought up the first slide of my presentation.
“Let’s start by taking a look back,” I began, addressing the room. “The Golden Age of superhero movies—the era that truly defined what these characters could be on the big screen.”
The slide showed images from the 1970s and 1980s, iconic stills from Superman and Batman.
“Back then, we had Superman: The Movie in 1978 and its sequel in 1980. These films weren’t just successful—they were cultural landmarks. They captured the essence of what it meant to be a hero and brought that to audiences in a way that had never been done before. But then, something changed.”
I paused, clicking to the next slide, which displayed images from Superman III and Superman IV: The Quest for Peace.
“By the time we got to Superman III and Superman IV, the magic was gone. These movies didn’t just fail at the box office—they tarnished the legacy of the character. The same can be said for the original Batman films. The first two were groundbreaking, redefining what a superhero movie could be, but by the time we got to Batman & Robin… well, we all know how that turned out. It nearly bankrupted the studio.”
Victor, who had been listening intently, leaned forward, interrupting. “The public eventually lost interest,” he said.
I shook my head slightly, a small smile playing on my lips. “No, Mr Steele, the movies just got shittier, and then the public lost interest.”
The room was silent for a moment, the truth of that statement sinking in. I continued, clicking to the next slide, which showcased the early 2000s and the resurgence of superhero films, including X-Men and Spider-Man.
“The 1990s saw a revival of sorts, led by Fox’s efforts. But even that was short-lived. The success wasn’t sustained because the studios didn’t understand what they had. They treated these characters as fads, cash grabs, rather than the cultural icons they truly are.”
I paused, letting the weight of that statement linger before moving on. “But today, we’re in a different era. We now possess the technology and talent to make these stories better than ever before. Not just better, but something entirely new.”
As I clicked on the next slide, the word "CINEMATIC UNIVERSE" appeared in bold letters across the screen.
"Cinematic universe?" one of the board members read aloud, his tone curious but skeptical.
I nodded and began to explain. "A cinematic universe is a series of interconnected films where each movie is not just a standalone story but part of a larger, cohesive narrative. Characters from one film appear in others, plotlines are interwoven, and events in one movie have repercussions in others. It’s about creating a world where all these stories exist together, influencing each other, and ultimately leading to a larger, more impactful conclusion."
The board members exchanged glances, a mix of intrigue and cautious interest evident on their faces.
"Our competitor, Marvel, has already started down this path," I continued, clicking to the next slide, which displayed the Marvel logo and images from the recently released Iron Man movie. "They’ve just released Iron Man, and it was a huge success, making a significant impact at the box office. But that’s just the beginning."
I clicked to the next slide, which showed a lineup of upcoming Marvel films. "Marvel’s plan is to release a series of films over the next few years. First, they’re following up with a Hulk movie, then a sequel to Iron Man. After that, they’ll introduce Captain America and Thor—each character getting their own standalone film."
As I spoke, the slides changed to show images from each of these upcoming movies, the logos of the characters prominently displayed.
"But here’s where it gets really interesting," I said, pausing for effect. "After all these individual films, Marvel is planning something unprecedented. They’re going to bring all these characters together in one ;larger than life film—The Avengers."
I clicked to the final slide, which showed the Avengers logo. "This movie will unite all the narratives from the previous films, bringing the characters and their storylines together for a single, massive event. It’s a bold, ambitious plan, and will soon be announced."
The room was silent, the weight of what I was saying settling in. The board members were clearly processing the scope of what Marvel was attempting.
"Marvel has a head start," I continued, pacing slightly as I spoke to emphasize the point. "Iron Man was a C-tier hero, known mostly to comic book nerds. But look at him now—he’s a household name. And soon, they’re going to do the same with their other characters, turning lesser-known heroes into global icon’s."
I paused, letting the weight of that sink in before continuing. "But we’re in a different position. We already have the most iconic and beloved superheroes of all time—Superman, Batman, Wonder Woman. These are characters that have been ingrained in popular culture for decades. Nebula started the superhero boom with these very characters. Almost everyone in the world knows who they are."
I clicked to the next slide, which displayed striking images of Superman, Batman, and Wonder Woman, their iconic symbols prominently featured.
"We have the opportunity to build something that rivals what Marvel is planning. No..not just rival it—we can surpass it. Just like Marvel is doing, we will create individual movies for each of our major heroes. Superman, Batman, Wonder Woman, the Flash, Aquaman—each will have their own story, their own film, where they stand as the central figure. These movies will allow us to explore their origins, their challenges, and their triumphs."
As I spoke, the slides changed, showing concept art and logos for potential standalone films featuring each of these heroes.
"And then," I said, pausing dramatically before clicking to the final slide, "we’ll bring them all together in one big film."
The slide changed to reveal the Justice League logo, surrounded by images of the team’s core members—Superman, Batman, Wonder Woman, the Flash, Aquaman, and more.
“But I know that is this is not what you would like to hear what you want to know is how much money we can make from this”
This got some laughter in the room.
"One critical aspect from this is the long-term financial benefits of establishing a strong, loyal fanbase."
“DC has a good fan base but not new ones this will create millions more around the world”
I turned back to the room, making eye contact with several board members as I spoke. "When we talk about creating a cinematic universe, we’re not just talking about a series of successful films. We’re talking about building a brand, a franchise that fans will engage with over years, even decades. By developing these iconic characters and their stories in a way that resonates deeply with audiences, we’re cultivating loyalty—loyalty that translates into repeat viewership, merchandise sales, and a constant demand for more content."
I clicked to the next slide, which showcased a projection of potential revenue streams—box office earnings, digital sales, streaming rights, merchandise, theme parks, and licensing deals.
"Consider this: a strong, interconnected cinematic universe encourages rewatchability. Fans won’t just watch a film once; they’ll revisit it time and again, piecing together the larger narrative, discovering new details, and anticipating future installments. Each movie we release doesn’t just stand alone—it adds value to the entire universe, making every subsequent film more enticing. This creates a cycle of sustained engagement and, crucially, sustained revenue growth."
The next slide displayed a graph, showing the potential revenue trajectory of a successful cinematic universe, with key points highlighting merchandise sales spikes during film releases and steady streaming revenue in between.
" Each new release will drive interest in past films, encourage new viewers to catch up, and bring old fans back for more. This cycle ensures that our content remains relevant, continually driving revenue through multiple channels—box office, home entertainment, merchandise, and beyond."
I paused, letting the significance of what I was saying sink in. ". By investing in this now, we’re setting ourselves up for sustained growth and profitability, securing Stardust’s future as a leader in the entertainment industry."
The room was silent for a moment after I finished my presentation. The board members exchanged glances, some nodding thoughtfully while others frowned, clearly weighing the risks against the potential rewards.
“If it fails, it could financially ruin us,” one board member finally spoke up, his voice tinged with concern. “We’re talking about a massive investment with no guarantee of success.”
I nodded, acknowledging the gravity of his words. “I understand the risks,” I said, keeping my tone calm and measured. “That’s why I propose we take things slow. We don’t have to commit to the entire cinematic universe right away. We start with the first few movies—test the waters, see how they perform financially. If they’re successful, we can then move forward with the larger plan.”
Buddy leaned forward, a spark of excitement in his eyes. “This is a great plan,” he said, his voice enthusiastic. “It’s something new, something bold. We’ve been stuck in the same cycle for years, and this could be the breakthrough we need.”
Before anyone could respond, Becky interrupted, her voice sharp and clear. “It would be a nightmare financially,” she said, her tone firm. “This is a huge risk. We’d be pouring resources into a long-term plan that might not pay off. What if the first few movies don’t do well? We could end up in a worse position than we are now.”
An argument quickly erupted, with board members weighing in on both sides. Some echoed Buddy’s enthusiasm, arguing that it was time to take a bold step forward, while others sided with Becky, warning that the financial risk was too great.
“This could be our chance to redefine the industry,” one person argued. “But if we fail, it could cost us everything,” another countered.
The room grew louder as the debate intensified, voices overlapping as pros and cons were thrown back and forth. The excitement and fear were equally palpable, creating a whirlwind of conflicting opinions.
Chris, seeing the chaos unfolding, stood up and raised his hands, calling for order. “Everyone, please!” he said, his voice cutting through the noise. “Let’s bring some order to this discussion.”
The room gradually quieted down, all eyes turning to Chris. “Daniel did say that we can move forward only after seeing if the first few movies do well,” Chris reminded them. “He’s proposing a measured approach, not diving headfirst into the deep end.”
Victor, who had been listening quietly, nodded in agreement. “He’s right,” Victor said, his voice calm. “This is something new, and we haven’t had something new in a long time. We should do what Mr. Adler suggested—make the first movie, announce this cinematic universe, and see the response. If it works, we move forward. If it doesn’t, we reassess.”
‘Ha I knew Steele would be on my side’ I thought happily.
The room began to settle, the board members slowly coming around to the idea. The initial resistance was fading, replaced by a more cautious optimism.
I let out a small breath of relief, realizing that the tide was turning in my favor.
‘Huh, it worked,’ I thought happily, feeling a sense of accomplishment. At least I wasn’t completely rejected.
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