The Wolf of Wall Street
The Wolf of Wall Street was not what one would call a highly anticipated blockbuster. Nor was it the sort of film destined to skip theaters and head straight to videotape. The production budget alone had exceeded the typical Hollywood blockbuster threshold of one hundred million dollars, and the marketing campaign had been substantial from the very beginning. A significant portion of that budget had gone to star salaries, but the costs for crew wages, set construction, and costumes had also been considerable. Moreover, the fact that two massive investment firms—ID Investment and Lehman Brothers—had taken completely opposing positions on subprime mortgages was already well known. Their bets were so large that one side’s survival meant the other’s ruin. Anyone with even a passing interest in finance would find the premise intriguing, yet the problem was that far more films existed to capture the general audience’s curiosity.
The biggest sensation of 2005 had, of course, been Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. The fourth installment followed Harry Potter’s fourth year at Hogwarts as he competed in the Triwizard Tournament. Because the Harry Potter series enjoyed worldwide popularity, its box office performance was extraordinary, surpassing nine hundred million dollars. The distributor was Time Warner Nextcom, and since Yoo Jae-won had personally invested in the project, at least ten percent of the total revenue belonged to him.
Chasing closely behind Harry Potter was the final film of the Star Wars prequel trilogy, Star Wars: Episode III – Revenge of the Sith. Its global earnings reached eight hundred fifty million dollars, placing it a mere fifty million behind Harry Potter. While the prequel trilogy had been a commercial success, fan reactions and critical reviews had been lukewarm at best.
“Still, it’s hundreds of times better than The Last Jedi will be in 2020.”
Yoo Jae-won, checking the global box office numbers, offered his own assessment of Revenge of the Sith. At the time, he had been fully immersed in his work and had not been able to enjoy cultural outings as freely as he once had. Even so, he had made time for science-fiction films like Star Wars. After being deeply disappointed by the previous eight installments, he had gone to the theater with cautious hope—only to leave profoundly let down. The Star Wars franchise, though never a massive hit in Korea, had been a towering achievement since the 1980s. Even at its worst, it should not have collapsed so completely, yet the film had been bad enough to alienate even core fans like Yoo Jae-won.
“I won’t let it fall apart like that this time.”
It would not be difficult. The primary reason the new trilogy had failed so spectacularly was that the Star Wars rights had passed from Lucasfilm to Disney. Disney’s constant interference had driven the project off course. Therefore, when Lucasfilm eventually sold the rights, Time Warner Nextcom—not Disney—would acquire them. Yoo Jae-won never lost a bidding war, and the current Disney was in no position to compete with him. Before his regression, Disney had possessed clear future potential through Pixar’s world-class 3D animation and the Marvel franchise. Now the situation was entirely different. Disney had enjoyed successive hits from Pixar and Marvel films, accumulated enormous cash reserves, and used them for aggressive acquisitions. The crown jewel of that strategy had been the purchase of Lucasfilm. Having elevated Marvel’s superhero films to a high level, Disney was expected to deliver at least competent results with Episodes VII, VIII, and IX. Instead, the outcome had been disastrous.
Yoo Jae-won had taken up that baton instead. The first step had been Batman Begins, released the previous year. It had ranked eighth worldwide and earned a respectable four hundred million dollars, marking the beginning of well-crafted superhero cinema. With that success as a signal, DC and Marvel superhero films were now queued for release. Because both DC and Marvel fell under the ID Group umbrella, their release dates had been carefully coordinated from the production stage to avoid overlap. Audiences could now look forward to annual installments of the highest-quality superhero films, backed by massive capital and cutting-edge technology. In 2006, Marvel’s X-Men series would launch. Fans who had been impressed by Batman Begins had already marked it as their most anticipated release. Yet the X-Men series was not Marvel’s true flagship. Marvel was preparing something far larger: the Infinity Saga, an epic tale in which every hero and villain would clash according to their beliefs and interests.
Unfortunately, the Infinity Saga that had unfolded before Yoo Jae-won’s regression had excluded the X-Men. When Disney acquired Marvel, the X-Men rights remained with 20th Century Fox, preventing characters like Wolverine and Professor X from appearing. Now that the rights for both DC and Marvel heroes had been cleanly consolidated, a far richer Infinity Saga could be realized. DC, inspired by Marvel’s plans, had begun its own Justice League project, but Yoo Jae-won was less optimistic. Unlike Marvel’s heroes, whose popularity grew when united, DC’s heroes performed better when kept separate. Superman in particular was a balance-breaker; no matter how skillfully the story was constructed, the synergy remained minimal. It was far more effective to craft strong standalone films, as with Batman.
“Ah, right. I need to focus on The Wolf of Wall Street right now.”
Yoo Jae-won pulled himself away from thoughts of Marvel and DC and returned to the present. He opened the chart listing Hollywood release schedules and checked which films were currently performing best.
“Hmm. Ice Age 2 is the dark horse at the moment.”
The 3D animated film was set in the Ice Age and featured long-extinct creatures. Produced by Blue Sky Studios and distributed by 20th Century Fox, the first installment had been a global hit upon release. The sequel, while not as well received, was drawing family audiences with children like a dry sponge soaking up water.
“May has our X-Men and The Da Vinci Code as well.”
Looking further ahead revealed even greater threats. The Da Vinci Code was the mystery thriller by Dan Brown, who had risen rapidly after winning the Million Dollar Challenge. While the novel’s rights belonged to the ID Foundation, Columbia Pictures was handling the film’s distribution. Time Warner Nextcom’s production slate was tightly packed, leaving no room for controversial projects like The Da Vinci Code. The controversy stemmed from the film’s direct confrontation with Christianity. Its interpretations and distorted portrayal of Christian history had drawn sharp criticism from the Roman Catholic Church, and Protestant denominations were equally uncomfortable. The largest religious group in America was Protestant, and pastors of major churches were actively calling for a boycott. Of course, such controversy only boosted box office performance. The louder the debate, the greater the public awareness, which translated directly into ticket sales.
Naturally, Yoo Jae-won wanted as many people as possible to see The Wolf of Wall Street—before the subprime mortgage crisis erupted. The film had not been made to earn money but to spread a sense of urgency. If viewers recognized the coming crisis and prepared for it, that alone would be enough.
“June 9th looks good.”
In the end, Yoo Jae-won decided to avoid a direct clash with The Da Vinci Code. Since the latter had earned twenty million dollars in its opening weekend alone, releasing one week later seemed wiser than competing head-on. Once the decision was made, he immediately sent an ID Talk message to the key personnel.
The replies arrived within minutes. The fastest response came from director Adam McKay. The slight hesitation in his opening “Hmm” conveyed a trace of disappointment; naturally, he wanted the film to reach audiences as soon as possible. The second reply came from Bob Iger, president of Time Warner Nextcom’s film division. Originally, Bob Iger had been slated to succeed Michael Eisner as Disney’s CEO, but Time Warner Nextcom had moved faster and successfully recruited him. His mandate was the same as it had been at Disney: aggressive acquisitions. Even as the world’s largest media conglomerate, Time Warner Nextcom still had gaps. With Marvel and DC as its one-two punch, it nevertheless eyed other attractive companies. Pixar and Lucasfilm were the targets of its unrestrained ambition—much like Thanos collecting Infinity Stones for the Infinity Gauntlet.
Surprisingly, the Pixar acquisition had proceeded smoothly. Pixar’s owner was the famous Steve Jobs. Pixar had originally been the computer division of Lucasfilm. When George Lucas needed quick cash during a sudden divorce, he sold only the computer division, and the buyer was Steve Jobs. The purchase price had been ten million dollars; Jobs’s interest lay not in creative content but in the powerful hardware system capable of producing 3D animation—a means to promote his own Next hardware through promotional films. Everything changed when Pixar’s feature-length 3D animation Toy Story became a massive hit. Yet Jobs’s fundamental view had not shifted much since the early days. With his focus now on the smartphone business and a need for additional capital, selling Pixar had become an easy decision.
Disney had negotiated first, but the current Disney was in far worse shape than before the regression and could not meet Steve Jobs’s asking price. Time Warner Nextcom had therefore become the preferred bidder. Yoo Jae-won had assumed that Steve Jobs would be difficult to deal with, given that Time Warner Nextcom—half-owned by Yoo Jae-won—was the next suitor. The opposite proved true. Jobs seemed to believe that extracting the highest possible price from Yoo Jae-won would only benefit him, and he showed no sign of walking away from the table even while quoting an inflated figure. In fact, he appeared so confident of receiving the full amount without any discount that he conducted the negotiations with complete ease.
“That attitude won’t last long.”
Value was always relative. Pixar’s valuation had soared thanks to the success of the Toy Story series, and with multiple buyers including Disney and Time Warner Nextcom, a hefty premium had been added. But what would happen once the subprime mortgage crisis struck? As Yoo Jae-won had predicted, that day arrived in an instant.
The Wolf of Wall Street opened simultaneously worldwide, with the earliest screenings in South Korea, where new films reached theaters fastest. Japan might have technically been able to open earlier, but its closed distribution system meant new releases arrived several months later than in other countries. South Korea, by contrast, had seen rapid development in its film industry, with major corporations building multiplexes across the nation. The United States followed nearly a day later, beginning on the East Coast.
Unfortunately, the film did not break opening-weekend records the way The Da Vinci Code had. Still, among films released on June 9th, it claimed first place. Worldwide, it earned twelve million dollars on its first day—seven million of that in the United States alone. With average ticket prices around 6.5 dollars, that meant over one million Americans had chosen The Wolf of Wall Street on opening day.
Among those one million was Aaron Fuld, CFO of Lehman Brothers. It was a Friday night after a rewarding week; under normal circumstances, a lavish drinking session would have followed. Instead, his colleagues suggested they go see the movie that supposedly told their story. The differing views between Lehman Brothers and ID Investment on subprime mortgages were already famous, so when a film about it appeared, even Aaron Fuld felt a spark of curiosity and headed to the theater for the first time in a long while. He intended to watch how many leaps of logic and flights of fancy the film employed to “prove” its absurd hypothesis, then laugh at it to his heart’s content.
With that confident expression, Aaron Fuld entered the theater. When the credits rolled, he walked out looking as though he had seen a ghost. His colleagues wore similar expressions. They had planned to go drinking afterward, but neither Aaron Fuld nor anyone else mentioned alcohol. In the awkward silence, Aaron Fuld was the first to leave. He fled the theater and went straight to Lehman Brothers, the place that had felt like a perpetual festival. Back at his desk, he powered on his computer and began frantically searching for something.
“This is insane!”
The data on his monitor was a line graph showing the default rate on subprime mortgage bonds. The graph, which had been steadily rising since the previous year, matched exactly the trajectory the film’s protagonist had described when predicting the collapse of the subprime market. Under normal circumstances, Aaron Fuld would not have been shocked by such a graph. But the graph in the movie had projected data all the way to October 2006—a future date that had not yet arrived. And that projection had matched reality perfectly up to the present, in June. The film had reportedly been completed earlier that year. A chill ran down Aaron Fuld’s spine.