"I've been to the president's offices at Universal, Warner, and Fox," Dunn said, his tone dripping with mockery. "Honestly, not one of them holds a candle to this place."
Tosca Musk didn't miss a beat. "What about Pixar? Have you been there?"
Dunn froze for a second.
Tosca smirked faintly. "Animation studios—especially computer animation ones—are a whole new breed. They're nothing like traditional Hollywood studios. Take Pixar, for example. Would you call them a Hollywood company? I don't think so."
She had a point. Pixar didn't fit the Hollywood mold.
Sure, they made movies, but their philosophy and operations ran on Silicon Valley rules. Even their filmmaking process was a stark contrast to Hollywood's norms. Hollywood relied on a producer-driven system, while Pixar's animation was all about the director calling the shots.
That's why every Pixar film had a killer story—deep, heartwarming, and meticulously crafted. They didn't skimp on time or money, taking the slow-and-steady approach to perfection. Of course, that came with downsides: huge costs and long production timelines.
Compare that to DreamWorks Animation, the other big player in the game. They stuck to Hollywood's classic producer-driven model, churning out films on tight schedules. The results were hit-or-miss—quality, content, and box office numbers swung wildly.
This year, Pixar had even moved into a shiny new office building. The whole place looked like something out of a fairy tale—bright colors, clean lines, and a dreamy layout that screamed Steve Jobs' minimalist Japanese-inspired aesthetic.
DreamWorks Animation, meanwhile? Still clinging to Hollywood tradition, holed up in a cramped little office.
Dunn frowned and waved a hand. "I'm not here to argue with you, and that's not what I care about anyway."
"Is it… about animated movies?" Tosca ventured, reading his mood.
"What do you think?" Dunn shot her a cold grin.
Tosca gave a self-deprecating chuckle and shook her head. "Looks like you still don't trust me."
Dunn paused, then said evenly, "This is Hollywood, not Silicon Valley. You can't just charm investors with a slick pitch and a big idea here."
Tosca settled onto the couch, meeting his gaze with a serious look. "Movies are the only way Sliwood Animation can survive."
Dunn laughed in disbelief. "Tosca, don't you think that sounds ridiculous? I handed over the Fantastic Four rights for free to help Sliwood Animation grow. And what have you given me in return?"
"I'm grateful for your generosity," she said, shaking her head with a straight face, "but after running the numbers, Fantastic Four alone won't cover Sliwood's expenses."
Dunn clenched his jaw. "An animated Fantastic Four series, once it's made, could easily pull in four or five million a year through sales channels and Dunn Films' promotional muscle. That's not even a challenge."
Tosca bit her lip, hesitating before letting out a small sigh. "Five million a year isn't enough to keep Sliwood Animation afloat."
"What?" Dunn sat up straight, eyes wide. "How many people did you hire? The paperwork said 18, right?"
"It's 18 employees," Tosca admitted, her expression tinged with bitterness, "but 11 of them are top-tier computer engineers I poached from Silicon Valley."
Dunn raised an eyebrow. "I'm gonna need an explanation."
"I can promise you," Tosca said, "these 11 engineers are the best animation effects experts in the world. Some worked at Blizzard, others at Microsoft, and a few were artists at Sun Microsystems. This team is just as good as Pixar's—maybe better. And they've already delivered results."
"Go on."
"We're developing three pieces of animation software, and we'll patent them. One idea's especially cool: animated films get dubbed into different languages worldwide, and mouth movements vary by language. This software adjusts the characters' lip-sync to match each language perfectly, making the viewing experience way better."
The irritation on Dunn's face started to fade, replaced by a flicker of surprise. "You don't need tech that advanced for just an animated series."
Tosca nodded. "True, but Sliwood Animation needs a future, doesn't it? This team's salaries alone cost five million a year. A TV cartoon can't sustain us—only animated movies can."
Dunn sighed, shaking his head. "Tosca, you're rushing things way too fast!"
"I know," she said, her face flushing, "but I want to prove myself! So many friends told me leaving Silicon Valley for Hollywood was a mistake. I want to show them I can make it—even as a woman!"
"This isn't about gender," Dunn said, waving her off. "And for what it's worth, I don't think you're any less capable than a man." He drifted into thought.
"Thanks."
After a long pause, Dunn spoke slowly. "Tosca, ambition's great, but animated movies—especially computer-animated ones—are a swamp. Even DreamWorks' animation division treads carefully with that stuff."
A flash of disdain crossed Tosca's face. "That's because DreamWorks doesn't have enough high-level computer engineers!"
Dunn laughed dryly. "Don't forget, DreamWorks' biggest shareholder is Paul Allen—Microsoft's co-founder!"
"So what?" Tosca shrugged, unfazed. "Mr. Allen might get programmers, but that doesn't mean Katzenberg does. I've got a natural edge here."
"Making an animated movie with the cash Sliwood's got right now? That's nowhere near enough," Dunn said, eyeing her closely.
"I know," Tosca replied, pausing before flashing a confident smile. "That's why I haven't given up on the Fantastic Four series. Once investors see it, I'm sure they'll buy into my vision for animated films."
Dunn smirked. "Tosca, you've got guts."
"The Musk family's always been this confident."
Her words caught Dunn off guard.
She was right. Forget Tosca—her brother Elon Musk was the same way. Dreaming of Mars, he started with reusable rockets to cut costs. And he actually pulled it off!
Could Sliwood Animation have that kind of breakout potential too?
Staring at Tosca's earnest, self-assured smile, Dunn felt a flicker of something—like a vision. Maybe the future of Hollywood animation wouldn't just belong to Jeffrey Katzenberg, John Lasseter, and Chris Meledandri. Maybe there'd be a fourth name up there—a woman. Tosca Musk.
She had the same tenacity and spirit as her brother.
Dunn took a deep breath and nodded, his tone softening considerably. "Tosca, how about showing me around your animation studio?"
"Of course! But Fantastic Four is still in progress, so you'll only see some rough clips."
"That's plenty. Wait—it's not a computer-animated series, is it?"
"Yup, it sure is!"
Her answer nearly made Dunn's jaw drop.
This woman was insane!
Fantastic Four was just a kids' cartoon for Nickelodeon. In this era, those shows were thrown together quick and cheap—slapstick stories, no need for fancy production. Computer animation was still exclusive to Pixar's big-screen hits!
But Tosca Musk, this madwoman, had gone all in, deciding to make a computer-animated series. How much was that going to cost?
A traditional hand-drawn cartoon could get by on $2 million. Switching to computer animation? That's at least ten times more!
Dunn didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
This series wouldn't just fail to turn a profit—it'd be a miracle if it didn't tank completely!
And he'd even tossed in the Fantastic Four rights for free!
All he could hope for now was that she'd use this to rack up enough computer animation experience to lay the groundwork for her future films.
At this point, Dunn was out of options.
Or maybe—he was willing to give Tosca Musk one more shot.
Who knows? She might just pull off a miracle, like her brother.