When Murdoch officially launched his grand "Evil Umbrella Operation," the summer box office season was already a complete train wreck. No matter how big an entertainment story was, it couldn't outshine the social firestorms raging across the country. So with topics like racial discrimination dominating every headline, there was basically no space left for movie marketing.
To put it bluntly: anyone dumb enough to steal the spotlight right now was just asking to get roasted alive by the public.
And when there's no publicity, projects die.
When projects die, studios lose money.
That's why, during that period, General Electric and Viacom went berserk attacking Fox.
Both companies owned major TV networks and film studios.
Sure, maybe their studios didn't have any epic-level IPs like Harry Potter or Spider-Man, but what—no big franchise means no right to live? They still had movies to push! Huge budgets! They wanted their slice of the summer box office too!
Take GE, for example. They'd just acquired Universal Pictures. And Universal was supposed to lead this summer season—or at least, they thought they were. Their big move was Van Helsing, a $170 million monster flick, set to open May 7.
Then, on May 5, Fox and Warner went to war.
And when two giants start swinging, every blow lands like a meteor strike. The entire Hollywood ecosystem trembled.
Under that chaos, Van Helsing limped to a pathetic $27 million opening weekend.
Universal lost its mind.
Sure, the word of mouth wasn't great—the movie was, let's be honest, a mess—but even bad CGI blockbusters don't tank that hard.
A $170 million movie earning $27 million in three days? That's not a weak opening. That's a funeral.
So, as the other studios watched the summer season crumble, they were already secretly sending the Murdoch family their "best wishes"—by which I mean very creative curses—until Fox finally surrendered.
Then, when everyone thought the social drama had finally cooled off and movie marketing could resume, something else happened.
Isabella returned.
And the industry froze.
Not because she caused chaos like a social scandal—but because Isabella Haywood had single-handedly hijacked all the traffic. Her influence was so massive that every other studio's marketing returns started collapsing.
For instance...
May 17, 2004.
Pacific Time.
California.
At 10 Universal City Plaza—a 506-foot tower that housed Universal Pictures' headquarters—
a group of executives sat around the 36th-floor conference table, grim-faced.
They were there to figure out how to survive this disastrous summer.
"I personally think Universal should withdraw from the first half of the summer box office battle," one executive said flatly.
"Given the current situation, we don't stand a chance."
Ronald Meyer, Universal's President and CEO, adjusted his glasses.
"Based on the data I've received, over the past week, Philosopher's Stone and Chamber of Secrets VHS sales and rentals have jumped by nearly six million dollars. At the same time, over 300,000 copies of the Harry Potter novels were sold."
"That's a terrifying number."
"Terrifying enough that we might as well surrender."
Silence filled the room.
Everyone understood exactly what those numbers meant.
Those movies and books had been out for years. Their fanbase was stable. Sales should've been flat.
If sales suddenly spiked, something external had caused it.
And what external force was that?
Marvel fans.
Playing with Beaver memes.
Then, the meme wave spread, dragging the entire internet with it.
At first, no studio took it seriously. "Marvel fans analyzing Harry Potter? Cute," they thought.
Comic readers and novel readers were different species.
Comics give sensory thrills; novels demand imagination.
So even if Marvel fans worshiped Chris Columbus as their cinematic messiah, who'd actually go read the Harry Potter books because of that?
Apparently… a lot of people.
Because sales really did skyrocket.
Ridiculously so.
Assume every Marvel fan who started "researching" bought both Philosopher's Stone and Chamber of Secrets.
Three hundred thousand books sold = about 150,000 new paying fans in one week.
That's wild.
For context: Order of the Phoenix had sold five million copies in 24 hours across the UK and US combined.
It had since surpassed thirty million worldwide.
But that success came after Goblet of Fire broke the previous record held by Prisoner of Azkaban.
It took eight years of buildup to hit that number.
And now, two old books suddenly gained 150,000 new paying readers in a week?
That's an explosion.
Donna Langley, Universal's Senior VP, finally spoke:
"I agree with Ronald. When Azkaban releases, those new fans will become impulsive consumers. Tens of thousands of genuine paying fans can easily translate into tens of millions in box office, since none of them go to the theater alone."
"A surge like that—if it hits opening weekend—could make Azkaban the second film in history after Spider-Man to break $100 million its first weekend."
"In the face of that kind of power, no amount of hype can save us."
"So I propose we immediately move The Chronicles of Riddick."
Right.
The terrifying part wasn't just that Harry Potter gained fans—it gained emotional fans, the worst kind.
The type who pay first, think later.
If they're hyped and the new movie's coming soon?
They'll stampede into theaters like it's a moral duty.
Tens of thousands of those? Nobody else survives.
Universal's only option: retreat.
The Chronicles of Riddick, starring Vin Diesel, cost $120 million and was originally slated for June 11.
Just one week after Azkaban's June 4 release.
Terrible timing.
But Universal had its reasons.
There were too many big IPs that summer—no date was safe.
And Vin Diesel wasn't exactly a weak draw.
The Fast and the Furious had grossed $207 million on a $38 million budget;
So maybe, they thought, if Riddick could grab some scraps from Harry Potter's leftovers, it might survive.
Also, Ronald Meyer's daughter Jennifer was dating Tobey Maguire.
Yes, that Tobey Maguire—Spider-Man himself.
Meyer liked the guy. He'd even saved Tobey's job on Spider-Man 2 after Sony nearly fired him for being late and acting like a diva.
So… Meyer wasn't about to release a Universal film directly competing with his future son-in-law's franchise.
Hence the original June 11 slot.
But now? Different story.
"So where do we move it?" asked Stacey Snider, Universal's Chairwoman, tapping her finger on the table.
She knew Meyer's personal motives, but whatever. Everyone in Hollywood had their own.
Including her—she was a DreamWorks plant, recommended by Jeffrey Katzenberg himself.
DreamWorks had made Universal a lot of money.
So really, why had Riddick been pitted against Azkaban instead of Shrek 2?
A mystery for the ages.
Meyer exhaled. "Then... let's move it to July."
"July's no good," someone countered. "Mid-July has Will Smith's I, Robot. Late July we've got our own Bourne Supremacy sequel."
"August, then?"
"August might work. Only Alien vs. Predator is there—but it's the tail end of the summer season. Vin won't like it."
Vin Diesel had a reputation. And no one wanted to cross him.
Meyer shrugged. "What's worse, August—or getting crushed by Azkaban?"
Silence.
"Exactly. August it is."
Thus, under the pressure of Isabella's unstoppable "Beaver Effect," Universal retreated.
Whatever anyone outside said, they weren't about to go head-to-head with Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban.
And they weren't alone.
Across Los Angeles, at 5555 Melrose Avenue—Paramount Pictures headquarters—Chairwoman Sherry Lansing sat in her own boardroom, listening to a grim report.
"At this point," said Paramount's head of distribution, "no one can compete with Harry Potter."
"Right now, Harry Potter feels like if he just flicks his wrist, he can shoot webs."
"This is absolutely insane."
"At this rate, even if Darth Vader himself showed up—yelling 'I am your father!' while swinging his lightsaber and throwing sparks everywhere—he still couldn't beat a Harry Potter who wields a wand in one hand and shoots spider silk with the other!"
"Hahahahahaha—"
That vivid image set off laughter across Paramount's conference room.
And yeah, they weren't wrong.
Paramount felt that Harry Potter had basically fused with Peter Parker.
Not just because Spider-Man was Marvel's most popular superhero, but because the hottest Marvel movie at the time wasSpider-Man. So when Marvel fans dreamed that Chris Columbus might one day make a great Marvel film, their gold standard for "a great superhero movie" was Spider-Man.
So, if Harry Potter suddenly gained some new fans?
Those fans would obviously be Spider-Man movie fans.
And the idea that Harry Potter's new fans were Spider-Man's fans—just thinking about it was terrifying.
Because Harry Potter and Spider-Man were both epic-level IPs.
When one epic IP starts drawing energy from another epic IP…
Well, at that point, even if Lord Sidious himself descended from the stars, he'd probably get wrecked.
"So, is this girl Isabella really blessed by God or something?"
Another senior vice president adjusted his glasses and shook his head.
"Sure, the public narrative right now is that all this hype exists because Marvel fans are hoping Chris Columbus will give them a good movie—but that's just the surface."
"The real reason is that Isabella herself is incredibly beloved—or to put it differently, she's interesting."
"If she hadn't come up with that cartoon beaver, and if she hadn't made the public fall in love with that character, I honestly don't think Harry Potter could've absorbed Spider-Man's fanbase."
"To be blunt, the only reason Marvel fans think Isabella could join the Marvel universe is because her cartoon image is so adaptable. No matter how it's used, it never feels out of place."
At that, the bespectacled executive paused.
He looked around. Everyone nodded.
They all agreed.
Without that cartoon beaver, even the most die-hard Marvel fans wouldn't have effortlessly folded Isabella into their universe. And how did the beaver come to be, anyway?
First, J.K. Rowling had to describe Hermione Granger in animal-like terms while writing Harry Potter.
Then, Harry Potter had to explode in popularity—enough to justify a movie adaptation.
Next, the director adapting it had to be a commercial genius, someone who could reshape Hermione into a more charming on-screen character (since Rowling's version wasn't exactly lovable).
Then, the actress playing Hermione had to embrace that animal image—create a cute cartoon beaver, bring it to life in public appearances, perform it, and promote it on a record-breaking talk show…
Honestly, for industry insiders—or for Paramount executives—it looked like a totally impossible chain of miracles.
Every single step required divine intervention.
No mere human could've orchestrated all that.
But somehow, it all happened.
So now, when they thought about her, it wasn't a question of "Can anyone beat her?"
It was "Whoever goes against her will probably be smited by God."
And, well, facts supported that.
Little Edgar Bronfman had been beaten so badly he might as well have called for his mom.
Rupert Murdoch? One more hit away from getting launched into orbit.
At this point, even if Darth Sidious himself landed in Hollywood, Paramount believed the ever-cheerful public would make Isa punt him into space and then lift a lightsaber, shouting, "May the Force be with you!"
Given all that…
"Okay, so you're saying we should reschedule The Stepford Wives?"
Seeing everyone's faces, Sherry Lansing tapped the table and took charge.
The Stepford Wives was one of Paramount's big summer blockbusters that year.
Starring Nicole Kidman, with a budget over $90 million.
Its release date? June 11. The same as The Chronicles of Riddick.
And why would Paramount release two of its films in the same suicidal window?
Simple.
They had too many tentpoles that year. The most valuable one, Collateral (the Tom Cruise film), was pushed back . The next one, The Manchurian Candidate (starring Denzel Washington), also delayed.
Paramount had already tried its best to avoid clashing with the thunder god in the sky.
Putting Stepford Wives on June 11 was just... a compromise.
And compared to Collateral or Manchurian Candidate, Stepford Wives was the "okay-to-flop" one.
But there's a difference between allowed to flop and intentionally walking into a slaughterhouse, right?
So…
"I support moving the date."
"Same here."
"This isn't a cowardly move."
"Exactly. Marching into battle against Azkaban would only make Mr. Redstone question our sanity."
When giants like Universal and Paramount both chose to duck and cover, the rest of Hollywood stopped even pretending to compete.
For example, Walden Media—they postponed Around the World in 80 Days (originally June 16) all the way to September.
And yeah, that Jackie Chan movie wasn't a Disney production.
Disney only handled distribution. The real backer was Walden Media, owned by Philip Anschutz—the billionaire energy magnate, top-ten U.S. landowner, and part-owner of the L.A. Lakers.
He wasn't about to lose money for fun.
So sure, movies releasing afterAzkaban could quietly retreat, but the ones before it couldn't.
Pulling out before Azkaban even hit theaters? That'd just look pathetic.
And that created a new problem.
Even before release, Azkaban was devouring all public attention.
Across North America and the U.K., everyone was obsessed with "little-Beaver" memes. Other studios' ads were vanishing the instant they went up—swallowed by the online tide.
No one suffered more than Jeffrey Katzenberg.
Because Shrek 2 was set to release on May 19.
He had huge hopes for it.
It was supposed to prove his worth before splitting off from DreamWorks' other founders. The better Shrek 2 performed, the stronger his negotiating power afterward.
He wasn't trying to run an animation studio solo. He wasn't Steve Jobs.
So when the marketing buzz for Shrek 2 didn't meet expectations, it stung.
And then, when the film finally opened…
He imploded.
Opening day, May 19, Shrek 2 earned $11.78 million from 3,737 U.S. theaters.
The next day, May 20, its box office dropped 22.3%—down to $9.15 million.
Katzenberg was stunned.
Not just because the first Shrek had grossed $492 million worldwide, but because $9 million a day was pathetic.
Sure, May 19 was a Wednesday. May 20 was a Thursday.
Not a holiday.
But even so—weekday numbers can be low, but not this low!
Take The Matrix Reloaded, for example—it opened on a Wednesday last May and made $37.5 million in a single day.
So… Shrek 2 doing $9 million?
That's…
That's…
"Do audiences hate Shrek now?"
May 21.
Inside the DreamWorks Animation HQ.
Katzenberg's voice trembled as he stared at the reports.
He honestly couldn't believe his eyes.
And neither could anyone else in Hollywood.
"That can't be right. Something's off!"
"But DreamWorks nailed the marketing!"
"Yeah, and Shrek 2 itself is great!"
"Then who the hell broke the system—"
After Shrek 2's first two days brought in only $20.94 million, everyone's first thought was that the world had lost its mind.
The second? That Katzenberg was finished.
At that rate, he might as well put on a suit and find a nice building to jump from.
But then… May 21 quietly passed.
And Shrek 2's box office exploded—up 209.4% in one day, hitting $28.34 million.
Then May 22 came.
Day four, and the numbers rose again—up 58.1%, reaching $44.79 million.
Hollywood fell silent.
Because Spider-Man (2002) had held the record with $43.6 million in a single day.
Now Shrek 2 had broken it.
That's right—on its fourth day of release, Shrek 2 earned $44.79 million, making it the new single-day box office record holder in North American history.
And the fact that a movie broke an all-time record on its fourth day?
"Damn."
"What the hell just happened."