On a tea house tucked into a side street in a narrow, two-story wooden building wedged between a shop and a tobacconist, was the meeting.
Duke was six-foot-five, which meant that entering the tea house required some maneuvers, with his head ducking beneath a door.
The walls were covered in faded movie posters, Kurosawa, and a handful of American Westerns, and the shelves held a chaotic library of animation reference books, rolled-up storyboards, and magazines in Japanese and English and French.
Three men sat at a low wooden table in the back of the room, and they looked up when Duke entered with the wary expression of people who had been told that an American billionaire wanted to buy them tea and still weren't entirely sure it wasn't a joke.
Nolan Bushnell had stayed at the hotel, this meeting was Duke's design alone. He had brought only a translator, a young woman from a for hire office named Keiko.
The three men rose as Duke approached.
Masao Maruyama was the oldest of the three, earlt-thirties, lean, with a deeply tired look of a man who had been working eighteen-hour days since his early twenties and had made peace with the arrangement.
He'd spent years at Osamu Tezuka's Mushi Production, the studio that had essentially invented the modern anime industry, and he was someone who had learned from a master and was now ready to build something of his own.
Osamu Dezaki sat beside him. And then there was Yoshiaki Kawajiri.
Kawajiri was the youngest, twenty-one, quiet. He sat slightly apart from the other two, his posture rigid, his hands wrapped around a teacup that he hadn't drunk from.
Duke suppressed a grin. He had watched Ninja Scroll in his past life more times than he could count. The fluid violence. The dynamic camera work.
And here was the man who would create it, twenty-one years old, wearing a threadbare jacket.
"Gentlemen," Duke said, settling onto the floor cushion across from them with the careful deliberation of a large man in a small space. "Thank you for meeting me."
Keiko translated. Maruyama responded with a formal greeting that was polite but measured.
"I'll be direct," Duke said. "I'm not here to waste your time or mine. I've seen your work. Maruyama-san, your animation supervision at Mushi Production was exceptional, the Astro Boy episodes you oversaw had a great fluidity. Dezaki-san, your storyboarding is very dynamic."
"And Kawajiri-san-" He looked directly at the young man. "You have an eye for action that is unlike anything I've seen. All of your three information have reached me through channels I won't bore you with."
Keiko translated. Kawajiri's expression didn't change, but his grip on the teacup tightened fractionally.
"I'm here to offer you five hundred thousand dollars, half a million to establish an animation studio."
Maruyama stared at him. Dezaki's eyes went still. Kawajiri set down his teacup with slow, precise movements.
Keiko translated the number. The silence deepened.
"Five hundred thousand American dollars," Maruyama said, through Keiko.
"Five hundred thousand dollars," Duke confirmed. "Seed funding for a new studio. Your studio, independent. Creatively autonomous. Under the Paramount/Ajax umbrella for distribution and financing, but artistically yours. You choose the staff. You choose the projects and you build the culture."
"What kind of work?" Dezaki asked.
"I don't want cartoons," Duke said. He leaned forward, "I want fluid motion. I want the kind of dinamyc energy that live-action cameras can't capture yet, the impossible angles, the superhuman motion, the visual storytelling that only animation can achieve."
Keiko translated. Dezaki's eyes were bright. Maruyama was making calculations on his mind. Kawajiri had leaned forward.
"What kind of stories?" Kawajiri asked. It was the first time he'd spoken.
Duke met his eyes. "I have a character. His name is Blue Beetle."
He produced a folder from his bag and laid it on the table. Inside were character sheets, Ted Kord in his various poses, the scarab technology flowing across his body, the transformation sequences that the PULSE artists had been developing for months.
He spread them across the table, and the three animators leaned in.
"Blue Beetle is a young man who discovers an alien artifact, a scarab, that bonds to his body and gives him extraordinary abilities," Duke explained.
"The powers are technological, not magical. The scarab generates armor, weapons, flight capability, enhanced senses. But the relationship between Ted and the scarab is symbiotic and unpredictable, the scarab has its own intelligence, its own agenda, and Ted is never fully in control."
Dezaki picked up one of the character sheets and held it close, studying the transformation sequence. "The scarab wraps around him," he murmured, through Keiko. "Like a second skin."
"Like a living machine," Duke said. "Organic technology. It flows, it adapts, it responds to threat. Visually, it's the most dynamic power set in our entire character library."
Maruyama was already sketching on a napkin. His pen moved to form a rough figure, a suggestion of motion, the scarab technology unfurling from the character's spine like wings made of liquid metal.
"For animation," Maruyama said, without looking up from his sketch, "this is ideal. The scarab gives us permission to break every rule of anatomical realism. The transformation sequences can be as fluid, as dynamic as we want, because the technology justifies it."
"The energy constructs," Dezaki added, holding up a character sheet showing Ted projecting shields and weapons from the scarab. "These can be treated as pure animation, abstract, kinetic, free from the constraints of physical reference. We can do things with these powers that no one has ever seen on television."
Kawajiri hadn't said anything. He was studying the character sheets with intensity.
"How many episodes?" Kawajiri asked.
"Sixty-four."
Maruyama's pen stopped moving. He looked up from his napkin.
"Sixty-four episodes," Duke repeated. "One seasons. Twenty-five minutes each. And I want the quality to be the highest that has ever been achieved for television animation. Not theatrical quality, I understand the economics. But I want every frame to be purposeful. I want the action sequences to move with a fluidity and an intensity that makes Hanna-Barbera look like finger paintings."
"Budget," Maruyama said. The single word contained an entire negotiation.
"I understand that a standard twenty-five-minute anime episode costs between three and five million yen," Duke said. "I want to spend double. Six to ten million yen per episode. Call it thirty thousand dollars per episode at current exchange rates."
"At that budget," Maruyama said slowly, through Keiko, "we can afford higher frame counts. More key animators per sequence. Better in-between work. Better background art."
He was sketching again, faster now, the napkin filling with production notes. "The fight scenes could even be fully animated. None of the usual shortcuts. No panning over still frames."
"The scarab transformations," Dezaki added. "We could do full-body metamorphosis sequences..." He trailed off, searching for the word.
Duke looked at the three of them.
"Sixty-four episodes," Duke said. "Two years of production time. Total budget for the series, including the per-episode costs, studio establishment, staffing, equipment, we're looking at approximately two million dollars."
"Two million," Maruyama said. He set down his pen and looked at Duke.
"Two million."
"There is one condition," Duke said. "The quality must be undeniable. When this series airs in America, I need it to be so visually stunning that the American audience has never seen anything like it."
"We can do that," Maruyama said.
"Then we have a deal," Duke said. "I want to discuss the studio structure."
The next hour was practical, corporate entity, staffing plans, equipment procurement, facility requirements.
Maruyama took the lead, revealing a mind that was as sharp on the business side as it was on the creative. He proposed a studio name, Duke let them choose.
Maruyama looked at Dezaki. Dezaki looked at Kawajiri.
"Madhouse," Maruyama said.
"Madhouse," Duke repeated. "I like it. It fits."
They shook hands, all four of them, across the low wooden table. Paramount now had a dedicated animation studio in Tokyo, staffed by three men who were about to become legends, funded by a mogul who had seen their future and decided to invest in it.
---
The bullet train from Tokyo to Osaka took three hours and twelve minutes, and Duke spent every minute of it reading.
Not business documents. Not production reports.
Not the stack of memos that Jaffe had Fed-Exed to his hotel and that were currently in his briefcase. He was reading a biography of Kōnosuke Matsushita, the CEO of Panasonic.
Born in 1894. Orphaned young. Apprenticed at age nine to a maker of charcoal braziers.
Started his first company at twenty-three with a hundred yen and an idea for an improved light socket. Built that company, Matsushita Electric, later Panasonic into the largest consumer electronics manufacturer in Japan and one of the largest in the world.
Along the way, he had developed a management philosophy so influential that he was known, without exaggeration, as the "God of Management."
Duke closed the book as the train pulled into Osaka Station and thought about what it took to earn a title like that.
The Matsushita estate was located in a quiet, wooded enclave on the outskirts of Osaka. Duke was met at the gate by a young man who guided him inside.
Duke was led to a pavilion at the center of the garden, an open-sided structure with a low table, floor cushions, and a view of the pond. Tea had already been prepared.
Kōnosuke Matsushita was waiting.
He was seventy-six years old, a small man.
He was wearing a simple dark kimono. No jewelry. No watch. Nothing that indicated, visually, that this man controlled a global industrial empire worth billions.
"Hauser-san." The voice was quiet, measured. He gestured to the cushion across the table. "Please."
Duke sat. Tea was poured.
"You are young," Matsushita said, through his translator. "For a man of your achievements, you are very young."
"I've been told that. I consider it an advantage, I just hope other won't take advantage of my lack of experience."
The faintest trace of amusement crossed Matsushita's face. "Youth is an advantage only if it is paired with patience and direction."
"I agree completely, Matsushita-san. Which is why I'm here."
"Tell me why you are here."
Duke set down his teacup.
"I am in the process of acquiring a company called Ampex Corporation," Duke said. "Ampex is an American manufacturer of magnetic recording technology. They invented the modern tape recorder and the video tape recorder. And they hold what I believe to be the most comprehensive portfolio of patents in magnetic tape recording, audio and video in the Western world."
Matsushita's expression didn't change, but Duke caught the subtle shift in his posture, a small straightening, a slight forward tilt of the head.
"I am aware of Ampex," Matsushita said.
"Then you are aware that their patent portfolio includes foundational claims on recording technology. The technology that makes it possible to record video signals onto magnetic tape in a format that is compact, reliable, and with the right engineering affordable for consumer use."
"I am aware of this."
"Then you are also aware, Matsushita-san, that any company wishing to manufacture a consumer video recording device will need to navigate those patents. And once Ampex is part of my company, that navigation will require my permision."
"You are developing the VHS format," Duke continued. "Sony is developing Betamax. Philips is working on their own standard. All three of you are building remarkable machines."
"But all three of you are building those machines on a foundation of magnetic tape technology that traces back to work done at Ampex. The patents have even been tested in American courts and upheld."
Matsushita's eyes had not left Duke's face. His expression was composed, neutral, giving nothing away.
"Are you threatening me?" Matsushita said.
"No," Duke said. "But if Matsushita Electric launches the VHS in the American market without a patent license from Ampex, I will be legally obligated to enforce my patents."
"And you believe this threat will persuade me to... what?"
"To consider a partnership."
Matsushita picked up his tea, took a measured sip, and set it down.
"Describe this partnership."
"A 'First Look' agreement. Matsushita Electric and Ampex collaborate on a unified consumer video standard. We pool the relevant patents, Ampex's recording technology, Matsushita's hardware engineering, and we develop a single format that becomes the global standard for home video."
"And in exchange?"
"In exchange, Matsushita gets full access to the Ampex patents for the consumer video application. And you get something else, something that no one else can provide."
"What is that?"
"Content." Duke let the word sit for a moment. "Matsushita-san, you build the most beautiful machines in the world. But a machine without content is a very expensive paperweight."
"I control the Paramount film library. When the consumer video device launches, the first question every American family will ask is, 'What can I watch on it?' And the answer will be, Pre-recorded tapes, available at every retail store in America, carrying the Paramount logo and playable on a device that carries the Matsushita name."
"And there is one more thing," Duke continued. "I have political relationships in Washington that give me influence over the regulatory environment for consumer electronics imports. The American market is the largest consumer market in the world, and access to that market is not guaranteed."
"A partnership with Paramount provides Matsushita not just with patents and content, but with political cover and an American partner."
Matsushita was quiet for a long time. The translator waited. Duke waited.
"You mention Sony," Matsushita said finally. "You mention Betamax."
"I do."
"You know that Matsushita Electric and Sony have different philosophies."
"I know that you and Akio Morita have been rivals for thirty years. And I know that a format war, VHS against Betamax, would be enormously expensive for both sides, would confuse consumers, and would delay the adoption of home video by years."
"You are proposing that I avoid this war."
"I'm proposing that you win it by building an alliance."
Something moved behind Matsushita's eyes.
"And if I were to simply acquire Ampex myself?" Matsushita asked.
"You could try," Duke said. "But Ampex is an American company, and the acquisition of an American technology firm by a Japanese conglomerate would face significant regulatory scrutiny. The political environment is not favorable. Whereas an American company acquiring Ampex..." He let the implication hang.
"Raises no such concerns," Matsushita finished.
"Exactly."
Matsushita picked up his tea again. He held the cup between his palms.
"Hauser-san," he said. "I will not make a decision today. This is not how I work. I will consider your proposal. I will discuss it with my engineers. I will examine the Ampex patent portfolio through my own legal advisors."
He paused. "But I will tell you this. The patent threat I do not find it as formidable as you perhaps believe. Patents can be challenged. Patents can be designed around. The law is a tool, and tools can be used by both sides."
Duke nodded.
"However," Matsushita continued, "the content argument is compelling. You are correct that a machine requires content. And you are correct that the Paramount library is valuable."
He set down his tea.
"I will consider your proposal seriously. I ask that you give me sixty days."
Duke said. "I'm not in a hurry, Matsushita-san. The best decisions are the ones made with patience."
"You are unusual, Hauser-san. Most Americans I meet are in a great hurry. They want everything decided before the tea is finished."
"I will call you in sixty days. If I have questions before then, I will send them through your Tokyo office."
"I look forward to it."
They rose. They bowed. Matsushita walked Duke to the garden gate personally, which the translator later told him was an honor reserved for guests that Matsushita found interesting.
The gate closed. Duke stood in the quiet Osaka street, the afternoon light filtering through the trees.
He hadn't closed the deal. He hadn't expected to. Matsushita was not a man who closed deals over tea in gardens.
___
Thoughs on the Scary Movie 6 trailer?