When Dunn took over as the director of *Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace*, he grabbed the script and handed it to his trusty writing team for a makeover.
This movie? Dunn knew it inside and out. Sure, it had epic scenes and jaw-dropping effects, but the dragging plot, the battle that took forever to kick off, the over-the-top twists, and those kiddie-level jokes? Hard to believe this was supposed to be a masterpiece!
Especially those PowerPoint-style scene transitions—hilarious enough to make you laugh your head off.
Compared to *The Lord of the Rings* trilogy from the same era, this movie's biggest edge might just be that its creator hailed from the U.S., not the UK.
Now that Dunn was in the director's chair, he was dead-set on shaking things up—at least making it feel less like a kid's flick.
But his revised script? George Lucas shut it down hard!
"No way, Dunn! You know we've already started post-production. Major script changes now would tank the schedule!" Lucas's face was dead serious, like he wasn't about to let Dunn get a word in edgewise.
Dunn's expression darkened too. "George, I get all that. That's why I didn't mess with the core framework—just tweaked some details, especially the jokes and action scenes, to polish them up."
"Nope, nope, nope—not needed at all!" Lucas snapped. He'd poured two years and a ton of heart into this script and wasn't about to let anyone trash it. "The story's perfect as is. No changes."
Dunn's voice got heavy. "George, I think you're stuck in a rut. This kind of plot… we're shooting *Star Wars*, not a cartoon!"
That hit hard. Lucas's face turned steely, his beard practically bristling as he growled, "Kid, what are you babbling about?"
Dunn didn't back down. He was the director now—he had every right to call out the script's flaws. "The whole thing, except that valley chase scene that pops off, feels like a children's movie! George, no offense, but I'm not here to direct a Razzie contender!"
Lucas looked like he might choke on his own rage. *Star Wars*… a Razzie?
"I get it—you want it to be fun. Fine, young Anakin covers that. But do we really need all this screen time for robots and Gungans? It drags the movie's depth way down!"
Hearing Dunn out, Lucas calmed a bit. "This is the start of a trilogy. It's all about setting the stage."
"Then why pile on so much flashy nonsense?" Dunn waved a hand, his tone sharp. "The heroine's underage, Anakin's a kid, and there's a ton of low-age goofy characters—it kills the movie's gravitas. Meanwhile, the two Jedi barely get any action! That final battle? It's rushed, laughable, no tension at all!"
"Dunn, I hear you, but you're missing some deeper layers," Lucas sighed, sounding a little helpless.
Dunn shot back coldly, "Deeper layers? Sorry, George, I'm the director. My job is to make this movie good—to make it feel like real *Star Wars*! Oh, and I think we should hire a fight choreographer from Hong Kong. Let them design the lightsaber duels. The Jedi action is the soul of this film—it can't just be some half-baked poses!"
These days, Hollywood blockbusters were leaning hard into kiddie action—until the Yuen clan's work on *The Matrix* woke everyone up to what real fight scenes could be. After that, action movies shifted gears big time.
"We can sort out those issues. Our real clash is the script," Lucas said, waving it off with a tired sigh. "Dunn, you've got to understand—I'm not just a filmmaker. I'm a studio boss too."
"Huh? What's that mean?" Dunn blinked, thrown off.
Lucas turned away, hands clasped behind his back. "The biggest investor here is Fox. Lucasfilm isn't raking in the big bucks from this."
Dunn frowned, confused. "But the better the movie, the higher the box office, the more we earn, right?"
Lucas shook his head. "Dunn, you're young—you don't get the game. Movies… better quality and higher tickets don't always mean more profit."
"What?!"
Dunn's whole worldview just imploded.
How could that be?
Good buzz, big box office, huge impact—doesn't that equal more cash?
Lucas turned back, his cloudy eyes locking onto Dunn. "*Star Wars* is culture. And culture? Its merchandise can reach every corner of the globe!"
Dunn froze, a lightbulb flickering on—merch!
Of course! This was *Star Wars*, the king of franchise tie-ins!
"The script's a bit juvenile, sure… but that pulls in more kids. They're the main market for merch—you get it?" Lucas's tone was patient, almost fatherly.
All those cartoonish characters—horses, deer, hippos, robots hamming it up—were there to hook the little ones and sell toys.
With Lucas's sharp eye, how could he not see the script was too childish?
Dunn let out a sigh, a hint of defeat in his voice. "George, how long's it been since you last directed?"
Lucas paused, caught off guard.
Dunn pressed on. "George, do you think… are you still a filmmaker? Or just a businessman now?"
Lucas got it—and went quiet.
Dunn tilted his head back, staring at the ceiling lights, almost talking to himself. "We all want to make money—I do too. But at our core, we're filmmakers in businessman clothing! Hollywood's where we plant our roots!"
"Business folks don't care about Hollywood's future. They take and take, laughing at its spirit. We all saw MGM's downfall—doesn't that hurt you even a little?"
"Hollywood needs cash, but cash can't replace Hollywood! Movies are its soul—and us? We're movie people! You know better than anyone what *Star Wars* should be, George."
"I get it—you want Lucasfilm to stack more capital. But it's already a titan! Who in Hollywood's richer than you? Do you really need more? And even if you do, does it have to come at the cost of the movie?"
Dunn rambled on, pausing when Lucas stayed silent. "A while back, I visited Francis Coppola. His advice showed me where a filmmaker's heart lies. He said Hollywood's vibe has changed—he misses the old days."
"Coppola's words stick with me. I'll keep pushing to make the best films—to thank the fans, to give back to Hollywood for giving me a home."
"George, you picked me as director. I'll respect the gig. If we can't agree, I'll shoot it your way… but you'll lose my respect."
"Oh, and here's a tape for you. My assistant director, Christopher Nolan, made this film for $6,000. I hope Hollywood keeps giving new directors from around the world hope—not disappointment."
…
Dunn left Lucas's office. The man sat there on the couch, lost in thought.
Francis Coppola…
He'd guided Dunn—and he'd been the one to bring George Lucas into Hollywood in the first place!
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