Even Mel Gibson was caught off guard. In just two or three years in Hollywood, Dunn had crossed paths with so many Aussie actors.
Whatever his motives, there's no denying he's carved out space for them in Tinseltown.
Mel studied Dunn closely, growing more convinced that this brash, improbably young director was someone he could count on.
Mel's a director himself—Oscar-winning, no less—but he's still just a director.
Dunn, though?
He's got a sprawling empire in the works!
Sure, Hollywood's snickering—Dunn Pictures' sprawling, messy, bloated setup is a bankruptcy waiting to happen.
But Mel, a guy who's chased dreams himself, doesn't buy it.
If a young guy doesn't have dreams, what's he chasing?
Fame? Money? Women?
If that's all Dunn was after, Mel couldn't vouch for his success—but he sure wouldn't respect him.
He can't stand those coasting, indulgent American types.
Dunn's clearly not one of them.
In fact, Dunn Pictures' ambitious blueprint even shocks Mel, a dreamer who's been around the block.
Mel led Dunn over to two guys chatting and introduced them warmly. "Dunn, this is Hugo Weaving—total acting powerhouse. And this is Heath Ledger—he's a complete nut for this stuff!"
Dunn shook hands quick. "Hugo, your work in *The Matrix* was unreal. Can't wait to team up."
Hugo kept it humble. "The honor's mine, Director."
Turning to Heath Ledger, Dunn couldn't help but marvel—what a handsome, charming kid!
"Heath, what've you been filming lately?"
Heath, all sunshine, grinned. He's a year younger than Dunn. "I had two movies out this year—*Two Hands* and *10 Things I Hate About You*."
Dunn didn't mince words. "What movies? Never heard of 'em!"
Heath's face froze, awkward as hell.
Mel's eyebrow ticked up. Something about Dunn's vibe with Heath felt… off.
"I signed on for a big A-list flick, *The Patriot*, and pushed Heath for the second lead," Mel jumped in, smoothing things over. "He killed it. It's slated for next summer—you should check it out."
Heath relaxed, smiling. "Yeah, and Mel's cemented himself as Hollywood's top dog with this one!"
"Oh?" Dunn's curiosity piqued.
Mel let a little pride slip, then played it cool. "No big deal—just outdid Tom Hanks, Tom Cruise, Jim Carrey, you name it. First actor in Hollywood history to snag over $20 million a picture."
"How much?"
"$25 million!"
Mel's got every right to brag—$25 million's a game-changer.
Dunn smirked. "Any profit share?"
Mel scoffed. "Do you even need to ask? That's not so easy to swing."
Dunn laughed. "I heard Tom Cruise locked in a '20-10' deal for *Mission: Impossible 2*—first actor to pull that off, right?"
"Bullshit!"
Mel fired up instantly. Hollywood's top star doesn't take kindly to some pretty boy stealing his thunder.
"'20-10' comes with strings! *Mission: Impossible* is Cruise's baby—if Paramount didn't play ball, he'd shop it elsewhere. That deal's not his acting rate—it's producer profits!"
Mel's indignation flared. "Any other project, can Cruise match me? *Eyes Wide Shut*? Forget profit share—his paycheck didn't even hit $10 million. How's that stack up? For ten years, I haven't taken less than $20 million a film!"
Dunn's little prods painted a clear picture of Mel Gibson.
Big ego, big heart—blunt, loyal, no filter. Not everyone's cup of tea.
"Haha, just messing with you—why sweat it?" Dunn clapped Mel's shoulder, finding his straightforward, almost naive vibe kind of endearing.
Mel realized he'd overreacted and waved it off, circling back to Heath. "Dunn, Heath's phenomenal. His talent… it's unreal! Honestly, acting with him, I felt pressure I've never had—like he might outshine me."
Dunn nodded solemnly, pausing. "Alright, Heath—within five years, I'll launch a project. Goal: Oscars."
Heath Ledger's tragic early death is one of Hollywood's biggest losses. If Dunn's stepping in to save Mel Gibson, Heath's a no-brainer.
A few more actors—Richard Roxburgh, Toni Collette—drifted over and froze at Dunn's words.
Oscars?
That's the holy grail. Even a nomination's a career rocket.
In the whole "Aussie Gang," only national treasure Geoffrey Rush and Mel Gibson have won Oscars. Nominees? Just Nicole Kidman and Cate Blanchett.
"Dunn, you… you're serious?" Even Mel sounded jealous.
His Oscar's for directing—acting nods? Zip.
Dunn's dead serious. "Trust my eye, Mel. Heath's exceptional—he's young, dripping with potential. Two or three years honing his craft, an Oscar nod's nothing."
Heath's 20 now. In a couple years, still a fresh-faced kid—walking the Oscar carpet at that age?
Unheard of for an Aussie actor!
The others gawked—shock, doubt, envy. Dunn shook his head, face stern. "Heath, let's talk one-on-one."
That sealed it—Dunn's for real.
Eyes on Heath turned green with jealousy.
They stepped to a corner. Dunn grabbed two champagnes, clinked glasses, and asked, "Heath, your acting—it's experiential, right?"
"Yeah."
"Ever had… issues?"
"Issues?"
Heath looked lost.
Dunn sighed. "Experiential acting—it's brilliant but brutal. Hollywood's mostly performance-based, some method actors too, but experiential? Rare as hell. Know why?"
Heath's a self-taught wild card—no formal training, no theory.
Since the big three acting schools took shape, experiential acting's been this lofty, untouchable ideal—admired, not grasped.
Why? It's torture for the actor.
Experiential's all about "mind-body unity"—"using conscious techniques to tap unconscious creativity," "thinking, desiring, acting on stage as the character, logically, sequentially, like a living person."
In short, it's crafting a "dual personality."
You become someone else entirely during the performance.
For any sane person, that's agony. Only geniuses or lunatics take that road.
Take Daniel Day-Lewis, the modern poster child.
After mastering experiential acting in the '90s, his output tanked. Why? Months prepping to build that second personality, then more months recovering from the mental toll.
Daniel's a pro—he's studied the theory, controls his mind and body.
Heath? He's a raw talent, no playbook.
That's a recipe for disaster—piling up personas over years, risking a breakdown.
He doesn't get it, so he leans on painkillers and sedatives to cope.
Over time, it snowballs. After *The Dark Knight*'s Joker, his mind's a wreck—pills to dull the pain, overdose takes his life.
True experiential actors are unicorns, but their performances? Mind-blowing.
Like Wong Kar-wai—his years-long shoots grind away method and performance habits, forcing actors to *be* the role.
Avant-garde directors often cast regular folks over pros—no "dual personality" pain, just raw, real first-person acting.
It's a workaround when experiential talent's nowhere to be found.
To save Heath, Dunn's first step is making him see the stakes.
---
Patreon: belamy20