Duke stepped into the room, carrying a leather briefcase under his arm with a coffee on his hand.
His executive team was already seated around the conference table, surrounded by legal dossiers and coffee cups.
Barry Diller sat near the head of the table, his jacket draped over the back of his chair.
To his left, Robert Evans lounged with a bored expression, wearing his tinted glasses.
Michael Eisner sat across from them, tapping a yellow wooden pencil rhythmically against a notepad.
The energy inside the room felt confident.
The traditional Hollywood studio system was shifting away, and Paramount was currently leading the charge of the industry change.
Without a word of greeting, Dillerslid a folder across the table.
It came to a stop right in front of Duke.
"Disney just released their official public response to Beauty and the Beast." Diller stated.
Duke opened the folder.
The top document was an internal memo leaked from Disney's Burbank lot, talking about a 20 million dollar animation revival fund to regain their position.
In 1976, 20 million dollars was a huge sum for animation, specially for Disney.
Historically, Disney had enjoyed a sort of unchallenged monopoly on animation.
For decades, the rest of the industry had viewed cartoons as theatrical shorts, that would be unviable as standalone projects.
But Paramount's recent venture into fairy tales had shattered that long-held corporate belief.
"They are making legal threats regarding our pre-production on The Little Mermaid," Diller continued, pointing to the second page of the dossier.
"They claim they have prior development rights based on archived concept sketches Walt commissioned back in the 1930s."
"They are also planning a theatrical re-release of Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs for 1977." Eisner chimed in, tossing his pencil onto the table.
"Its a legacy move. They want to remind the American public, and the theater owners, of their historical dominance in the genre."
'Kind of a desperate move...' Duke though as he remembered that Disney had already done a theatrical re-release of Snow White in 1975, now they were planning another one just 2 years later.
Diller rested his forearms on the table as he leaned forward. "They are competing with us now. But they seem to be scared."
Evans let out a dismissive laugh, adjusting his glasses. "A fight is a fight," the producer fired back.
"They are a wounded animal flailing around. Their recent live-action slate has been a disaster, and they know it. Paramount is the future of the industry, they just need to accept it."
Eisner shook his head, "They are a wounded animal sitting on a mountain of cash and a globally recognized brand."
"Families trust the castle logo. We should never underestimate their ability to rally the consumer base."
Duke absorbed the differing opinions, his eyes going through the leaked Burbank memos.
Animation making was and will always be a delicate, resource-intensive process.
Animation in the 1970s was a manual, labor-intensive thing.
Before digital tools and software, animators had to draw, ink, and paint every single frame by hand on transparent celluloid sheets called cels.
So to produce just a few minutes of on-screen movement, it required thousands of individual paintings.
A single movie required years of storyboarding, voice recording, and frame-by-frame illustration.
"Where is my lawyer?" Duke asked, closing the manila folder. "If they are threatening legal action, I want to know how exposed we are before we make any public statement."
A side door opened, and Paul Goldstein, Paramount's General Counsel and Stanford Professor, stepped into the room.
Goldstein took an empty seat at the far end of the table.
"I have reviewed the cease-and-desist letter their attorneys sent over this morning," he announced, opening his notes.
"Disney is relying on a very broad interpretation of intellectual property law to scare us off the project."
In the era before digital copyright reform, studio legal battles often hinged on physical evidence of development.
That means, archival sketches, dated treatments, and registered screenplays formed the backbone of ownership claims.
"Their claim centers around the idea that they have prior art," Goldstein explained, looking around the table.
"They have storyboards and visual development notes from Walt Disney in the 1930s outlining an adaptation of The Little Mermaid."
"They argue that our production infringes on that early groundwork, specially if Milt Khan is directing it."
Duke raised an eyebrow. "Can they actually enforce that? Hans Christian Andersen published the fairy tale... in the 1830s, more than a century before Walt worked on it."
"Exactly," Goldstein agreed, "We are on solid ground legally. The Little Mermaid is a public domain story so anyone can adapt it."
"Disney's internal sketches do not give them exclusive rights to the narrative."
The public domain was a sort of open reservoir of literature and mythology.
However, major studios often used the threat of litigation to deter smaller competitors from adapting the stories, creating a pseudo-monopoly through legal intimidation.
"Furthermore," Goldstein continued, "prior art does not constitute development. Disney never produced the film. They shelved the project, we have a strong case to dismiss their claims outright."
Duke folded his hands on the table, sensing a problem approaching. "But?"
Webb let out a breath. "But they could tie us up in court for years. The discovery phase alone would be brutal."
"They would demand our storyboards, our character designs, and our internal memos. We would face depositions and motions."
Litigation in the entertainment industry was rarely about seeking justice.
It was a tactic used to drain a rival's financial resources and freeze their production schedules.
"Its a distraction," Gildstein concluded. "They dont need to win the lawsuit. They just need to slow us down enough so they can get their own animated projects to the theaters first."
A silence fell over the boardroom.
The threat of a protracted legal battle could spook Paramount's banking partners to freeze the credit lines necessary to keep the studio lot functioning.
Duke sat back in his chair, processing the landscape.
Giving in to corporate bullying would set a bad precedent.
Disney were losers, Paramount were winners.
He felt a surge of determination.
The studio had rebuilt itself from the ground up, they were not going to retreat simply because a washed up competitor rattled a legal saber.
After all, Walt Disney was gone, and the guys in there were too busy fighting each other to do anything.
Duke remembered the Washed Up anthem. 'You light my fire, light my fire, Im satisfied.'
"We dont back down," Duke declared, his voice cutting through the room.
"If they want to use their legal department as a weapon, then lets go to court."
He turned his attention directly to Diller.
"Expedite The Little Mermaid. Move the production out of visual development and into full swing immediately. Hire more layout artists, bring in extra animators, and accelerate the schedule."
Duke looked back to his General Counsel. "Paul, I want you to challenge the validity of their copyright claims."
"I want you to argue that Disney is using frivolous legal threats to maintain an illegal monopoly on theatrical animation."
"We will also badmouth Disney on Florida, whether its expansion, or development. We will make Florida fight them."
Walt Disney World possessed absolute autonomy and immunity from county-level zoning and Florida state land-use laws which was a sort of problem for some Florida citizens.
Specially cause Disney's "corporate kingdom" had total regulatory immunity, zero local Gov oversight.
Disney was even able to grant its own building permits.
They had their own building codes, power to tax and borrow, fixed elections, police deparment and fire department.
Hell, the 1967 charter technically granted Disney the legal right to build its own nuclear power plant on property if it chose to.
Exactly cause of that utilizing political and antitrust language was a strong maneuver.
The Federal Trade Commission had grown watchful of media monopolies in the 1970s.
Accusing Disney of anti-competitive practices would force their executives to play defense in the press.
In this, Duke felt he had the advantage, if Disney wanted to attack him with legality then he would respond with politics and bureocracy.
Both Paramount and Disney were political players, but Duke was on the comeup, while Disney was falling.
"Furthermore," Duke said, leaning forward to engage the table. "We are going to do the animated adaptation of The Lord of the Rings and put it on the fast track."
"Use the Tolkien project as a public relations distraction," Duke instructed. "Announce it loudly and make it sound like the biggest animated production in cinematic history to distract disney."
Evans slammed his hand on the table in enthusiastic approval. "Love it. We are going to take their talent, their stories, and their audience."
"Speaking of talent," Duke continued, capitalizing on Evans' energy. "I want a poaching strategy launched today. Send lucrative offers to Disney's top mid-level animators."
For years, the Old Men of Disney had dominated the studio, leaving little room for the new generation of CalArts graduates to advance.
There was a large amount of frustrated talent just waiting for an opportunity to lead their own projects.
"Offer them twenty percent better pay across the board," Duke ordered.
Diller held up a hand, "We need to be careful with our capital. A protracted legal battle combined with inflated payrolls could drain our resources fast."
Diller pointed to a separate stack of financial reports on the table. "We have a lot of projects right now. Star Wars, the theme park, the satellite channels."
"If we overextend our credit lines, we could create a structural mess."
Duke acknowledged the warning with a respectful nod.
Managing cash flow was the invisible tightrope walk of running a conglomerate.
"We do not start fights we cannot finish," Duke replied, his tone reassuring. "But we do not run from them either. Disney is reacting out of fear."