Sony's Progress
An executive noticed his mood and walked over with a cup of coffee.
"Stephen, ignore those guys. Look how much the kids love this movie, and Robin and Dustin's performances are impeccable."
Spielberg looked up, his eyes showing a hint of weariness and the stubbornness unique to artists.
"They're right, in some ways." He sighed, pointing out the window. "The Neverland of my imagination isn't like this. It should be more real, more grand. But the technology at the time couldn't do it, so many ideas had to be compromised, and the final product always feels a bit veiled."
He felt a deep regret that he could not perfectly realize his vision, a regret that no amount of box office success could make up for.
The executive handed him coffee, sat down beside him, and said sincerely, "Stephen, we all know you did your best. You tried many new technologies in this film, and a lot of it was trial and error. Everyone is very satisfied with the results."
He patted Spielberg on the shoulder. "Don't dwell on past regrets. The experience you've gained this time is for the sake of your next, even greater work. Believe me, you'll do even better and more perfectly in the future."
"Next—" Spielberg murmured to himself, as if those words had triggered a switch.
He suddenly remembered Michael Crichton, and that crazy story about dinosaurs.
Clayton had told him just a few days ago that the first draft of the script was almost finished.
A brand new, more fervent creative desire instantly dispelled the gloom in my heart.
The technical limitations of "Hook" left him seething with anger, and that anger could be used to forge his next masterpiece.
If Neverland had its shortcomings due to technology, then next time, it will use technology to create an unprecedented, chillingly realistic world.
The disappointment in Spielberg's eyes vanished, replaced by the gleam of a hunter eyeing its prey.
He stood up, casually swept the newspapers filled with negative reviews into the trash can, and his face once again displayed that confident smile unique to geniuses.
He wanted to show the world the amazing miracles Steven Spielberg could create when he was no longer bound by technology.
One week after its release, Hook easily surpassed the US dollar 100 million mark at the North America box office.
This whirlwind brought not only a frenzy to Sony Columbia Pictures, but also a windfall of extra income for arcade and cinema owners.
Sony Columbia sent a detailed report across the Pacific Ocean from North America back to Sony's Tokyo headquarters, where it eventually settled quietly on President Norio Ohga's desk.
"President."
Ken Kutaragi pushed open the door and entered, ready to report on the development progress of PIayStation. Behind him followed Ryoji Chubachi on his face.
Norio Ohga didn't look up; he simply pushed the report to the center of the table.
"Look at Sega's performance this winter."
Ryoji Chubachi had already seen a copy of the report, and his face still showed undisguised excitement.
He stepped forward, his voice tinged with emotion. "This perfectly exemplifies Mr. Akio Morita's philosophy of using software to drive hardware development." Sega has given us an invaluable lesson this time.
He paused, his gaze sweeping over Ken Kutaragi, his tone becoming even more serious. "Look at Nintendo, then look at Sega."
The life or death of a new console hinges almost entirely on its launch titles. We have no existing user base; if we can't deliver a game that truly shakes up the market at launch, PiayStation might not even survive, let alone attract third-party developers who are still observing the market.
Ken Kutaragi picked up the report, quickly scanned it, and nodded.
He put down the report, looked directly at Norio Ohga, and said with the confidence and directness typical of a technician, "The SFC-CD for Nintendo will be completed by the middle of next year. This is even after I deliberately slowed things down by feeding them some outdated technology."
A suppressed chuckle echoed in the office, carrying a hint of triumphant satisfaction at his successful plan.
"Our own PlayStation will have a complete prototype by next fall at the latest. Its performance will far surpass that of the Super Famicom-CD!"
Upon hearing the timetable, Norio Ohga nodded in satisfaction, but Ryoji Chubachi's brows furrowed even more.
"No matter how good the machine is, it still needs games to run on it. I've been in contact with several developers recently, and the situation isn't optimistic." He sighed, looking somewhat troubled. "The smaller ones don't have much technical expertise, so buying them wouldn't make much sense; we'd rather poach their talent ourselves. As for the big ones, like SNK, although they're having a tough time, they're all very resilient and still hoping to turn things around on their own. They're not at their wits' end, so they won't even give us a chance to talk."
"What's the point of buying what others have left over?" Norio Ohga finally spoke, his voice calm yet carrying an undeniable authority. He took the report back to himself and lightly tapped the number "one hundred million US dollar" on it with his fingertip.
"Chubachi, don't rush. We don't need to acquire anyone; we have more powerful weapons than them."
J
Ken Kutaragi and Ryoji Chubachi both looked at him.
Norio Ohga's gaze swept across the two faces, a meaningful smile appearing on his lips.
"We can partner with any reputable third party to jointly invest in and develop exclusive games. Sony provide the majority of the funding, and they will also share the majority of the profits."
He leaned back in his chair, his hands clasped in front of him, exuding a powerful aura of control.
"I don't believe that there is a company in this world that can simultaneously reject Sony and the Japanese yen."
Redmond, Nintendo North American Headquarters.
The bottle of champagne, opened to celebrate sales exceeding two million in the first week, still sits on the wine cabinet like a small monument, though it now seems somewhat ironic.
In his office, Minoru Arakawa looked at the latest weekly sales report; the once-rising curve had visibly flattened out.
Howard Lincoln's face was even uglier than the gloomy, rainy day outside the window.
He was holding a crumpled newspaper in his hand. The entertainment section headline was about Hook's box office easily surpassing 100 million, accompanied by a picture of a group of children excitedly screaming around an arcade machine in a movie theater.
"A complete disaster! This is fucking a complete disaster!" Howard could no longer maintain his composure, slamming his fist on the desk, making the coffee on it ripple. "We were watching the stores, watching the arcades, and those bastards moved the battlefield to the movie theater! For two whole weeks! What were our intelligence agents doing? Standing in line for popcorn?"