There's a classic scene in Jerry Maguire where Tom Cruise screams "Show me the money!" — and that's exactly what David Ellison should be screaming at his mirror every morning.
Because, look, let's be honest: Skydance, Ellison's production company, without Tom Cruise, is like a fancy restaurant with only one dish on the menu. Amazing when it works. But what happens when Cruise decides to hang up his cleats? What happens when the next Mission: Impossible doesn't crack $600 million?
That's when you understand why this guy has spent the last six months trying to buy Warner Bros. Discovery like a pitbull that won't let go of a bone.
The Track Record Nobody Wants to Show on the Slide
Let's go to the numbers, which don't lie (unlike bank analysts):
Out of nearly 30 films Skydance released over two decades, only five crossed $200 million in domestic box office. Three of those five had Tom Cruise on the poster. The guy is basically the company's power generator.
Star Trek Into Darkness? Didn't hit $500 million globally. Transformers: Rise of the Beasts? Same deal. Terminator Genisys? Such a colossal turd that even Schwarzenegger pretends it never existed.
Compare that to Disney, which since 2021 has dropped six billion-dollar films — Avatar, Inside Out 2, Deadpool & Wolverine, Moana 2, Zootopia 2. Warner had Barbie in 2023, which by itself made more noise than Skydance's entire filmography minus Cruise.
So when Ellison looks at Warner Bros. — the studio behind Batman, Harry Potter, DC, the Matrix universe, Barbie — he's not shopping on a whim. He's trying to buy structural relevance.
A Chess Move (or a Poker Bluff?)
Let's rewind to the context. In September, Ellison fired off an unsolicited offer for WBD. Translation from corporate-speak: he showed up uninvited, like that uncle at the barbecue who walks straight to the fridge and helps himself.
WBD, instead of showing him the door, decided to explore the sale. Netflix jumped into the mix wanting the studio and the premium streaming assets. Ellison launched a hostile bid — which in the corporate world is basically saying "I'm buying directly from your shareholders, screw the board" — and still managed to lock in a seven-day negotiation window.
This week, Paramount raised its offer for the entire WBD.
Read that again: for the entire WBD. Not just the studio. Not just the streaming. The whole package.
Why This Matters to You
"But I don't invest in Hollywood." Easy there, pal.
Warner Bros. was the second-highest-grossing studio at the American box office last year. Paramount came in fourth. Merging the two is like when Buffett buys a mediocre company that has an extraordinary hidden asset — you're not buying the present, you're buying the optionality of the future.
As Paul Dergarabedian from Comscore put it: the entity that swallows Warner gets "tremendous potency in brand identity and revenue generation." In plain English: whoever takes Warner becomes a real heavyweight.
And here's the point nobody's discussing: Netflix wants the same toy. The same Netflix that spent years spitting on the traditional movie model, prioritizing streaming over the big screen, now wants Hollywood's most iconic studio. Irony worthy of the Joker.
The Elephant in the Room
The big question isn't whether Ellison can buy Warner. It's whether he can manage Warner.
Because it's one thing to produce action movies with Tom Cruise — a professional who does his own stunts and practically directs himself. It's a whole different ball game to run a catalog with hundreds of IPs, a global streaming operation, TV networks, and a legacy spanning nearly 100 years.
Nassim Taleb would ask: "Does this guy have skin in the game?" The answer is yes — Ellison is the son of Oracle founder Larry Ellison, and he's already poured billions of his own money into Skydance. This isn't anonymous sovereign fund cash. This is money with a first and last name attached.
But having skin in the game doesn't guarantee a win. It guarantees that the pain will be very real if things go south.
The question that remains is simple: would you bet your money on a guy whose biggest hit depends on a 63-year-old actor who scales buildings without a stunt double?
