JPMorgan Chase: The Dragon Ball Z of Banking Institutions

"From a public relations standpoint, for more and more companies, it's becoming a question of how, rather than if," Kristen says to the board of directors. A full mahogany conference table stretches all the way to the back of the board room with uncomfortable waiting room chairs against the walls, some filled with a young person, diligently taking notes. Kristen faces the boards of directors, a large monitor floating on the wall behind her. The words on the monitor read "JPMorgan Chase," along with the company's hexagon-shaped logo. 

"It's not only effective but, unlike traditional marketing techniques, this particular avenue of thought is an investment that, if executed properly, will become profitable."

Kristen glances at the monitor behind her, clicking the remote in her left hand. "Will JPMorgan Chase be an early adopter?" the monitor reads.

"We all know things are different now. The way people get their information is decentralized. Grassroots movements happen on social forums like Reddit, and they hurt companies like JP Morgan Chase. Understanding this new landscape is costing the private sector billions."

Some board members nod in agreement sipping brown liquor from crystal glasses. Kristen is sure to look each person in the eyes while she speaks. 

"You might say, 'what does that have to do with this?'. It's all the same. It's all perception. People don't like you right now."

She curls her lip ever so slightly into a grin. A grin as planned and practiced as the PowerPoint charts on the screen behind her.

"It's hard to hear, I know. It hurts not to be liked."

An older man towards the middle of the long table bursts out a single halting "Ha", accompanied by a few softer chuckles from his surrounding colleagues. Kristen's grin disappears, and in an instant, her face changes back to that blank serious stare that the grin replaced. Kristen's hazel eyes pierce into a middle-aged man wearing a purple tie. He braces at the sharp change of her face, splaying his fingers on the table and shifting his weight slightly to the balls of his feet. His reaction is imperceptible to everyone except her. She assesses him with her gaze, testing his response, logging it away in her mind's Rolodex.  

"It does hurt not to be liked. Because if people hate you, they don't care what happens to you."

Kristen clicks the remote. The screen flashes to a series of charts and graphs. 

"Social media is where people talk. It's where they exchange information and where they form opinions. Companies have found this to be a blessing and a curse. Conversations that used to take place between friends at a bar over drinks are now happening online for anyone to find and record. The curse is that we have to do our best to monitor those interactions."

Kristen pauses, floating to another part of the conference room, shifting her focus to another board member. 

"As you can imagine from a marketing perspective, the valuable data that's out there could offer cultural insights worth trillions, but there is just too much of it. Too many trends popping up all at once. Too many fads coming and going. We don't have the computing power to store and analyze the petabytes of information exchanged every day over these platforms."

She turns sharply to another target. 

"The blessing is that we can study some of it. We can study large sample sizes from various identities and demographics. We can study an individual for years to create an accurate picture of who they are and how to sell to them. These observations have determined that companies held in high regard by the largest demographic of people are spoken about more favorably overall across all demographics.”

She locks eyes with an older thin lipped man to her left, a blue vein just above his right eye pulsing. The muscles under his wrinkled skin tense and relax. 

"So we focused our studies on companies we felt were held in high regard to try to understand the benefits of this data. Disney was one of the companies we looked at. We found that in public social forums like Facebook or Twitter, there are large vocal segments of users that will come to the defense of Disney no matter the context. Let's look at an example."

Kristen clicks to a screen with a comments thread. 

"Here is a news article about a customer at a Disney park who had been decapitated while on Mr. Toad's Wild Ride. There had been speculation of a lapse in judgment on the part of Disney with regard to their safety inspection standards. Here in this comment thread, you can see people writing about how irresponsible it was for the company to allow that sort of oversight. Comments that Disney should be held financially responsible for the wrongful death and even some comments start to spiral into broader arguments of moral corruption. Still, every negative comment has a counterpoint made by a fan of the company."

Kristen uses the red laser dot at the end of her remote to highlight a passage on the monitor. Her tight black ponytail hanging precisely to the top of her shoulder blade.

"Here, a user responds to a critical comment, imploring them to wait for more information before we jump to conclusions about Disney's implicit guilt. The commenter goes a step further in defense of the company and implies that the accident in question could be the fault of the deceased." 

She turns back to the board members.

"We can make bots on all these social media applications to scour the web for negative mentions of the company and fight it with fake comments or prescribed rebuttals, but wouldn't it be better if the consumer did the work for us?"

Another planned expression. Kristen grins, but it's a different grin than before, this time, it's the kind of grin that says, "I know something you don't." 

"How does Disney do it? How can they bring an army of consumer zealots to their aid at the first whiff of negative press?"

Kristen clicks on the next slide. The front page of an individual's Facebook profile is blown up on the 120-inch monitor behind her. A middle-aged woman stands in front of Cinderella's castle wearing a t-shirt with Minnie Mouse ears printed as an abstract paint splash with the words "Momma" printed above. Her dirty blonde hair hangs in thin, sickly strands around a Disney-themed tiara, winking a tiny sparkle on the camera lens. Around her wide hips, a pink tutu. The lacing color, translucent in the light of the day. On either side of the woman in the profile picture, her two children. A pair of young girls wearing matching tutus and tiaras and shirts, but instead of saying "Momma," the words in its place say "Littles" in the same animated black cursive font. 

"They become personal. Disney is entrenched into the emotional psyche of girls age 5-14, boys age 8-16, women age 29-40; the list goes on. They love Disney because they grew up with Cinderella and Star Wars.. Disney is a part of the things that make us who we are. An assault on Disney is an assault on a piece of something that makes us unique. Think about how deep that goes for some people."

Kristen looks back at the profile picture. 

"Those two girls are going to remember that day. Look at the smiles on their faces."

The mother and her girls beam with smiles showing all of their teeth. The older of the two sister's adult teeth coming in crooked. The youngest girl, missing one of her front teeth. The mother's coffee-stained teeth, a dull beige streak against the theme park's brightly colored backdrop. 

"They are going to remember this as one of the best days of their childhoods, and it was brought to you by The Walt Disney Company."

The screen flashes to the next slide—a black screen with JPMorgan Chase and the respective logo. 

"I want you to keep these thoughts in mind as we move forward. Now, remember, these pitches are just a few options for you to think about. None of them are set in stone, but we could move on them if the board is interested. Before each presentation, you will be provided the relevant data for you to review at your leisure, taking a few moments after each pitch for questions."

A door to Kristen's left opens. The man on the other side of the door is out of place. His long sandy hair lays in frizzy curls over his shoulder, and his face sports patchy tufts of brown pubic hair. He takes a step into the room, the soles of his worn flip flops a dusty red color. Bowing her head towards the audience, Kristen finds one of the waiting room chairs against the wall and sits. The New York City skyline presses against the enormous glass windows behind her. 

As the speakers transition, the boardroom stirs. Breathless whispers, shuffling paper, and ice clattering against crystal crescendo and then abate in the few seconds it takes for the man in sandals to fill the space Kristen had left. 

"Good Afternoon. I'm Randy Couche. I'm one of the preliminary creatives on this project."

Randy's body hums like a tuning fork. In front of a group of men and women worth billions, he can't help but think that perhaps he had dressed a little too casually. Initially, Randy had thought that dressing casually to a meeting that could make or break his career would make him look cool and relaxed, more friendly even. He was starting to second guess wearing the Gorillaz t-shirt he had bought at one of their concerts five years ago. A ragged hole in his shirt just above his right nipple suddenly became very apparent to Randy. 

"Take a moment to imagine something with me." 

Randy closes his eyes. The darkness helps him relax a little.

"A young boy, maybe twelve years old, is running through a heavy wood. In tattered clothing, with a staff slung over his shoulder, he moves above and under fallen trees expertly. He is moving with purpose, his face painted with a rye grin. The camera runs with him, ducking underneath an ancient moss-covered tree, the sound of leaves rushing by our ears. Until the boy reaches the edge of the forest. He stands on a cliff's edge, small stones falling over the deep ravine at his sudden arrival. Looking to the sky, the boy takes a breath to say something, and suddenly, the camera shifts and we see what he sees. A panning camera reveals a small city below the rocky cliff. As we continue to look towards the sky, the near-infinite coils of its tail are revealed, until finally, we stop at the head of a great dragon, its snake-like body swirling away into infinity. A set of shining orbs float in a circle in front of the dragon. We pull back, and now we can see the great dragon and the boy standing on the cliff, a mere silhouette against the enormity of the dragon. 'Shenron!' the boy cries. Cut to black and fade in the words: Dragon Ball."

Randy, a little breathless, opens his eyes to a room of wrinkled faces staring blank back at him. The assistants sitting in the back clack the keys of their laptops more furiously. A hrmpf sound comes somewhere from someone at the long mahogany table.

"Dragon Ball and Dragon Ball Z are animated television shows and comic book stories from Japan. The stories have been around since the eighties, and new stories are being told in that universe today."

Feeling more confident, Randy continues.

"The stories follow the adventures of Goku, a powerful alien who, like Superman, was sent to earth to escape his home planet's destruction. As you can see from your data packets, the franchise has already made billions over its lifetime and continues to be a cultural phenomenon with fans from all over the world." 

Randy pauses while the room thumbs through papers, referring to the data Randy mentioned.

"This is what Disney did. They identified intellectual property with a broad existing fan base and blew it up. Marvel has existed forever with movies and television shows of varying success. Why would they buy a franchise that has been around for so long? They bought Marvel because of its vast universe. They bought marvel because they knew if they could figure out the formula to make those films successful, they had content to draw from for a century. But most importantly, Disney knew that children from every existing generation have grown up with Marvel superheroes. That could be the Dragon Ball franchise for JPMorgan Chase." 

Randy pauses for effect. 

"Like Spiderman, Dragon Ball has decades of stories to draw from. The Dragon Ball franchise could be three, five, ten, fifteen movies with television shows to go along with it."

"My pitch, however, is not just to convince you to go with this particular intellectual property. In Japan, they also have comic books. They call them manga. Like American comic books, manga has stories about everything, with content and IP that stretch into eternity. If this particular franchise doesn't do it for you, that's fine. But I really believe manga stories could be the next trillion-dollar cinematic universe. Thank you for your time."

Randy didn't expect a standing ovation, but he didn't expect the silence that followed to be ego-crushing. No one in the room clapped when he was finished. They didn't even start talking right away. Randy stopped talking and stood in silence for maybe thirty seconds, waiting for something to happen. Someone in the boardroom burped. Not a loud belch, but one of those burps where you hold your mouth closed to conceal the initial sound, and then after the belch is gone, you can open your mouth to let the excess gas escape. Sometimes, however, the gas from the burp is too much, and you let the air out after the belch in a sort of gasp as if you had been holding your breath. Randy looks to Kristen to save him. 

"Thank you, Randy."

Kristen says, standing. Her mind flaring with pangs of regret for opening the pitches with Randy. Standing next to Randy, she continues. 

"You bring up some great points, Randy. Thanks again for that presentation." 

Turning to address the board, 

"Are there any questions before we move to the next presentation?" 

Low voices fill the cool conference room. A leathery hand raises, his elbow resting on the wooden table. A man in his sixties with hair dyed an unnatural black lowers his hand.

"Why wouldn't we just use a subsidiary for something like this?"

He says, leafing through papers. 

Kristen answers before Randy has a chance. 

"That's a great question. We want the public to know that JP Morgan is the company making Dragon Ball movies. When that woman thinks about all those Halloweens she dressed up as Cinderella growing up, she doesn't think about Charles Perrault. She thinks about the animated film and that Disney castle animation just before the movie starts. We need to tell the public who they can thank for bringing their beloved stories to life." 

Kristen pauses for the audience to take in the answer. 

"Are there any other questions?"

A voice speaks up from somewhere on the other side of the conference room. Neither Kristen nor Randy can tell to whom the voice belongs. 

"What if the first movie bombs?"

It's a woman's voice. Her voice sounds younger than most in the room. 

The question flashes in Kristen's mind for a second, and an answer isn't coming. She panics. 

"Randy, this might be a good question for you to answer." 

"Well.."

Randy begins, trying to look at one spot on the table to keep from getting nervous.

"Well, that's one of the reasons we chose Dragon Ball as our pitch. Obviously, there is no way for me to say for sure if this movie would be successful, but I can tell you we have looked into it, and the success looks promising." 

Kristen lets out a long relieved breath. 

"First, we tried to identify the elements that led to the success of the marvel cinematic universe. Tone was the first thing we identified. The lighthearted, often humorous tone of the first marvel film, Ironman, set the bar for the subsequent films as they all have a similar feel. Bright colors, lighthearted, and lots of jokes. You can see them lean into this style of writing even more as they release more films. The third Thor film was actually written and directed by a comedy writer. The Dragon Ball series lends itself quite well to this tone. Goku is a very happy and silly character. I'd make the argument that the humor the writers and Robert Downey Jr. brought to Tony Stark on that screen are why the franchise is worth billions. With Dragon Ball, we'd be coming out with that same proven style just applied to a different franchise."

Maybe he's not so bad, Kristen thinks, a little relieved Randy is more on top of things than she had thought. For a second, she considers the idea that perhaps the way someone looks isn't always an indication of their abilities and then disregards the thought as ridiculous.

"It says here that in 2009 a Dragon Ball movie came out and lost twenty or thirty million. How will this be any different?"

Another old man with dyed hair says, looking down at his phone, his goatee with a single intentional streak of white. 

"Well, it may sound dismissive to say this, but they didn't do it right." 

The man gives a sarcastic huff, still scrolling through his phone. 

"Think about the new Star Wars films."

Randy continues, 

"That production team spent millions making practical effect puppets and sets and make-up when for much less they could have generated that creature using a computer program. Why do you think they did that? Do you think they did it on a whim? They did it because their main goal was to make a movie that couldn't fail. They realized that the best way to do that was to make movies very close to the original star wars films. Every moment of those movies is meant to remind you of your love for the originals. In short, the first live-action Dragon Ball film didn't spend enough money to capture the feel of its source material." 

The man who had asked the question was looking at Randy, more interested than before.

"All our research shows that the audience is there for a billion-dollar return on the first film if we do it right."

"How much do you think we'd need to make the movie right?" someone asks.

"We should be looking to spend what other tent pole films are spending. I would expect to spend two hundred million, but that is just a ballpark number." 

Randy pauses for a second, considering whether he should say what he is thinking. 

"The idea here is to create a spigot of goodwill and cash for decades. If the board is very concerned with a price point on the first step of this investment, then maybe this school of thought isn't for JP Morgan Chase." 

Kristen had to stop herself from clapping. It was the perfect response. Respectfully worded but bold enough to challenge their dedication to moving forward. After a few seconds of silence, Kristen spoke. 

"If there aren't any more questions, we will go ahead and move forward with our next pitch."

Kristen pauses again, waiting for someone to speak, but no one does. 

"Alright, then let's move on. Thank you to Randy for your presentation."

Kristen holds out her arm, motioning to the door. Randy gives a slight bow to the board room and leaves through the door he entered. The second presenter steps in front of the monitor as Kristen sits down. 

She wears a renaissance era dress, her waist tied up with a bustier so that her breasts bulge from the top of the white frilled neckline. Green suede puffs out in all directions like some awful old Irish wedding dress. Kristen holds her face in her hands. 

"Rain pangs against the steel forged armor of the nameless warrior. His breath is smoke in the chilled air, rising from his lips in a curling vapor. Standing before the mouth of a great black cave, the warrior waits, streams of water falling from his silver beard. With a whisper, the longsword he bears lights a flame. A vorpal blade indeed, forged by an ancient dwarven artificer. Hark."

The woman in the dress declares, cupping a hand over her left ear. 

"A tremendous roar, great and terrible deep from within the tunnel. The earth trembles, rocks at the transom of the cave entrance fall at the warrior's feet, tumbling down the slight hill to the underbrush below. A figure takes shape out of the cave's darkness, and the warrior raises a broad shield. From the shadows appears a woman dressed in soiled torn clothing. Her black hair is frizzing clumps around her shoulder, her eyes, black rounds of coal sunken into her skull. The warrior and woman begin toward each other. He, walking proudly with his shoulders back, a flaming sword pointing at the feral woman as he moves. She, nearly crawling on all fours, hunched over. Behind her, another shape takes form from the immense black. From the cave, a terrible dragon emerges buffeting its great wings, billowing a thunderous roar into the clouded sky."

In front of the board of directors for JP Morgan Chase, a woman in a renaissance era dress pantomimes a cowering motion as if the dragon were in the 60th-floor conference room with them.

"The warrior is running now. Rain, falling in sheets over the muddy battlefield. The dragon breathes fire into the sky as the warrior and feral woman lock into combat. Fade to black." 

The woman takes a minute to position herself back under the monitor. 

"Hi, I'm Heidi Steel, and I am one of the preliminary creatives working on potential concepts for an ongoing and connected fantasy cinematic universe."

Heidi curtsies, her big dress puffing out as she kneels slightly. An older man in his seventies sitting at the conference table towards the back of the room stands. His gray hair parted with a comb to the left. After sneezing into his handkerchief and slipping it back into the front pocket of his navy suit, he says, projecting to the entire room as if he too were performing:

 "This is some hippie bullshit." 

And he leaves through the conference room door muttering to himself, “Fucking nerds.”,the hiss of the hydraulic mechanism closing behind him.

Stunned, Heidi stares at the board room for a few seconds then produces an object from the bag slung over her shoulder and says, “Well, I brought these little action figure dragons for everyone.”