LOS ANGELES — During the baseball strike of 1995, Thomas Tull, then a 24-year-old laundromat owner, was audacious enough to turn up at a training camp for the Atlanta Braves. They looked at his swing and sent him home.
No matter. Mr. Tull swatted through the entrepreneurial minor leagues, from laundries to tax prep centers to dot-com start-ups, and into Hollywood.
His aggressiveness and aw-shucks charm made him one of the most successful walk-on players in movie history. “The Dark Knight,” “300,” “The Hangover” and “Clash of the Titans” were all made with backing from his company, Legendary Entertainment, a Warner Brothers affiliate, which picked up more than $700 million in new financing last year.
But the coming months will tell if Mr. Tull really is the latest outsider to win an insider’s game.
Legendary is a supplier of six major releases by Warner from March to August, giving it an unusually large portion of the blockbuster season. If they are successful, Mr. Tull, 42, may come to be viewed as a budding Steve Ross, who used the resources of Kinney National Services, which operated parking lots, to build Time Warner: Legendary’s goal is to continue to grow. But failure could tip Legendary in the direction of the original DreamWorks SKG. That company, backed by Paul Allen, the Microsoft co-founder, started big and fizzled.
Already, some thorny problems have surfaced. Last month, Mr. Tull became embroiled in two lawsuits over an expensive “Godzilla” remake that is supposed to begin production shortly. Legendary’s forays into China as well as television and comic book publishing have failed or had a shaky start.
The Warner-Legendary relationship oscillates between cool and frosty, with Mr. Tull at times telling cohorts that he is taken for granted and various studio executives vexed by his success and efforts to be seen as a creative force and not just a writer of checks.
Mr. Tull, who declined to comment, is betting hundreds of millions of dollars on his next films. Sequels to “The Hangover” and “300” are almost guaranteed hits. But others are substantial risks. “Jack the Giant Killer,” an embellishment of “Jack and the Beanstalk,” comes on the heels of several fairy tale adaptations that disappointed at the box office.
“Man of Steel” is an expensive attempt to revive a well-worn Superman franchise. The less costly “42” is something Legendary once said it would never make — a drama, in this case the life story of Jackie Robinson.
The biggest gamble is “Pacific Rim.” Directed by Guillermo del Toro, it is a $150 million movie, set to open July 12, about human-piloted robots and alien monsters. Legendary is breaking its pattern of equal partnership with Warner by shouldering 75 percent of the cost, and is hoping the film will jump-start a merchandise business. Mr. Tull is also counting on “Pacific Rim” to convince skeptical industry peers that he has the creative acumen to generate a critical smash without Warner to lean on.
(Mr. del Toro is already a convert. “With Thomas,” he said in a phone interview, “the reactions are the same reactions you would get from another filmmaker.”)
Soon, Legendary must make a crucial decision about its future. Mr. Tull’s deal with Warner expires at the end of this year. So far, no serious talks about a renewal have started, according to both companies, partly because Mr. Tull was waiting for Warner to pick a chief executive to succeed Barry M. Meyer, who is retiring. Kevin Tsujihara was named to the post last Monday.
Warner declined to comment on its relationship with Mr. Tull. The studio would like him to stay, but it would not suffer terribly if he left, according to two high-level executives inside the company who requested anonymity to speak candidly. Warner, for instance, can rely on another financing partner, the newly revitalized Village Roadshow, these people said.
Legendary is equally cool; a person with knowledge of Mr. Tull’s options, who asked for anonymity because he was not authorized to speak publicly, said that Legendary had interest from other studios, mentioning a bond between Mr. Tull and several senior executives at Universal and Comcast.
This high-powered jockeying occurs a long way from the outskirts of Binghamton, N.Y., where Mr. Tull was raised poor by a single mother, a dental hygienist. Even he seems stunned by his rise in Hollywood, complete with a mansion in suburban Calabasas, Calif. — the nouveau riche nesting place of the Kardashians — and a small ownership stake in the Pittsburgh Steelers. (He made a failed bid for the San Diego Padres last summer.)
“If somebody came in and pitched me as a script, I would say it’s too far-fetched,” Mr. Tull said in a 2010 television interview.
He arrived here about a decade ago as a midlevel venture capitalist, working on technology start-ups with the Convex Group, based in Atlanta. He helped hatch an ill-fated plan to create disposable DVDs that would self-destruct in 48 hours, making for return-free rentals.
In 2004, Mr. Tull and William Fay, a friend and producer, decided to buy a film library from which they could produce effects-driven remakes and sequels. They settled on Orion Pictures, owned by Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer. A third partner, Scott Mednick, soon joined.
But Sony and others took MGM’s assets off the market, leaving Mr. Tull stuck on Hollywood’s doorstep.
“Let’s just forget about the library,” Mr. Fay recalls Mr. Tull saying. “Let’s just build a film company around the precepts we’ve developed.”
