The Greatest Showman #678 - Science Fiction Discussion

"I really liked the script, the story, and the character," Renly said with a grin. "I told myself that if I missed this project, I'd definitely regret it. So, I gave it my all to be part of this work. It's an honor to be involved."

Jeff quietly watched, his eyes studying Renly. Slowly, the corners of his mouth lifted into a subtle smile. Renly's sincerity was evident, yet the words themselves were almost a textbook press conference answer. His response, polished and professional, could apply to any film or character. "Edge of Tomorrow," for instance, could easily fit that template.

Renly's meaning was clear, but Jeff feigned ignorance and responded seriously, "So, you're saying you're not satisfied with the script of Edge of Tomorrow?"

The sarcasm hidden beneath the routine press conference script was evident—it hinted at dissatisfaction with the typical formulaic scripts, characters, and commercial movie templates. But Edge of Tomorrow had been recognized in the industry, its script highly regarded. Wasn't that enough?

Renly chuckled softly, not defending himself but nodding in agreement. His response only deepened the playful tone in Jeff's eyes. "No, it's an excellent script," Renly affirmed. "I think it's excellent, but it's not Inception."

For Renly, Inception represented the perfect balance of business and art in the second decade of the 21st century. After Inception, his next favorite was Mad Max: Fury Road. Despite Nolan's reputation, Renly preferred Inception to The Dark Knight. While professionals often saw Inception as too commercial and its artistic value as secondary to The Dark Knight, Renly appreciated Inception precisely because of its commercial sensibility.

"Inception" was a commercial film, and that was part of its excellence—its handling of dreams and reality, especially in ways that resonated with anyone who had ever dealt with loss or emotional pain. The film's emotional depth and the lingering question of reality versus fantasy at the end made it exceptional. The artistic value was modest but sufficient for a commercial film.

Edge of Tomorrow leaned heavily on its commercial elements, with artistic refinement taking a backseat. But still, it was a strong combination of both business and art, even if the business side took center stage.

Jeff didn't reply immediately. Instead, he shifted the conversation's pace, his eyes fixed intently on Renly. His gaze, unyielding and probing, created an uncomfortable silence, but Renly remained calm, meeting Jeff's stare.

Then, Jeff broke the tension with a grin. "So, you're so arrogant and self-righteous? Isn't that risky for a newcomer? You don't worry I might kick you out right now?"

Renly smirked lightly, replying with a playful tone, "That's my strategy mistake." There was no defense, just a calm acknowledgment and even a hint of banter.

Jeff couldn't help but laugh, clearly amused. "Admitting it was all part of the strategy—now that's something only someone like you would do in Hollywood. This wit, this confidence, this charm—it's so refreshing. Even Brad Pitt's never done that."

"Was that part of the strategy?" Jeff asked, still chuckling.

Renly shrugged casually, but his smile never faded.

"Alright, then," Jeff said, still laughing. "Let's get back to it. What do you think sets Edge of Tomorrow apart?"

Renly raised an eyebrow, surprised by Jeff's line of questioning. It wasn't typical for someone in Jeff's position—he wasn't a director, screenwriter, or producer—yet here he was, interested in discussing the script. This wasn't what Renly had expected from an audition.

But he quickly recovered, straightening up and preparing his response. "Have you ever played Nintendo?" he asked, curious if Jeff had been part of the generation that grew up with it.

Jeff paused, the question catching him off guard. But after a moment, he nodded, clearly intrigued.

Renly smiled. "When you're playing a game, every time a character dies, you get to start over. First time, second time—you keep trying until you succeed. Each failure feels different. The first one might be surprising, the second one might trigger curiosity, the third could spark a competitive spirit, and by the twentieth failure, you might want to quit. But when you finally pass the level, how does it feel?"

"Victory!" Jeff blurted out, remembering the thrill of success.

Renly nodded. "Exactly. The joy of victory—it's hard to express. But after you clear one level, there's another, and another. The victory feels fleeting. Unless you're the first in the world to clear it."

Jeff chuckled, remembering his younger days, and nodded in agreement.

Renly continued, "That's what Edge of Tomorrow feels like—like playing a game. But here's the difference: in the script, we're not the players controlling the game. We're the characters living through it. Imagine if each death you faced was your own. Would the game still be the same?"

Renly's shift in perspective shed new light on the entire concept. Instead of merely presenting the story of a soldier stuck in a time loop, he turned it into a reflection on the nature of the loop itself—highlighting the difference between the player and the character.

Jeff, the head of one of the top film production departments, immediately understood the point. A great commercial film creates a fantastic viewing experience, but a classic one goes further—it allows the audience to participate in the experience. This, Renly realized, was why Inception had made such an impact: it made people question their own lives, even if only for a moment.

Jeff smiled, clearly intrigued. "Go on," he urged.

Renly took a deep breath. "Look at William Cage's character. He's a businessman during a war. He convinces others to fight, but he stays out of harm's way. Sounds familiar, right?" he said, letting the implication hang in the air.

Jeff laughed immediately, catching the satirical reference to the US government's involvement in the Iraq War—where politicians stayed safe while sending others to fight.

"But remember," Renly quickly added, "this is still a commercial film, not an art film." He grinned at Jeff's growing amusement. "Cage evolves from an outsider to an insider, from life to death. Each death changes him, each experience reshapes his understanding of the world. In the beginning, it's just about winning the game. But after enough deaths, he has to reconsider: what does war truly mean?"

Renly paused, letting the weight of his words sink in. Jeff, eager to hear more, pressed, "So, what's the answer? What does Edge of Tomorrow say about that?"

Renly smiled, understanding the true nature of the question—Jeff wasn't just asking about the character, William Cage, or the story. He wanted to know Renly's view on the fusion of business and art in the film.

Renly took a moment, then responded thoughtfully. "Throughout the cycle of life and death, Cage experiences the deaths of his comrades, feeling the fear, the anger, the numbness, and finally, the mechanical repetition of fighting. For the game controller, victory is the goal, but for the participant, it's survival and peace. Death in war is just a statistic for the manipulators, but for the soldiers, it's the end of a nightmare. When Cage transitions from manipulator to participant, he realizes that all his previous words were hollow."

Jeff's eyes gleamed as he absorbed Renly's insight.