The Greatest Showman #775 - Tumbling Knowledge
Waiting, sprinting, jumping, rolling—one movement out of sync, and the momentum faltered. Renly sat up, confusion plastered on his face as he looked around. Had he miscalculated his forward thrust? Before he could figure it out, the loose gravel beneath him shifted, and he slid downward like he was on a playground slide, his feet landing firmly on the ground.
The crew exchanged glances, chuckled, and reset.
"Start shooting!"
He took a step back—too far—and nearly toppled off the wall but regained control just in time. Launching forward, he leaped, rolled, and landed on his shoulders. A sheet of breakaway glass shattered upon impact, scattering like fireworks. Yet, his momentum carried him forward, tumbling again and again until he hit the ground, his hair and clothes dusted with shards.
Despite being stunt glass, the impact left his palms and arms scraped, blood welling up in tiny beads. The wounds looked worse than they felt—just superficial abrasions. A quick bandage, and he was ready to go again.
"Start shooting!"
This time, he pushed off with both hands, attempting to counteract the force, but he overcompensated. His body soared higher than expected, flipping in midair. Without the foundation of Chinese martial arts training, he couldn't correct his rotation, and he crashed down, rolling like a disjointed mummy. His vision blurred, stars dancing in his periphery.
The camera captured his unintentional acrobatics beautifully—too beautifully. It looked choreographed, almost like a circus act rather than a gritty action scene. The crew gave him a thumbs-up and quipped, "Chinese Kung Fu!"
"Start shooting!"
Renly took a deep breath, centered himself, and braced against the simulated turbulence from the helicopter model. He sprinted forward, leaped, and tucked his body tight like a missile. As his shoulders dipped, his upper body rotated with precision.
Boom!
His shoulder hit the ground, glass cascading like rain. His core tightened instinctively, guiding his body into another roll. He lost sight of the ground momentarily, spinning in a 360-degree arc. As he descended, his hands stretched forward, bracing for impact. His palms met the ground with force, pain jolting up his arms. But he remained steady, using the recoil to propel himself back into the air.
A twist—
Another 270-degree rotation. He couldn't perfectly replicate the previous move, so he let inertia carry him forward, hitting the ground shoulder-first, then elbows, then knees. One final roll absorbed the last of his momentum before he landed hard, muscles tensed beyond pain, body locked in a contorted sprawl.
Through the dim lighting, his oil-slicked face was resolute, eyes glinting with a fleeting, fierce determination. A flash of struggle crossed his brow before he buried it deep.
Cinematographer Barry Ackroyd was already in position. He skidded across the floor, camera in hand, lying low to capture the shot from an upward angle. He closed in, tracking Renly's expression in an intense close-up, seizing the raw moment before calling the scene.
"Cut!"
Director Paul Greengrass erupted in applause. "Magnificent! Absolutely magnificent!" The sequence had been grand, visceral, electrifying—everything an action scene should be. But above all, the camera had captured an unfiltered, kinetic realism beyond expectations.
His excitement was momentary. Then, he watched as Renly flipped onto his back, lifted his legs, and without using his hands, sprung upright in a perfect kip-up. Fists raised in a combat stance, chin tucked, he peered through his disheveled hair with intense focus, surveying an invisible enemy.
Was this a joke?
Renly remained deadly serious. "How was that? James Bond enough? Or maybe Bruce Lee? Think this could blow up the big screen?"
The crew burst into laughter and applause. The age-old trope of action heroes striking a pose after a grueling stunt—it never got old, especially not in rehearsal.
As the laughter subsided, Renly straightened up, stretching his limbs. Now that the adrenaline had worn off, the pain seeped in, muscle by muscle.
Filming action sequences wasn't just about looking cool. Watching stunt performers made it seem effortless, but executing it firsthand was an entirely different challenge. Strength, agility, and angles were just the beginning. Protecting oneself, maintaining on-screen presence, and syncing with the camera's needs—those were the real skills. And the physical toll? That was simply part of the deal.
Four takes in, and it wasn't just about perfecting his own movements. He had to account for unpredictable variables—unexpected falls, stray debris, timing with practical effects—and most importantly, harmonizing with the entire production team.
He turned to Barry. "Got what you needed?"
Barry, still cross-legged on the floor, scrutinized the playback footage. "No problem!" He replayed the ten-second clip repeatedly before looking up, visibly impressed. "Mate, you're insane. Watching you makes my bones ache."
"But you got the shot. That's all that matters," Renly grinned.
Paul stepped in. "Brilliant work! The footage exceeded expectations."
Renly feigned disappointment. "So… about that Bond-style stance? Does it make the final cut?"
"Absolutely not!" Paul snorted, though his smile betrayed amusement. "Next up is Jennifer's scene. After she lands, you two will engage. The whole sequence needs to be tight and precise. In post-production, we're cutting between over 200 shots—from helicopter explosions to alien threats and collapsing buildings. Rapid edits will drive the intensity."
Two hundred shots. Not just of Renly and Jennifer, but the entire chaotic battlefield. The fragmented approach would amplify tension, immersing the audience in a pulse-pounding spectacle.
For now, the method was different. Instead of shooting scene-by-scene, Greengrass shot the entire sequence from multiple angles, leaving editing room for later.
Renly sighed theatrically. "I was hoping for my James Bond moment."
Paul smirked. "You'll get your chance. I have no doubt you'd make an excellent 007."
With that, he turned to set up Jennifer's scene.
Barry finally noticed Renly standing stiffly, his movements slightly off. "You good?" he asked.
Renly waved him off. "Just a rock to the waist during that last jump. Bruised, probably. No big deal."
Barry gawked. "Bruised? You make it sound like a mosquito bite!"
Renly just laughed. "You can't shoot an action movie without taking a few hits. So, next take—do I stand up like the Terminator?"
He referenced the iconic kneeling rise of Arnold Schwarzenegger's T-800, an unmistakable moment in cinema. This time, he wanted to tweak it—a small tribute in his own style.
Barry chuckled. "That… actually might work."
And with that, the next scene was underway.