The Greatest Showman - Chapter 795: Frenzied

The fundamental etiquette of the theater is to remain quiet, upright, and elegant, preserving a sense of decorum. During a performance, one must never leave their seat. If standing is necessary, it should be done with a stooped, light, and apologetic posture—not just to avoid disrupting the performance, but also to show respect to fellow audience members.

Renly adheres to such etiquette. Drama, opera, ballet, discourse, and concerts—all these art forms are labeled as "elegant" not because of their inherent superiority, but due to the strict and precise etiquette surrounding them. This distinction separates refined art from street performances.

Both forms are valid expressions of creativity, neither superior nor inferior, but suited for different audiences. Just as aristocrats must shed their formal airs when enjoying street performances, immersing themselves in the revelry of the people, so too must civilians adapt to the rules of elegant art, presenting themselves with grace and respect. Etiquette is a mutual gesture.

Filming for Edge of Tomorrow wrapped up 40 minutes ahead of schedule, allowing Renly to head straight to the theater for his Les Misérables audition. As he stepped into the theater, the Hollywood sheen faded away. Here, he was not a rising star, not an A-lister—just an actor, another hopeful auditioning for a role, even if this production was backed by Hollywood.

Yet, events unfolded in unexpected ways. First, there was Nina Gold. Then, Cameron Mackintosh himself appeared. Renly had not anticipated this.

"Mr. Mackintosh." Renly greeted him politely, shaking his hand before subtly gesturing toward the empty seat beside him. His eyes conveyed an unspoken question—

What should one do upon encountering an acquaintance in the theater? A nod, a silent greeting with the eyes, and then a proper conversation during intermission.

That was precisely what Renly did. Cameron, seizing the opportunity, sat beside him, a small smile playing on his lips. "You arrived earlier than expected. Or should I say, precisely on time?"

Renly chuckled but offered no reply. Instead, he gestured toward the stage, subtly reminding Cameron that their whispers were disrupting the performance. The choice was clear: either fall silent and let the audition proceed or pause the audition for a conversation. Theater etiquette dictated the correct course of action.

Cameron chuckled. "Hollywood's lawlessness made me forget these rules." Then, raising his voice, he called out, "Apologies, let the audition continue."

However, as soon as he spoke, he noticed the front-row crew members sneaking glances back at them. One after another, their focus wavered. Cameron let out a knowing laugh. "It seems everyone is rather distracted. Let's take a five-minute break before resuming."

Turning back to Renly, he mused, "Clearly, I'm not the only one curious."

Renly's smile froze for just a moment before curling upward again. He replied in a teasing tone, "So, have you found my third eye yet? I hope Hollywood hasn't mutated me."

"Haha." Cameron chuckled, relaxing slightly. But as he studied Renly more closely, he observed something else. "You're even younger than I expected."

Renly raised an eyebrow, uncertain how to respond. Cameron smirked. "That was a compliment."

Les Misérables had already undergone three rounds of video auditions. The casting team, cautious and meticulous, sought a balance between Hollywood marketability and true theatrical talent—someone like Hugh Jackman.

Renly had submitted two audition tapes: one featuring Éponine's segment, the other portraying Javert. An unusual choice, to say the least.

Yet, the two performances showcased his solid technique and undeniable dramatic tension. Despite his years in Hollywood, he had not neglected his theatrical foundation. On the contrary, his screen experience had infused his performances with richer nuances, breathing new life into the characters.

One role was a young woman, hopelessly in love. The other, a rigid, justice-driven man, tormented by the weight of his convictions.

Two vastly different characters, yet Renly displayed remarkable control and interpretation, making his age—and even his gender—irrelevant. What stood out most was that these weren't mere imitations of past performances; he infused them with his own perspective, compelling the audience to reevaluate the roles.

Cameron, having shaped Les Misérables for over three decades, instinctively wanted to critique, to reject, to push back. Renly's interpretation disrupted the long-established image of these characters. But as Cameron took a step back and analyzed the performance objectively, he saw not defiance—but possibility.

For the first time, Cameron felt truly intrigued.

It wasn't that Renly's performance was the greatest he had ever seen—countless veteran actors in both the West End and Hollywood had honed their craft over decades. Renly had yet to reach that level. But there was something about him. His on-screen presence alone could not fully capture his potential. To truly judge his capabilities, he needed to be seen live, on stage, without the barrier of a camera.

And then, there was the undeniable allure surrounding Renly. Only twenty-two, yet shrouded in mystery, talent, and an almost mythical reputation. It wasn't just Cameron who was intrigued—Nina Gold, Tom Hooper, and most of the production team shared the same sentiment.

Now, sitting across from him, Cameron's first thought was simply: He's so young. And yet, thinking back to those audition tapes, the intrigue only deepened.

"So, which role are you auditioning for?" Cameron wasted no time on pleasantries. Years in London's West End had ingrained in him a directness befitting the industry.

Renly, sensing the weight of the moment, did not joke. "Jean Valjean."

Cameron's reaction was immediate—unmasked surprise rippled across his face. He studied Renly, as if hearing the answer for the first time.

Renly, arching a brow, added, "At the end of my second audition tape, I introduced myself and explicitly stated my desire to take on the role. Did the post-production team cut that part?"

Cameron blinked, then chuckled, nodding slightly. Of course Renly had mentioned it.

Had any other twenty-two-year-old made such a declaration, it would have been dismissed as sheer arrogance. To claim Jean Valjean—a role embodying decades of hardship, redemption, and profound transformation—at such a young age? It would have been laughable, even offensive.

But this wasn't just anyone. This was Renly Hall.

Was he delusional? Arrogant? Audacious? Or simply confident?

This question was precisely why Cameron had sought out Renly in the first place. It was why the entire creative team was on edge with anticipation.

A twenty-two-year-old might play Marius. Perhaps even Enjolras. But Jean Valjean?

Renly had already shattered expectations. And Cameron wasn't ready to dismiss him just yet. He wouldn't say yes—but he wouldn't say no, either.

"So, what are you performing today?" Cameron inquired.

Renly replied calmly, "As requested, I've prepared Valjean's aria. But I've also prepared additional pieces, aiming to break a few preconceived notions."

Cameron smirked. "You do realize that's quite the tall order?"

Renly did not flinch. His confidence remained unwavering.

Cameron chuckled. "Then you won't mind if I change your audition on the spot?"

It wasn't a question—it was a statement.

Renly's heartbeat quickened. The real challenge had begun.

"Marius or Enjolras—your choice," Cameron said, tilting his chin toward the stage. "Perform Red and Black."

Renly knew the decision had already been made for him. He remained silent.

Sure enough, Cameron nodded. "Enjolras. You'll play Enjolras. The one on stage is Marius."

And just like that, the audition took an unexpected turn.