The Greatest Showman#827 - Bitterness

"On a long, dull, grey, silent day that autumn, heavy clouds hung low in the sky. I rode alone through this bleak, exotic country. Finally, when night slowly fell, the cold scenery of Usher's House unfolded before my eyes.

I had never seen it like this before, but from just a glimpse, an unbearable gloom seeped into me. I looked at the sparse landscape around the mansion: barren walls, decaying trees, their white branches stark against the sky. My soul felt speechless, my heart cooling, sinking, sickly with weakness."

At the film's end, Henry stood at the podium and recited Edgar Allan Poe's famous work The Fall of the House of Usher in a deep voice. His voice—hoarse, sad, and magnificent—made the words on the page seem to evolve into living images:

An overgrown, dilapidated campus; overturned desks; corners netted with dust; broken windows; dead leaves strewn across the floor; damaged door panels; scattered books; withered potted plants; raging winds. Yet, the blackboard still bore the teacher's writing, a reminder that all that had happened here was filled with bitterness and sorrow in this lonely ruin.

The House of Usher described by Poe is not just a school or an institution. It represents the education system and society at large.

In the final scene, Henry Bart stood alone at the podium, facing the desolate classroom that had crumbled into ruins. He sat quietly, gazing at the camera with distant eyes that seemed to fade from deep blue to black, their light extinguished.

Transcendence—the screen suddenly went black, and the chalk-written words "DETACHMENT" appeared. The haunting classical music played as the credits rolled, and one name stood out: Renly-Hall.

Mark froze in place, his mind reeling from the shock. Thoughts swirled in his head like a tangled ball of wool. Yet in the midst of this confusion, the name "Renly-Hall" shone like a beam of light in the darkness. The sound of "Den" echoed in his mind, and Mark stood up abruptly, applauding vigorously.

Clap, clap, clap.

This was more than just a film. It was a commentary on social education—not just in the United States, but globally. The power of education was steadily diminishing. The absence of proper home and school education left the next generation in a state of confusion, while economic struggles only deepened the educational crisis.

The essence of education should be to broaden one's view of the world, to alter how we measure and think about things. Yet now, education has become a mere means to secure economic gains and high-paying jobs. In the course of human development, we first sought material sustenance and later spiritual fulfillment. Education belongs to the latter, but now it has shifted to serve the former. This marks the decline of society, the distortion of the fast-food era.

But this story is also about Henry Bart, a man forgotten by his family, abandoned by the world. Though scarred by life's struggles, he still attempted to change the fate of others. Yet, he could not even save himself. How could he save others?

In Henry, the contradictory thoughts of an idealist and a realist converged. Every effort was defeated by reality, every compromise undermined. He struggled, but could not escape the sea of misery. At the end of the story, as the education system crumbled, Henry clung to the last ray of hope in the shattered ruins of the apocalypse.

He continued to walk slowly, undeterred.

It was a powerful story, but also a painful one. The despair, bitterness, and helplessness were like the sensation of drowning—struggling, yet constantly besieged. After watching the film, Mark felt a lingering bitterness in his mouth, unable to express it fully. The reflections stirred in him were endless.

Thus, Mark applauded without reservation—not only for the educational message in the film, but also for the social issues it addressed, and for Renly's outstanding performance, which was enough to shake the soul.

Renly's performance—his gestures, words, and actions—was complete, without the need for extra embellishments. The resonance in his soul was unmistakable, allowing every audience member to connect with the film, to lose themselves in it, and to emerge transformed. That is true acting. That is greatness. It made the entire movie a work of art.

Mark's sense of shock, though, could not fully capture his inner turmoil. So, he chose to applaud.

He was not alone. The audience, too, seemed to be in a shared emotional frenzy. The credits hadn't even finished rolling when the lights came on, and the applause erupted, growing louder, more intense. The theater shook with the sound of clapping.

The applause built to a fever pitch, surging like the dark tide beneath a calm surface, the violent waves crashing against the soul. The audience couldn't see or hear the tremors, but they felt the earth shaking from the depths of their hearts. The weakening of their senses heightened their awareness of the sound, amplifying it until it seemed to reverberate through their entire bodies.

The applause lasted for a full two minutes, building in strength until Tony Kaye and Renly Hall stood, moving to the front of the stage. The crowd's fervor escalated again, as though the theater had been struck by a tornado.

Those outside the premiere venue—the staff, the reporters, even the passersby—stood in stunned disbelief. Though the soundproofing kept the noise contained, the vibrations were undeniable. "DETACHMENT" had resonated deeply with the audience, garnering their unwavering support.

This was the Berlin Film Festival—where art is applauded, not commerce, and where the audience's reactions are raw and unrestrained. Here, applause isn't given lightly; it is reserved for true art.

"DETACHMENT" had received the rare honor of a four-minute standing ovation—something unprecedented at this year's festival. This kind of reception had been reserved for films like A Separation, and now, DETACHMENT had earned its place among them.

As the creative team walked to the stage, the thunderous applause continued, sustained and fervent.

Mark's hands began to numb, yet his heart overflowed with excitement. He turned to his friends—Card Tarina, Chuck, and Christine. Each of them was flushed with emotion, eyes alight with excitement as they clapped with all their strength. The image of Renly was reflected in their eyes, their souls echoing with the film's impact.

Suddenly, Mark felt his eyes well up. Tears blurred his vision, and a smile spread across his face. The applause grew even more intense.

Transcendence was not a movie that would bring you to tears with sadness. It was a film that numbed the soul with its bitterness, its frozen cry for help. But in that moment, the flood of emotion struck Mark with a force he didn't expect, because of Renly—because of the actor who had poured his life into the performance.

Mark had never seen Crazy in Love or Anti-Cancer Me, but Buried Alive had made him a fan of Renly. And now, Transcendence had solidified his admiration.

How lucky he felt, to witness this moment. As he recalled the red carpet, the premiere, and the film just completed, Mark was overwhelmed. Tears flowed freely, his heart racing, as the applause surged around him.

Tony, sensing the crowd's collective emotion, nudged Renly forward, pushing the true hero of the film into the spotlight. In that instant, the applause exploded again, shaking the theater.

Renly stood there, taking in the waves of applause. He wasn't basking in the praise; he was basking in the understanding, the shared connection with the audience. In that moment, he knew he had done his job as an actor, and that sense of fulfillment was irreplaceable.