The Greatest Showman #921 - Star Bright
Was this a historic night? Perhaps. A night of reckoning? Certainly not. But a night of dazzling stardom? Without a doubt. The atmosphere crackled with energy, anticipation rising like a fever pitch.
At precisely 4:00 PM West Coast time, 7:00 PM on the East Coast, the red carpet unfurled, officially signaling the commencement of Hollywood's grandest spectacle.
The first to grace the scarlet pathway was the ever-brilliant Tina Fey, setting the tone for the evening with her characteristic charm. Over the past year, she had flourished in multiple roles—writer, actor, producer, and host—cementing her place as a comedic powerhouse. Her arrival triggered an immediate wave of cheers and camera flashes, igniting the crowd without the need for preamble.
Following her were a steady stream of luminaries: Sean Bean, Penélope Cruz, James Cromwell, and Rose Byrne, each eliciting fresh waves of enthusiastic applause. The excitement escalated to a fever pitch when George Clooney stepped onto the scene, the sheer volume of the crowd's adulation shaking the very pavement beneath them.
Yet, beyond the glamour of evening gowns and tailored tuxedos, another battle raged—a silent war fought not with weapons but with strategic planning. The timing of a star's red-carpet appearance could determine whether they basked in the limelight or faded into obscurity. Publicists and agents, in close coordination with event organizers, meticulously scheduled arrivals down to the minute. Too soon, and a star might be overshadowed by lesser-known personalities; too late, and they risked being eclipsed by a Hollywood titan.
Appearing right after Clooney? A perilous move, as the sheer magnitude of his presence could render others nearly invisible. Similarly, Jennifer Aniston's team ensured she would not step onto the carpet within a 30-minute window of Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie, avoiding unnecessary speculation and awkward encounters. Singers, TV actors, and models typically seized early slots, capitalizing on the less chaotic first half of the event.
Tonight, Chinese actress Li Bingbing, attending thanks to her role in Snow Flower and the Secret Fan, had been strategically placed after James Cromwell—capitalizing on a lull in the frenzy to maximize media exposure.
Hollywood's red carpet was more than just a walkway; it was a battlefield of calculated moves, silent rivalries, and carefully curated images. Every step, every glance, every pose—nothing was left to chance.
For Renly Hall, however, this was all new territory. Though he had never before attended the Oscars, he was no stranger to the intricate machinations of high society. The social circles of London's elite operated under similarly veiled manipulations. Scheduling appearances, orchestrating public narratives, avoiding inconvenient encounters—these were skills ingrained in aristocratic life. The difference? In Hollywood, the spectacle unfolded under the unforgiving glare of a thousand cameras.
Meanwhile, among the sea of spectators, Hope could hardly contain her restlessness. Clutching the railing, she scanned the arrivals with frantic anticipation, bouncing with unrestrained energy.
William and Graham exchanged amused glances, their expressions laced with resignation.
"Hope, relax. Renly is coming. Didn't Andy confirm it? It's just a matter of time."
"Exactly! A matter of time!" Hope exclaimed, then quickly lowered her voice, embarrassed by her outburst. "But why isn't he here yet? The red carpet is already halfway over! I've only seen an endless parade of stars trying to outshine each other."
Her dramatic sigh earned chuckles from those around her. She shrugged, feigning innocence. "I'm just stating facts, no offense meant. But seriously—where is he? What if he doesn't show up at all?"
Above them, the sky remained bathed in golden hues, the sun reluctant to yield to the night. The procession of celebrities continued in an unrelenting stream—Rooney Mara, Jessica Chastain, Melissa McCarthy, Wim Wenders, Steven Spielberg, Emma Stone, Robert Downey Jr., Gwyneth Paltrow, Michelle Williams. The excitement was relentless, infectious, intoxicating.
Yet still, no sign of Renly.
Traditionally, he preferred a low-profile approach, often appearing in the earlier half of events to avoid unnecessary fanfare. But tonight, the rules seemed different. Hope's anticipation swelled, her patience wearing thin.
"Maybe if he knew we were here…" William mused, trying to lift Hope's spirits. "Even if he doesn't see us, the cameras will. He'll know we're rooting for him."
Hope nodded, but before she could respond, an unexpected roar erupted from Highland North Street. The sound swelled rapidly, growing into an uncontrollable frenzy. Conversations halted. Heads snapped toward the commotion, eyes widening in excitement.
Had Renly finally arrived?
A sleek black limousine rolled into view. Hope, teetering on the edge of hope and disappointment, deflated slightly. Then, as the name on the collective lips of the crowd became clear, she slumped in resignation.
Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie had arrived.
Their presence was magnetic, their power undeniable. The Hollywood power couple commanded absolute attention, sending the crowd into a euphoric hysteria. Tonight, Brad was gunning for not one but two Oscars—Best Actor for Moneyball and Best Picture for The Tree of Life, both of which he had also produced.
Hope groaned. "Great. Now we have to wait even longer."
If Renly was scheduled to appear, it certainly wouldn't be now. No one in their right mind would want to be overshadowed by the Pitt-Jolie spectacle. Hope exhaled, bracing herself for the wait, her excitement momentarily subdued.
Then, just as she resigned herself to more waiting, she caught sight of the next limousine gliding onto the scene.
Her heart skipped a beat. Her breath hitched.
And then she saw him.