The Greatest Showman - Chapter 929

Harvey Weinstein spoke with deliberate emphasis, not just greeting Renly at his first Oscars but implying something deeper.

Renly's expression remained unchanged. His gaze fell on Harvey's left hand—the same hand that had casually draped over his shoulder. With a faint smile, he replied, "At least I can confirm one thing: this is not the world I am familiar with."

In the UK, particularly among the upper class, such "intimate yet crude and intrusive" gestures were unacceptable. Casual slaps on the shoulder, arms, or back—let alone an outright embrace—were considered undignified, even disrespectful. One simple action spoke volumes about differences in class, upbringing, and cultural etiquette.

Harvey, like many other entertainment moguls, had long sought recognition from the British establishment—knighthoods, coronations, and royal honors, the ultimate symbols of prestige. Even David Beckham, the football superstar known for his gentlemanly demeanor, had relentlessly pursued such accolades.

In 2017, leaked emails revealed Beckham's bitter complaints about not receiving a knighthood, admitting he only participated in certain charities for the potential title.

Harvey, well-versed in the nuances of British etiquette, immediately recognized the subtle yet pointed insult in Renly's words. His left hand stiffened slightly before withdrawing. A wave of irritation surged within him, his ego bruised. For a brief moment, his temper nearly got the better of him, but he quickly masked it.

"Then perhaps you'd be better off returning to the world you know," Harvey hissed through clenched teeth.

Renly remained unfazed. "I never left. In fact, it's quite miraculous that we're meeting here tonight, don't you think?"

Their last encounter had been at the Sundance Film Festival, where Like Crazy was merely an indie film struggling for attention. Now, standing on the grandest stage in Hollywood, it was nominated for Best Actor, celebrated by critics and audiences alike.

Harvey's expression darkened further. His left hand, as if burned, retreated completely. His smile vanished, replaced by a piercing glare. "I agree. Well, tonight, I wish you good luck."

"Good luck" had become the catchphrase of the night. Renly chuckled, nodding. "Of course. I could use some luck. And again, good luck to you."

He meant it as a polite remark, but Harvey's face turned an alarming shade of red. Without another word, he spun on his heel and walked away, leaving Renly momentarily puzzled.

Had he said something wrong?

Upon reflection, he chuckled to himself. For someone like Harvey, luck was irrelevant. After months of strategic maneuvering and backdoor deals, he wasn't relying on chance—he expected results. To imply that he needed luck was almost an insult.

Renly hadn't intended to provoke him—at least, not with that last comment—but the damage was done. So be it.

He resumed his stride, spotting Ryan Gosling in the crowd. Just as he raised his foot to approach, two figures suddenly cut across his path.

The first approached like a whirlwind, practically radiating kinetic energy; the second followed closely behind, slightly more restrained. Together, they blocked his way.

The man at the back, sporting short, slightly curly hair, adjusted his glasses and flashed a broad smile. "Hey, Renly." He gestured toward the other man. "Forgive his enthusiasm—he tends to get carried away. I hope we didn't startle you."

Renly chuckled. "Ethan, unexpected encounters are always a pleasure, never a fright. Besides, it's Oscar night—sanity is a rare commodity." He raised his right fist in jest, as if to say: if this gets any crazier, I'll have to start throwing punches.

His humor landed well, dissolving some of the tension.

The man in front, none other than Joel Coen, cut straight to the point. "We don't need any of this small talk." Waving a hand dismissively, he continued, "I just wanted to say—I was wrong. Our behavior last time was inexcusable. I owe you an apology."

Last time? The Berlin Film Festival?

That had been Renly's first encounter with the Coen brothers, who had treated him with cold indifference—likely influenced by the Hollywood rumor mill, where Harvey's influence painted Renly as a ruthless opportunist.

Now, the truth had come to light, and the Coen brothers had realized their misjudgment.

Renly's memory clicked into place. He smiled and nodded. "I hadn't considered it a serious issue. No worries."

He meant it sincerely.

Hollywood thrived on gossip and preconceived notions. Misjudgments were inevitable. Besides, while the Coens had been distant, they had not been overtly hostile. There was no need for them to apologize—but the fact that they did spoke volumes.

Joel, however, was unsatisfied with Renly's response. "I don't like that answer. It's too polite, too gentlemanly. Feels like you're wearing a mask—lacking sincerity."

Renly blinked, momentarily surprised by Joel's bluntness. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ethan sigh in exasperation. "Renly, ignore him. He's an asshole. Everyone knows that. I don't know how Frances puts up with him."

Frances McDormand—Joel's wife and longtime collaborator—had indeed endured his temperament for years.

Renly smirked. "Every artist is an asshole. We're all used to it by now."

His phrasing was deliberate—we—playfully including himself and Ethan in the category. Ethan was caught off guard before bursting into laughter.

Then, Renly turned back to Joel and said simply, "I accept your apology."

Joel gave a satisfied nod. "You're an interesting guy. The rumors aren't as believable anymore." He snapped his fingers. "So—good luck tonight." And just like that, he turned and strode off.

Ethan lingered for a moment, shaking his head at his brother's abruptness. "I'm serious—we were out of line last time. And now, we regret missing Detachment. No idea when we'll get a chance to see it on the big screen."

"We can only pray Tony Kaye finds a distributor." Renly replied with a half-smile, his tone half-serious, half-mocking.

Ethan chuckled. "Good luck tonight!" With that, he hurried after Joel.

As the Coen brothers departed, Renly's eyes wandered through the crowd, landing on Rooney Mara. She was chatting with Jennifer Lawrence, Shailene Woodley, and other young actresses.

Jennifer spotted him first, waving enthusiastically, her exaggerated gesture impossible to miss.

Rooney smirked, raising her champagne glass in a silent toast. She mouthed, "Good luck."

Renly's lips curved into an irrepressible smile, his eyes twinkling with amusement. Shaking his head, he sighed to himself.

Looks like he really would need some luck tonight.