The Greatest Showman #940 - First Actor Winner

On stage, Natalie Portman stands on the right, draped in a striking red floor-length gown, radiating elegance and grace. She holds the golden Oscar statuette, her smile bright and genuine. To her left, Renly Hall exudes timeless charm in a classic black-and-white suit. His expression is that of an elegant gentleman, his smile serene, like a dream that carries a chivalrous poise.

Natalie is the first actor from Generation Y to win an Oscar. Renly is the second actor from this generation to earn the same distinction and also the oldest actor in film history to win at this stage. For the second year in a row, Generation Y actors have reached the pinnacle of Hollywood's glory. This year, the Academy has once again recognized young talent, with a particular focus on more seasoned actors who have matured like fine wine.

The story between Natalie and Renly, however, isn't simply one of celebration. Their history, which continued from the previous year to this moment, raises questions: Is this fate, or is it an unresolved conflict?

Natalie offers a polite smile, but there's a brief flash of awkwardness in her eyes. This is likely the first time they've met face-to-face since the Golden Globe Awards last year, and she hadn't anticipated it would be under the spotlight at the Kodak Theatre. In just one year, the world had turned upside down.

She had expected to see some form of mockery or challenge in Renly's eyes, but she found none. His dark brown eyes were filled with warmth, politeness, and an almost detached elegance, as if the controversy of Toronto had never occurred.

Her own gaze faltered under the intensity of his presence. She quickly lowered her eyes, embarrassed, and handed him the golden statuette. Stepping back, she distanced herself, but as her eyes caught his retreating figure, she realized she had forgotten to offer him congratulations. But by then, the moment had passed.

Renly stood still, taking a deep breath as his heart raced. Emotions surged within him, threatening to burst forth. But the etiquette of the aristocracy rang in his ears, reminding him to maintain composure. He knew he had to appear happy and graceful, his every movement dignified.

With a smile, he accepted the statuette from Natalie, his fingers caressing its contours, feeling the weight of his emotions threaten to overwhelm him. His vision blurred for a moment as he focused on the golden trophy, realizing just how light yet heavy it was in his palm.

In that instant, all composure broke down. Renly's head tilted back as he tried to control the flood of emotion rising inside him. The warmth in his eyes surged, but it didn't fully quell the tears threatening to fall.

He thought he wouldn't care. He thought he could stay composed. He thought it would be just another moment, another accolade. But this... this felt different.

His grip tightened around the Oscar, his fingers turning white as he fought to suppress the surging tide within. He looked up, meeting the eyes of the audience with a smile. "Sorry, please forgive my rudeness," he said with self-effacing humor, his voice cracking slightly. "I hope the Academy doesn't start playing music and push me off the stage."

His words were light, but his thick nasal voice betrayed his embarrassment. As soon as he finished speaking, the emotions came rushing back. The tears, barely held back, became too much to bear.

Renly lowered his head once more, standing there silently, his shoulders stiffening as he tried to compose himself. The soft yellow stage lights bathed his profile, accentuating the subtle tremors in his body, a silent testament to the joy and sorrow he carried within him.

Watching him on TV, Matthew Dunlop felt a wave of emotion wash over him. Though Renly appeared still, silent, and composed, the deep undercurrent of feeling was palpable. It was as if Renly was trying to reconcile two lifetimes of struggle and triumph in that one moment. Matthew sat, eyes red, as tears silently fell. A quiet smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he took in the complexity of the moment.

Meanwhile, on the central plaza outside the Kodak Theatre, emotions ran high. Renly's fans, those who had supported him throughout his journey, were swept up in the intensity of the moment. Their excitement turned to tears as they watched their hero on stage.

Renly's voice broke the silence, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "It's been a really long journey," he said softly. "Sometimes I wonder if I've used up all my luck. Maybe I should start praying from now on."

The lightness in his voice hid the vulnerability beneath it, and the audience chuckled. For them, Renly, at only 22 years old, was the fastest actor to reach the top. But for Renly, the journey had spanned two lifetimes, filled with sacrifice, discipline, and a solitary path to this moment of recognition.

He smiled as he held the golden statuette tighter, his fingers trembling slightly. "I was once told I wasn't a genius. I was told my dreams were meaningless, and that I should give up. But now, I'm standing here."

There was a ripple of laughter from the crowd, but those who knew Renly, like Edith and Matthew, understood the weight of his words.

"For an untalented actor, I must have worked incredibly hard," Renly continued, his tone playful but tinged with truth. "I didn't even realize how much effort I was putting in."

The audience roared with laughter. Ryan even let out a wolf whistle, shouting, "Renly, you're the best!" The laughter intensified, and Renly's face lit up with an effortless smile.

"I know," Renly said, acknowledging the praise with a calm and confident posture that earned applause from the crowd.

This was Renly's moment—a culmination of hard work, talent, and, yes, a bit of luck. From his breakthrough roles in Buried Alive and Crazy in Love to his remarkable performances in Anti-Cancer Me and Transcendence, Renly had already proven his talent beyond a shadow of a doubt.

"Every actor is a bit narcissistic," Renly joked, smiling at the irony. "Look at me. I'm the poster child for it. But I think I should thank some other people too."

"Jennifer, Felicity, Charlie, and the entire cast and crew—thank you. Without you, this film wouldn't be what it is. I'd love to thank each of you individually, but my head is in strike mode right now. I'll make a list when I get back and thank you properly."

Jennifer Lawrence, sitting in the audience, responded with a playful whistle, prompting more laughter.

"And to Drake Doremus, at the Telluride Film Festival, you told me this movie was mine. At the time, I believed you. And 'Crazy in Love' was born. You were right."

Drake, seated in the audience, wiped away tears, overwhelmed by the memory of how much Crazy in Love had meant to him. He knew the deep connection Renly had with the film—and with him.

Renly's expression faltered slightly, his voice cracking as he mentioned Heather Cross. The memories of her, only two weeks gone, flooded back. She had missed the Grammys, and now the Oscars. She had not been there to see him reach this moment.

"Finally," Renly said softly, pausing to compose himself. "Thank you to every dreamer who has persevered alone, to every loner who has held on. Maybe I was stupid. Maybe—"

He raised the statuette in his hand, pausing twice as if to gather himself. The words he couldn't speak were held in his eyes, dark brown and full of emotion. The light reflected in his tear-filled gaze as he stood firm, like Sisyphus or Don Quixote—unyielding, relentless in his pursuit of a dream, no matter the odds.

Renly turned and left the stage, his figure gradually vanishing into the shadows, leaving behind only the memory of this moment—etched in time, illuminated by the spotlight.