The Greatest Showman #949 - Approachable

London in the early morning holds a trace of solemnity and chill. The May sky remains a dull gray, yet the streets are already bustling by 8 a.m. The morning rush hour in the city feels like a siege—people outside pushing to get in, while those inside are lost in the crowd.

The roar of engines blends with the hum of human voices beneath a large blue-gray sky. The noise creates a sense of depression, yet there is a strange silence within the chaos, where contradictions are harmoniously integrated.

Next to the Almeida Theater, the scene is no different. A massive line snakes around the theater, and the queue shows no sign of ending. The theater's entrance is just fifteen meters away, and the entire street, less than eighty meters long, is consumed by this twisted, winding line that stretches through the surrounding buildings, with three theaters, two restaurants, and several facades all included. The street has become a snake-like maze, enveloping the entire area.

Even during London's peak tourist season in mid-July, the West End hasn't seen such an overwhelming spectacle in years.

For a moment, it feels as though one has been transported back to the 1930s or 1940s, when attending the theater was still one of the most important pastimes. People would plan their outfits, read programs a week in advance, and eagerly anticipate the day of the performance, dressing up and heading out early. In those days, theaters were as significant as today's movie theaters, or even more so, akin to today's YouTube or computer screens.

However, the splendor of those days is no longer seen. Today, Almeida Theater and London's West End feel abnormally bustling. The busy streets, filled with people coming and going, are filled with curious eyes, eager anticipation, and confusion—all adding to the frenzy.

Marc Lacante and his friends arrived at the Almeida Theater early, hoping to grab a front-row seat, but by 4:30 a.m., it was already too late. Dozens of tents had been set up at the theater entrance, signaling the start of a prolonged wait, as eager fans camped out to secure tickets.

The excitement is palpable, resembling the frenzy of a "Star Wars" premiere or the launch of a new Apple product.

As they wait, the atmosphere is far from boring. Instead, everyone is excited and energized, sharing opinions, discussing Renly's performances, and swapping stories about his career. The name "Renly-Hall" becomes a bridge that connects them, sparking a deep, shared resonance.

"The impact of Transcendence was rooted in its story, and Renly's performance elevated the entire theme," a young girl named Cara Hausman passionately says. She is studying acting at the Royal Academy of Dramatic Arts, a slender figure radiating power when speaking on her craft. She was one of the first to arrive and is a loyal fan, arriving among the first ten to camp out at the theater entrance.

"Did you watch Transcendence?" asks Kristin Schutler, eyes lighting up. "You must have met the young master in Berlin, right? He's such a gentleman! He's so approachable, I want to scream!"

Cara slouches, letting out a deep sigh. "I missed it," she says, a look of frustration spreading across her face.

"What! You missed it?" Kristin nearly shouts. "I can't believe it! He went to the cinema every day to watch the exhibitions and would participate in discussions with fans. He was so down-to-earth and eager to talk. How did you miss him?"

Cara buries her face in her hands, sighing deeply. "I was so busy running between theaters that I didn't even have time to eat. I totally forgot, and by the time the festival ended, I regretted it. My intestines were green with envy. I had so many questions to ask him..."

"Maybe you can ask me now," a deep voice interrupts.

Cara looks up, confusion filling her face. Before she can respond, she stares blankly at the man standing in front of her, unable to speak. Her heart races as she processes the unexpected situation.

Mark, Christine, and the others are equally stunned. They, too, are speechless, unable to believe their eyes. Slowly, the shock spreads like ripples in a calm lake, and all eyes are on the man who has just appeared.

Renly stands before them, tall and lean, his face clear and familiar. He's wearing a simple white T-shirt, jeans, and a pair of sky-blue skateboard shoes, casually carrying a backpack over his shoulder. Under the cloudy London sky, he shines like a beam of golden sunlight, drawing everyone's attention.

But even Renly is puzzled. He had come to the theater for a rehearsal that morning, as the premiere was just days away. After exiting the subway, he was shocked by the massive line outside. He had planned to enter through the back, but the alley was blocked with tents. Curiosity led him to follow the line to the entrance, where he found the gates closed and the scene a bit surreal.

"What's going on here? I thought the ticket presale was tomorrow," Renly mutters to himself, noting the sheer number of people—hundreds, perhaps—already queuing up. "Is today some kind of special event?"

Unanswered, Renly's question draws only confused stares. He chuckles, "Hey, Mark, Kristen, good to see you again." He greets them casually, remembering when they met at the Berlin Film Festival, where they didn't act quite so shock-stricken. So what's going on now?

His simple greeting doesn't break the silence, and Katarina Koffler, standing next to him, gasps. "Wow," she exclaims.

Renly laughs softly, "What questions did you want to ask me earlier? I've got some time before rehearsal."

With rehearsal scheduled for 9:30, it's not yet 9:00.

Cara blinks and stammers, "Is this a dream? Well, even if it is, who cares?" She steps forward, eager to talk to him. "We were just discussing, what's your favorite performance of yours?"

Renly doesn't hesitate. "My Cancer-Fighting Me," he says simply, a smile in his eyes. "That one's really important for me as an actor."

The unexpected response throws everyone off guard. "Really? Not Crazy in Love?" "I thought it was Transcendence?" "No way…"

The chatter begins again, and the group slowly regains its liveliness. Renly shrugs nonchalantly.

Mark, now composed, asks, "What about the music? Which one's your favorite, or the most special to you?"

"Cleopatra," Renly answers without a second thought. "At least, as of today, that's it. I didn't fully appreciate it before, but after some time, its meaning has changed for me."

Renly shares his thoughts, then adds, "Anything else?"

Everyone pauses, caught off guard. The lively discussion suddenly halts. Finally, Christine pipes up, "What's it like to win an Oscar?"

Renly smiles. "It's awesome. But, honestly, I really need to get back to rehearsing."