The Greatest Showman #1069 - Tailored

"Tailored."

These were Ethan's exact words, and they left Renly in disbelief. The Coen brothers had created a project specifically for him.

In the Hollywood film industry, it's not uncommon for top directors to create a role or even a film tailored to a particular actor. A notable example of this is Quentin Tarantino's Kill Bill, which was essentially written with Uma Thurman in mind.

However, what made this situation unique was that Renly was only twenty-two years old, his rise had been rapid but he was still too young to be considered the muse of art creators. Moreover, his relationship with the Coen brothers wasn't one defined by deep friendship. Even George Clooney, a frequent collaborator with the Coens on films like Burn After Reading, True Grit, and Hail, Caesar!, had never received such special treatment. Yet, here Renly was, receiving an offer that was both unexpected and a tremendous honor.

Andy, sitting in the passenger seat, couldn't hide his confusion. Instead of excitement, he was perplexed. Had Renly and the Coen brothers already developed such a deep connection? He glanced at Renly through the rearview mirror and noted the shock in his eyes. The situation was clearly baffling to him as well.

Joel and Ethan had thrown out this bombshell of an offer with no warning. They spoke in a rapid-fire brainstorm, each word piecing together the puzzle of a much bigger story.

"I mean, you're one of the main sources of inspiration, an important one!" Ethan continued. "But we've also drawn from many other influences, like Greenwich Village in the 1960s, and Dave Van Ronk's autobiography The Mayor of MacDougal Street, which really encapsulates that era."

"Van Ronk, Tom Paxton, Phil Ochs, Joan Baez, Bob Dylan..." Joel added, almost breathless. "They fought tooth and nail in Greenwich Village—not for fame or fortune, but just to find their own worth."

Ethan nodded vigorously. "Exactly! They weren't chasing success, they were chasing authenticity. It's about a time and place, not individual glory."

"Right now," Joel interjected, "we're thinking of a film title—Don Quixote feels right. It mirrors what you said on the album: it's about that lonely place, stuck in time, unable to move forward."

Ethan jumped in, his enthusiasm palpable. "We could also take inspiration from Van Ronk's album Inside Dave Van Ronk and name the film something like The Ballad of XXX."

The entire conversation felt like a cascade of ideas spilling out too quickly to follow. The names of folk singers, references to Greenwich Village, and musings on the 1960s all flew by like a meteor shower of creativity. Renly felt the weight of it all, but it was hard to keep up. Words like "folk singer" and "Greenwich Village" weren't immediately familiar to those outside the circle of folk music history.

The Coen brothers spoke with a fervor that was almost impossible to interrupt. They seemed to be in their own world, bouncing ideas off each other as if they were alone in their thoughts. But then, they turned to Renly, giving him a chance to weigh in.

Joel looked at him expectantly. "So, what do you think?"

Renly, still processing the intensity of the conversation, replied with a smirk, "I think when George Slender hears about this, he's going to faint from excitement."

The Coen brothers blinked in confusion. "George Slender?" Joel asked. "Who's that?"

Renly chuckled softly, but decided not to elaborate. Instead, he thought for a moment and then continued.

"The thing is," he said slowly, "the folk wave of the 1960s, the rock explosion of the '70s, the hippie culture—it all shaped America in profound ways."

He paused, as though lost in his own reflection. "People like Steve Jobs, Bill Gates, Steven Spielberg, George Lucas—these icons of technology and culture were all influenced by that era. Even the film world bears its mark. The social, political, and artistic upheaval of that time had an indelible impact."

Renly wasn't just a passive observer of these events. He knew of them, of course. But the Coen brothers had lived through that era. Joel, born in 1954, and Ethan, in 1957, had truly experienced the '60s and '70s. They had seen the folk wave, the rock explosion, and the rise of hippie culture firsthand. This wasn't just history to them—it was the pulse of their own artistic lives.

Renly, however, was a bystander, looking back at it all through books and films. He was a product of his own generation, nostalgic for the 1990s, just as the Coen brothers yearned for the simplicity of the '60s. Everyone has their golden age, that time in history they long for. For Renly, it was the '90s; for the Coens, it was the '60s.

"You're trying to capture the purity of that era," Renly said, his voice softer now. "The dream was simple then. People were chasing something pure, but now, everything has changed. The dream is tangled in commerce and business. It's hard to even tell the difference between fame and freedom anymore."

He glanced at Joel and Ethan. "That era was about seeking truth, not just success. But now, the real heart of those dreams has been swallowed by the reality of capitalism. Washington Square is still the same, but it's surrounded by Starbucks and McDonald's. The bars that were once the birthplace of counterculture are disappearing into history."

Renly let the words linger in the air. "You want to tell the story of those who chased that dream—the dreamers who rushed into the wave, knowing they might never succeed. Some made it, like Dylan; others didn't. The times have changed, but that spirit—it's still there."

Joel's excitement exploded at Renly's words. "God, yes! That's exactly it! Exactly what we've been trying to say! Renly, I'm serious—this movie is yours. You have to star in it!"

The Coen brothers were clearly ecstatic, but Renly, though moved, knew this was more than just a role—it was a tribute to a lost era. The Coen brothers were tapping into something deep within him, and he couldn't ignore the resonance.

In that moment, Renly realized just how much this film would mean—not just for him, but for the Coen brothers too. The project they were offering him wasn't just a career opportunity; it was a chance to capture something timeless, something pure. And he was honored, even if it was all happening so fast.