The Greatest Showman #1073 - Reluctantly Stranded

Every year, Hollywood and the global film industry put thousands of works into production. With stellar directors, captivating scripts, and talented actors, every project is born with immense confidence and high expectations. During the preparatory phase, each film is full of promise, with ambition radiating from every corner.

However, an actor's inexperience can limit their ability to commit to multiple works at once, meaning they must miss out on other opportunities. In the 1960s and 1970s, the phenomenon of "rolling scenes"—where top actors appeared in several different crews simultaneously—was not uncommon. Even today, while it's rare for actors to play leading roles in multiple films concurrently, it still occasionally happens.

Renly, however, believes that starring in two films at the same time is irresponsible. The different tones, moods, and stylistic demands of two projects—regardless of whether they're commercial blockbusters or not—can severely impact an actor's performance. When an actor juggles two sets, not only does it introduce the risk of misalignment, but also complications in scheduling and coordinating with different teams. Ultimately, this compromises both the quality of the work and the character portrayed.

As a result, missing opportunities is often inevitable.

Facing the sincere Coen brothers, Renly also expressed his genuine regret. "To be honest, after our brief exchange, I truly believe I'm the best fit for this role," he said with a confident smile that hinted at his professionalism. Over time, Renly had transformed from the eager newcomer seen in Pacific War into a seasoned and dedicated actor.

Ethan couldn't help but smile in acknowledgment, nodding in approval. But Joel's expression remained somber, his eyes filled with frustration as he refused to offer a comment.

"I could say, 'Wait for my schedule and don't give the role to anyone else because I'm the best choice.' But I can't be selfish like that. So, I have to turn it down. Right now, I'm even more disappointed than you." Renly's smile became tinged with helplessness, not hiding his embarrassment.

Ethan studied Renly's gaze quietly, sensing the sincerity behind his words. There was no evasion, just pure honesty. A quiet sigh escaped him, resonating with Renly's words.

Strangely, it was this very gaze that made Ethan picture the movie's protagonist. It was like drawing a sketch: the outline was formed by the eyes, and gradually, with each passing detail, the full image emerged—a quiet man sitting in a café, gazing off into the distance, a flicker of light in his eyes. A man full of loneliness and bitter experience, yet with a momentary flicker of hope, vanishing as quickly as it came.

In that moment, Ethan had an idea for a film: Inside-Renly-Hall. Not a documentary, but a drama about Renly playing a down-and-out folk singer in 1960s Greenwich Village, penniless and chasing dreams that seem out of reach. In that moment, the movie they had originally conceived had come alive in Renly himself.

"Is there no way?" Joel asked, still unwilling to accept the situation. "Can't you adjust your schedule somehow?" He paused, frustrated, then dropped his head into his hands. "God, why is this happening? Why now?"

Joel ran his hand through his curly hair, clearly agitated. Then, lifting his head again, he glanced at Ethan with deep helplessness, silently asking, Can't we wait?

Ethan caught Joel's gaze, recognizing the deep conflict in his brother's eyes. Ethan didn't speak at first, but his lips curved into a wry smile. It was clear that Joel wasn't ready to let go, but they both knew it was time to move forward.

In Hollywood, timing is everything. The creation, execution, and completion of a film project all hinge on it. Miss the right moment, and the opportunity fades into the ether.

The 2001 classic Training Day was originally set up in 1997. However, due to scheduling conflicts with Samuel L. Jackson and Matt Damon, it was delayed by three years, during which the script, director, and cast all changed. It was only then that Denzel Washington and Ethan Hawke stepped into the project, with Washington winning an Oscar for his performance.

Three years of waiting—three years that reshaped the entire project. In Hollywood, it's not unusual for a film to be delayed for a decade or more, or worse, never to see the light of day.

Alfonso Cuarón, during the early days of Gravity, had expressed willingness to wait for Renly, no matter how long it took. But now, the Coen brothers, with their expertise in both the indie and mainstream spheres, understood better than anyone that the project could not simply pause for one actor, no matter how talented. It wasn't about right or wrong; both Alfonso and the Coens had made the decisions they believed were best, and now each would live with the consequences.

Joel turned back to Ethan, his eyes filled with a loss that words couldn't express. He was still struggling with the idea of letting go, but Ethan understood all too well. There was nothing more to be done. Renly was not available, and the show must go on.

"You know, you're our first choice," Ethan said to Renly with sincerity. "And at this stage, you're the only choice, right?"

Renly's smile deepened slightly, acknowledging the compliment with grace. "It's an honor."

Ethan nodded, his tone firm. "This is important. It's a shame we didn't account for the scheduling issue. That was our oversight. But... life moves on, doesn't it? Sometimes things happen, and we just have to keep going."

His nonchalant shrug reminded Renly of the dark humor that often colored Ethan's works, like Frozen or Murder of Green Toes.

Renly couldn't help but smile, appreciating the lightness in Ethan's words.

Ethan shifted the conversation. "You mentioned George Slender and Pioneer Village earlier. Those names sound familiar—can you remind me why?"

Renly, sensing a shift in focus, picked up the thread of the conversation. "The Pioneer Village is in Greenwich Village. It's a jazz bar..." He seamlessly continued, discussing Stanley Charson, who had carved out his own unique jazz world in New York's steel jungle.

Meanwhile, Joel sat quietly, his arms folded, leaning back in his chair with a brooding expression. His internal turmoil was palpable—one moment brimming with emotion, the next distant and aloof, reflecting the extremes of excitement and resignation within him.

The conversation in the car continued, growing calmer as the energy shifted. Though the project had slipped through their fingers, the two sides had unexpectedly forged a connection. At least Ethan and Renly had. The van sped toward JFK, merging into the chaotic flow of traffic, and the conversation seemed to fade as the city swallowed them whole.