The Greatest Showman #1077 - Building a Series

Just days before, Andy Rodgers had reminded Roy Lockley that Barry Mayer had left New York for London. Roy and Renly briefly discussed it.

The reason for the mention was simple: the collaboration on Gravity was still ongoing.

As CEO, Barry wasn't directly involved in the negotiations. He was more of an overseer, managing the bigger picture rather than focusing on specific projects. However, his whereabouts at such a critical juncture still raised Andy's concerns. Especially considering that Barry was headed to London, which held countless possibilities. Andy didn't make a big deal out of it but simply reminded Roy.

Renly, however, paid little attention. The Les Miserables performance consumed all of his focus, and Gravity had to take a backseat for now. He couldn't afford to think about it, not yet.

Today, Renly saw Barry at the Almeida Theater. To his surprise, Barry sent him an invitation to talk afterward. Even someone inexperienced might sense that something unusual was happening at that moment. Renly felt the stirrings of speculation in his mind but suppressed it. There was no point in getting lost in passive thoughts before the interview. He needed to stay calm and focused. Barry's intent wasn't clear yet, and thinking too much about it wouldn't help.

Following his usual routine, Renly removed his makeup, changed clothes, and tidied up. He couldn't completely relax, though—an important interview awaited at midnight.

Outside the theater, a large crowd still lingered. Renly interacted with the fans, posed for photos, and signed autographs without hesitation. Once that was done, he signaled to Nathan Press, indicating his departure. A dim light in the distance guided him to the awaiting black Aston Martin.

As the door opened, Barry Mayer, seated in the back, greeted Renly with a smile.

After exchanging pleasantries, Renly entered the car, and before the door closed, Barry spoke, his voice tinged with impatience: "Does every actor take so long after the show ends? No crew to help? Or is it based on the actor's gender or the significance of the show?"

Though it came off as a joke, the underlying tone conveyed dissatisfaction and impatience.

Renly, chuckling awkwardly, softened the moment with a touch of humor: "Sorry for the delay. I think a glass of whiskey will do wonders right now."

He didn't dwell on an explanation but instead acknowledged his tardiness with a sincere apology, then steered the conversation back on track with a joke. Barry's serious expression shifted into a smile, and his tone lightened. "Seems like we're on the same wavelength."

They talked about whiskey for a moment, and Barry's mood clearly relaxed.

For someone like Barry, who was at the top of his field, the details of theater life weren't his concern. He was simply venting his frustration. A simple apology, followed by a change of subject, was all it took to diffuse the situation.

The car finally came to a stop outside a retro jazz bar. A tuxedo-clad waiter opened the door for them and escorted them inside.

The bar had a unique concept, with a different era theme every night. Tonight's theme evoked the golden years of the 1930s and 1960s. It played only jazz—piano, saxophone, and horns. These melodies, though fading in the mainstream, found new life in this space.

It was a world away from the bustling folk and rock scenes in the United States, where everything felt commercialized and touristy. This jazz bar was a haven, keeping the spirit of the 1930s alive.

After settling on a leather sofa, Barry looked at the girl who entered the private room in a 1930s-inspired outfit. He grinned. "God, the Brits really know how to enjoy themselves, don't they? Wait, I remember—Woody Allen made a film with that kind of vibe."

Renly nodded, affirming, "That's Midnight in Paris. But yes, Woody did make a time-traveling film capturing that golden era." He then smiled and signaled to the server, "Two whiskeys, and a lemon soda."

Barry sat back, quietly observing Renly. His natural aura left a deep impression on Barry, one he couldn't shake.

For Barry, Renly was more than just an actor—he represented numbers, a series of figures tied to interests. Renly's charm, acting ability, and audience appeal were all forms of value, all contributing to a bigger picture.

Warner Bros. was in a transition phase, the glory days of the Harry Potter and Batman franchises winding down. The company needed a new series to continue dominating the North American market. DC Comics seemed like the obvious choice.

After The Avengers made waves, the potential of comic book movies became undeniable. Barry was deep in discussions, considering a number of possible adaptations.

Among the many superhero roles, there were talks of casting Renly as Batman. Rumors of this were circulating, but Barry had started to reconsider. After Edge of Tomorrow's massive box office success, he realized that casting Renly as a superhero might not be the best use of his talents.

Unlike the Marvel films, which had succeeded because of their characters, Barry believed that Warner Bros. needed a strategy that involved bigger investments. He was convinced that top-tier actors would still drive big returns.

For instance, Warner Bros. had insisted on keeping Johnny Depp in Fantastic Beasts 2 despite his personal turmoil—this was just one example of Barry's approach to managing high-stakes projects.

However, Barry's thoughts on Renly were different. As much as he considered Renly a potential superhero, he saw something more—a unique value that couldn't be replicated by the usual star-driven strategies. Renly's worth wasn't defined by the characters he played, but by the impact he had on the audience and the industry itself.