The Greatest Showman #1080 - Rarely Candid

"The sequel to Edge of Tomorrow doesn't feature you as the male lead, so I'm afraid there won't be a sequel. I'm not interested in another set of The Hunger Games or The Fast and the Furious," Renly said matter-of-factly, his tone a bit stiff, though clearly not intended as a joke. Despite the seriousness of his position, the slight lift of his eyebrows softened the atmosphere.

Barry, holding a glass of whiskey, gave a small smile, almost as if admiring the amber liquid swirling in his glass. "Not long ago, I heard about Alfonso Cuarón's actions. Honestly, it was quite an unexpected accident," he said, his lips curling into a brief grin that betrayed a hint of satisfaction.

After "hypegate" and the Oscars, Renly had emerged as one of the hottest and most sought-after actors in Hollywood. Following the premiere of Edge of Tomorrow, the question of Renly's next project had reached an almost fever pitch. The industry buzzed with speculation about his next role, and many wondered how his future choices would impact his career and the film industry at large. Everyone wanted a piece of the action—even if it was just a gesture, film companies were quick to send invitations to Andy Rogers and Creative Artists Agency. The industry even joked that just inviting Renly to write a script could overwhelm the mailroom at CAA.

Warner Bros. was no exception.

But what no one expected was that before the major film studios or independent companies could act, it would be Alfonso Cuarón who made the first move—a move that caught everyone off guard.

"Edge of Tomorrow" was still riding high, and Warner Bros. was basking in the glory of its success. Everyone assumed Renly's next project would be another big studio endeavor, and there were growing rumors that Renly had entered a long-term relationship with Warner Bros., similar to Christopher Nolan's bond with the studio.

The truth was, the partnership between Renly and Warner Bros. was still in its early stages, and the upcoming project Gravity was pivotal. It was not only set to be Renly's first film post-Oscar win, but it would also serve as a critical litmus test for his future with the studio.

Barry was in London, meeting Renly to discuss this film—an ambitious follow-up to Edge of Tomorrow. Would it lean more toward art-house fare like Moon (2009), or would it follow in the footsteps of classic sci-fi like Apollo 13 (1995)? Barry was curious to hear Renly's thoughts.

"Moon was a low-budget, independent film that had an artistic bent but failed to make much at the box office," Renly explained. "On the other hand, Apollo 13 was a blockbuster hit. So, is this film more like an art piece or a commercial success?"

Renly considered for a moment before answering, "Personally, I think this is more like Gravity—not your typical sci-fi movie. Cuarón has a unique way of presenting space, and it's more human-centric than the typical genre fare."

He continued, "If I had to make an analogy, I'd say it's closer to 2001: A Space Odyssey. Not in terms of plot, but in the way both Cuarón and Kubrick bring a distinct, thought-provoking perspective to the story."

Barry observed Renly intently but didn't respond immediately. He had his own theories, but he knew better than to reveal them too quickly. Renly was as candid as ever, yet Barry still couldn't tell whether the actor was simply being transparent or playing a clever game.

"So, you've agreed to be part of this project," Barry noted after a beat, his tone neutral.

Renly nodded without hesitation. "Yes, I've agreed to appear in the film."

Barry smiled. In typical negotiations, a Hollywood star would dance around such decisions, leaving room for ambiguity until the contracts were signed. But Renly had just laid his cards on the table, showing his hand early—losing any leverage in the process.

Warner Bros. understood Renly's position, though. They had no rush to finalize the deal—they would slowly collect benefits at their own pace. Renly's commitment to the project had already been made clear.

Barry knew the game well. He understood that with Renly's honesty came a certain trust in Warner Bros. to take care of business. And while the studio might be in no hurry to settle on the terms, the long-term benefits of working with Renly were undeniable.

"So, we're left to see if this becomes another 2001: A Space Odyssey," Barry said with a slight grin. "As for the compensation, we've discussed two options. It's up to you to decide."

Renly raised an eyebrow, confused. "Isn't that something for the agent to handle? Why are we discussing this directly?"

Barry, sensing Renly's confusion, didn't offer an explanation. He simply continued, "The first option is $20 million upfront, and that's it. The second option has no base salary, but you'd receive 10% of the box office revenues."

He paused, letting the figures hang in the air, then added, "In addition to this, we offer all the typical 'A-list' actor perks, and if you have any special requirements, we can discuss them further."

It was unusual for Barry to be so direct, but there was no hiding the fact that this was a strategic move, possibly with ulterior motives masked by feigned sincerity.

The clarity was starting to come into focus: Barry wasn't just in London to negotiate salary; this was about power and status in the industry. The 20 million-dollar club was reserved for Hollywood's elite, a distinction Renly was now poised to join.

The choice between a flat fee and a percentage of the box office wasn't just a financial decision—it was a reflection of Renly's commercial value and his standing in the industry. It meant Warner Bros. was willing to make a bold statement about his worth, and in doing so, they had elevated him to a new level of prominence.

As Barry laid out the options, Renly knew that this wasn't just about money—it was a significant moment in his career. With the success of Edge of Tomorrow still fresh in everyone's minds, the path ahead looked more promising than ever.