The Greatest Showman #1106 - Can't Believe

A strange silence fell over the entire studio, as if time itself had stopped. The usual hustle and bustle vanished, and the staff exchanged glances, their eyes wide with disbelief. They were all thinking the same thing: Is Renly out of his mind?

Suddenly, a loud metallic clang echoed from the far end of the room. It sounded as though someone had knocked into a shelf, sending a series of sharp, disorienting pings throughout the space, breaking the eerie calm. The noise only amplified the sense of tension, like an unexpected jolt in the middle of this surreal moment.

In stark contrast, Renly, bound to the mechanical prop like a captive, remained calm, his expression unbothered. He raised an eyebrow and asked, his tone casual, "What's wrong? I thought this was normal. I mean, this is Hollywood after all."

His words were laced with an undercurrent of irony—Hollywood is bizarre, full of surprises. Yet, only Rooney seemed to catch the humor. She chuckled softly, a faint, knowing smile creeping onto her face.

Rooney was a little surprised. Was she the only one who heard the humor in Renly's words? Turning to her side, she noticed the staff around them were clearly distressed, their expressions a mix of confusion and fear. The sight was almost comical, but she couldn't help laughing at the irony of it all.

Meanwhile, Renly was deep in thought, curiously studying the reactions around him.

"For 'There Will Be Blood,' Daniel Day-Lewis went so far as to isolate himself in a cabin, living there alone for months to get into character. Even after the film wrapped, he continued to live in seclusion. He spent six months in a log cabin, all by himself. And here I am, complaining about spending twelve hours in this contraption. What's the big deal?" Renly spoke earnestly, his tone genuine as he stirred the conversation. "Why do you think this is so strange?"

Rooney, standing beside him, couldn't agree more. She nodded, a puzzled look in her eyes, as though the situation was less serious than the staff seemed to think.

Alfonso, clearly rattled, opened his mouth but hesitated. Finally, he managed to say, "Renly, could you just take a moment and look at your current state?" His voice was tight, his features pinched with concern.

Renly glanced down, and only then did he notice the full extent of his outfit: he was wearing an astronaut suit and helmet, tightly strapped to a prop. His field of vision was limited, and his limbs were bound. He looked... well, like a lunatic. When paired with the words he'd just spoken, the scene painted him as someone truly out of touch with reality.

Renly blinked, the humor of his situation settling in. His voice became more measured, reflecting a deeper understanding. "I get it now. This looks pretty crazy. But hey, I'm not the first one to do something strange for my craft."

Alfonso sighed, trying to reason with him. "Renly, maintaining this state is incredibly taxing. The suit will drain your water and raise your body temperature. The light box will make everything worse, and your breathing will become more difficult. Don't even talk about twelve hours—just thirty minutes in this gear is pure torment."

Renly, calm as ever, lowered his chin slightly in acknowledgment, but his determination was clear. "Alfonso, how long was Ryan Stone supposed to be in space?" he asked, a simple question that threw Alfonso off balance.

In the script, Ryan's time on the space station had been stretched to extremes. The character was to spend an almost unfathomable amount of time in space, and the emotional toll this would take on Ryan was crucial to the storyline. It was meant to depict Ryan's gradual unraveling—the isolation, the separation from family, and the mounting pressure of prolonged solitude.

"I'm not Ryan Stone, I know," Renly continued, "but I can try to experience twelve hours in a simulated space environment. It won't be easy, but it will give me a feel for what that isolation might be like." He paused, watching Alfonso's reaction. "And for the official shoot, how long will I actually need to be in this setup?"

This, Renly knew, was one of the key differences between film and theater.

In theater, an actor might rehearse for weeks, with no interruptions once the performance begins. But in film, scenes can be broken down, rehearsed, and shot repeatedly, with adjustments made as necessary. It's a process that allows for perfection, but also requires an entirely different approach.

"I know we can break for rest or adjust at any time," Renly continued, "but I want to stay in position for the continuity of the shot. That's what I'm committing to."

In Renly's performance contract for Gravity, a clause specified the possibility of extremely long shooting hours. The actors were expected to rotate shifts, sometimes working twelve or twenty-four-hour stretches, to ensure the best possible results.

Alfonso, staring at Renly with uncertainty, found himself unable to object. Despite his concerns, the look in Renly's eyes told him this was not a negotiation. Renly was serious.

"Alright," Renly said with a smile, "let's get started. I can't wait."

He then turned and laid out his requests, each one more specific than the last. "I'll need twelve hours in this setup. What time is it now? Eleven? So, let's say until tomorrow morning. And if you need to leave me in this position overnight, that's fine. Don't worry, I won't hold it against you."

He smiled, knowing his request was unusual, but necessary.

"I need the set cleared. I want to feel as if I'm the only one left in space. No one is allowed in—not even if a mouse bites me on the toe. Understand?"

"Lighting... We need low light. The LED lights in the light box should stay on, to keep the feeling of space. I want the lighting to feel minimal, almost ethereal. Can you do that?"

"And I need classical music. Schubert, Nathan has a collection of his work on my computer. Just loop it. Keep it playing the entire time, without interruption. This needs to feel immersive."

Renly paused for a moment, then added, "Anything else? Any other ideas?"

It was as if Renly had completely mapped out his experience, no hesitation in his voice. After enduring the intense experience of Buried Alive, he had a clearer sense of what he wanted and how to execute it. He was now fully in control of his environment.

In the silence that followed, Renly's voice was the only sound that cut through the tension. The crew members exchanged uneasy glances. A stunt double had barely managed thirty minutes in this setup. And Renly wanted twelve hours?

Nathan, ever the calm presence, broke the silence. "What about eating, though? You haven't eaten for more than ten hours. What's your plan?"

Renly's response was swift and certain. "Just keep me in this setup. I'll be fine."

It wasn't just about playing Ryan's emotional exhaustion—it was about experiencing it firsthand. Renly wanted to feel the toll of the extended isolation, the physical and mental drain that would mirror his character's descent into desperation.

Alfonso, visibly unnerved, turned to Nathan. "Are you sure he's okay with this?"

Nathan, flashing a knowing smile, answered with a relaxed shrug, "Trust Renly. He's got this."

With that, the crew began to prepare, following Renly's exacting demands. Alfonso watched the process unfold with a mix of disbelief and admiration. "What just happened? How did we get here?" he muttered, shaking his head.

As the set started to clear, Rooney caught snippets of whispered conversations among the crew.

"So, it's true. I thought the stories about Renly's dedication were just hype, but he's really like this. Incredible."

"I had no idea. He's definitely got some screws loose. Last year, when he filmed Anti-Cancer Me, he was practically living as a cancer patient. Unbelievable."

Rooney couldn't suppress a smile. She knew Renly's intensity. It was just another part of who he was.