The Greatest Showman #1114 – Exhausted

Standing. Just the act of standing holds immense significance in the origin and history of humanity. From crawling to standing, from apes to humans, the simple act of walking upright marks the true evolution of human beings. The living body has progressed from a single-celled organism to a multicellular structure, eventually developing intelligence.

One footprint, one step, each forward motion is deeply imprinted in muscle memory. Yet, every step is interpreted in new ways. He's experiencing the rebirth of life and also the eruption of it—the hardships and challenges of breaking through obstacles are carved into his muscles. The soul stirs.

His footsteps were heavy, yet he didn't look back. He left behind the dull beige-gray halo without hesitation, stepping firmly into the dark unknown ahead. Joy surged through him—the joy of defying gravity. He was about to run.

Not just because he had escaped death, but because he was feeling gravity again, experiencing the force of life once more—he was feeling... freedom. His heartbeat, steady and powerful, filled his chest.

With each step, his eyes brightened, and he felt himself growing, as though with each motion, he became larger than life—like a giant standing tall, reaching for the stars in the night sky.

His thoughts expanded, growing grander with each passing moment. Surrey, the UK, Eurasia, the Atlantic Ocean, Earth, the universe, and beyond—he felt his mind pushing into the depths of the black hole, exploring the vast secrets of space. Everything seemed boundless, as if one thought could shake the entire Earth.

He forgot himself, his dreams, and his reality. He transformed, sublimated to a higher level. Everything around him was beautiful—so thrilling that it swept him into its depths, making it hard to break free.

Suddenly, his footsteps stopped at a gate. Without hesitation, he pushed open the small door beside him, entering. As his palm moved, a beam of moonlight fell, cutting through the universe and several light years to land before him. The rich night air receded like waves, leaving only the bright moonlight that outlined the tranquility surrounding him.

The world, in that moment, shone like never before.

Rooney-Mara sat quietly by the studio door, reflecting on the events of the day. The experience had been undoubtedly fascinating.

Renly's approach to the character, the script, and the world he had created was entirely unique. His perspective incorporated not only astronomical, geographical, and cultural elements but also a profound understanding of time and life itself. He gave life to the character of Ryan Stone, imbuing the entire story of Gravity with a soul.

Rooney couldn't help but marvel at Renly's talent, which seemed to stem from his aristocratic heritage. His understanding of acting was far beyond expectations. Alfonso Cuarón had polished the script and thematic ideas into a masterpiece, but it was the collaboration between Renly and Alfonso that had sparked a brilliant, creative fusion, taking the story to new heights.

It was incredible—almost unbelievable.

But after seeing it firsthand, Rooney realized that the rumors about Renly weren't magical—rather, her imagination had been too limited. "Renly is an actor" was never just talk. Even after becoming the youngest Oscar winner in film history, his dedication and effort had never wavered.

As both an observer and participant, Rooney's mind was racing with endless ideas. She couldn't help but reflect on her role as Alex Kowalski.

She thought about Alex's relationship with Ryan Stone.

For Rooney, acting wasn't a competition; it was a mutual improvement. It was about pushing each other to greater heights, sparking new energy, and enhancing the roles and the story. As Renly deeply immersed himself in his character, Rooney's inspiration had flourished.

For Ryan and Alex, their connection was rooted in a shared loneliness. They understood each other in a way no one else did, but it wasn't because of some romantic attraction. They both masked their loneliness, each in their own way.

Ryan buried himself in his work, neglecting food and sleep as he immersed himself in his career, eventually losing himself in the process. At the most desperate moment of his life, he gave up not out of cowardice, but because he had no more ties to hold him back—only loneliness.

Alex, on the other hand, masked her sadness with humor, cracking jokes about her past and sharing stories that weren't funny, even if everyone else had long heard them. She clung to these memories because once they were gone, there would be nothing left to define her.

Lonely people sense each other's auras, each feeling the familiar ache of isolation.

Ryan and Alex never shared their loneliness directly, but in quiet moments, they sat side by side, offering the only company they could—mutual silence. And when faced with life-or-death situations, neither was the brave hero willing to sacrifice themselves. They both chose to give up, not out of fear but out of acceptance that the other had a better chance of surviving.

Deep down, they were the same. The survival instinct, the family bond, was deeply ingrained in their very beings. And once that desire was awakened, they could both break free of the chains and fight for their lives. Ryan did it, and Alex would have too, had their roles been reversed.

The only difference between them was the wound in their hearts.

What was Alex's wound?

Rooney's thoughts began to unfurl, pondering the depth of Alex's character. Alex wasn't just a supporting role; she was a fully realized person with her own soul, life, and struggles. She had lost her family in a car crash, and that loss was the foundation of her being—her driving force, her backbone, her spirit. But when they were gone, everything she had built with them collapsed, and she was left adrift.

In an attempt to preserve those memories, Alex had armored herself, imitating her husband's humor, clinging to stories of her daughter, trying desperately to hold on to a piece of the past.

Memory had become the only thing that defined her.

What, then, was the story of memory?

Rooney's mind wandered, the hours slipping away unnoticed. She occasionally glanced at the studio door, listening to the faint sounds of Schubert drifting from inside. She had no idea how Renly's experience was unfolding.

Lunch passed, then dinner, and night fell. It was almost 10 o'clock. In an hour, they could open the door and welcome Renly out.

Just as Rooney's mind was drifting, a loud bang cut through the air, snapping her out of her thoughts. She turned quickly and jumped to her feet.

There, standing in front of her like a shadow of a person, was Renly—sweating, disheveled, and looking like a walking corpse. His wrists were faintly bloodstained, and his clothes and hair were soaked, as if he had just emerged from the water. Steam billowed from his body, and the boundary between dream and reality blurred.

"Renly!" Rooney shouted in alarm, rushing forward.

Renly turned his head slowly, his pale face forming a weak, bloodless smile.

Rooney's heart skipped a beat, her pulse quickening, as a sense of panic overwhelmed her.

In the next moment, Renly collapsed. His bright eyes lost all their light, and he crumpled to the ground. Rooney rushed forward, desperately pushing at his shoulders.

"Renly!" she cried.