The Greatest Showman #1162 - Ripe Melon

"Drunken Country Ballad"? Is it really a "Drunken Country Ballad"? What exactly is going on?

Joel Cohen dropped a bombshell that immediately grabbed everyone's attention. Yet, he remained calm, his gaze fixed on Renly, eager for him to provide an answer.

The room fell silent for a moment. Nathan, standing beside Joel, hesitated, unsure whether he should continue offering drinks or just wait for the conversation to unfold. He didn't want to appear rude, but Joel had jumped straight to the point, bypassing any pleasantries.

Renly, however, broke the silence. "The guest is up to the host. Let's have tea, black tea," he smiled at Nathan. "Just follow my habits."

Renly's habit: Chinese-style black tea, brewed from loose leaves, no milk, no sugar—simple and clean. It's best paired with small snacks.

Nathan breathed a quiet sigh of relief. He wasn't sure if the Coen brothers would accept this, but Renly added with a grin, "It's not about them; for me, this is the focus."

Ethan couldn't help but smile at the joke, nodding in agreement, "Just follow what Renly said."

Joel, still locked in on Renly, ignored the drink conversation. His eyes never left Renly as he spoke, waiting for the actor to respond.

Once Nathan left with the order, Joel leaned forward, his tone serious. "We're not joking. We're serious about 'Drunken Country Ballad.' We're insistent. We really hope you'll play the role. If... if you're available."

Joel's words trailed off, his hesitation evident.

Ethan quickly took over. "We can sit down and talk salary, terms, and treatment. Within reason, everything is negotiable. The only issue is time. We know you just wrapped another project and need some time to recover, but we're hoping to start shooting next week. The Golden Globes and Sundance might overlap with your schedule…"

Joel interrupted eagerly, "We believe in your talent. You know, we saw your performance at Pioneer Village—the first one. A chair, a guitar—that's it. And you performed 'Cleopatra.' Perfect. Everything was perfect. Honestly, we couldn't think of anyone else for this role."

Renly raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Is that really how it went?"

Joel rubbed his neck awkwardly. "Well… no, not exactly. We considered other candidates, but you're the best. Levine-Davis is Renly Hall, and Renly Hall is Levine-Davis. You've been one of the core inspirations for the entire story."

Renly chuckled, amused by Joel's sincerity. "I'm more curious about what happened. I thought the movie was supposed to be completed by now."

The Coen brothers had reached an agreement with Renly six months ago, promising they would begin production as soon as possible. But here they were, still unable to start. Something clearly had gone wrong.

Joel and Ethan exchanged glances, Joel rolling his eyes three times in frustration. He waved dismissively at Ethan, avoiding his gaze.

Ethan met Renly's eyes. "It's because of this idiot next to me." He pointed to Joel. "He told the actor's agent that the singer's voice was fine, but the performance was disappointing. He even said the actor was a good singer, but not necessarily a good actor." Ethan winced. "And then he sent the agent a video of your performance at Pioneer Village, saying 'this is what we want.'"

Renly's eyes widened. He hadn't expected this. It sounded like disaster, a communication misstep that could derail the entire project.

Ethan continued, "No actor wants to be a mere copy of another, especially not as a backup. And frankly, it's an insult. But it was too late to undo the damage."

Renly shifted uncomfortably in his seat. As a sought-after actor, it felt strange to be involved in such a misstep. He couldn't imagine how the actor and agent had responded. Thinking of Andy Rogers' possible reaction, Renly felt a twinge of embarrassment.

"How did they respond?" Renly asked, trying to get some clarity.

Ethan's face turned a little red. "They asked us to invite you."

Renly leaned back, processing. "They maintained their professionalism, at least," he said, though he knew it had been a delicate situation. Despite the awkwardness, the agent and actor must have been cautious not to completely alienate the Coen brothers, given their influence in the industry.

Joel, seemingly realizing the weight of his words, muttered under his breath, "But it's true. Oscar Isaac lacks that... certain quality. The bard-like essence. He's a 21st-century folk singer, but not from the 1960s."

Renly raised an eyebrow. "Oscar Isaac?"

Ethan confirmed it with a nod. Renly chuckled, "I'll have to be extra careful when I meet him next time."

Joel shifted in his seat, visibly uncomfortable, while Ethan scratched his neck awkwardly.

Now, Renly understood why the film had been delayed. It wasn't about script issues or production delays—it was about him. He couldn't help but feel a little sorry for Oscar Isaac. His performance in ballads had been impressive, and Renly didn't think he lacked the right qualities. But the Coen brothers had their own vision, one that Renly fit perfectly.

The Coen brothers' persistence reminded Renly of Alfonso Cuaron, who had also been so committed to Renly's involvement in Gravity. This level of dedication spoke volumes about their faith in him as an actor. It wasn't about ego—it was about mutual respect and artistic trust.

Despite all this, Renly was grateful. The Coen brothers' invitation, delivered personally before Gravity wrapped, was a testament to their belief in him. They weren't just seeing Renly as an actor; they saw him as an integral part of their film's vision.

As he reflected on it all, Renly realized how far he had come—from an unknown actor to one who had earned recognition, not just from audiences and critics, but from his peers in the industry. That was the ultimate validation.

And it all started with a humble performance at Pioneer Village, which had opened doors for him and led to War in the Pacific, Don Quixote, and now, Drunken Country Ballad.

Renly had no idea where his career would take him, but one thing was certain: this was just the beginning.