The Greatest Showman #1188 - Subtle Texture

Renly Hall is not handsome in the conventional sense.

If you were to sift through photos of handsome men and pick someone from the crowd, it's unlikely Renly would stand out. He might get lost among the sea of faces. Yet, for those who have seen him in person, Renly's charm is undeniable, a magnetic presence that commands attention and makes it hard to look away.

This moment encapsulates that exact aura.

Renly sits quietly on the chair, strumming his guitar, and his unique essence seamlessly merges with the melody. His presence draws you in, the rhythm of his music no longer just notes, but a part of him—a world you can't help but be immersed in.

A moment ago, Renly was carefree, bold, and defiant. Even in ragged clothes, even if he had nothing to his name, he had an undeniable brilliance, as if the world was beneath his feet. But in the next moment, he became humble, reflective, almost weary. A subtle sadness crept into his expression, and a trace of bitterness filled the air.

The melody under his fingertips became softer, lingering, each note carrying a deep, melancholy tone. The music no longer had a fast-paced beat but stretched, dragging out sadness as if the world had turned gray, and the once-vibrant energy had vanished, replaced by a sudden, foreboding breeze.

"I still remember that night, the heavy rain, the sorrow of parting, tangled in my heart. Waving goodbye, my love, waving goodbye. The muddy river, rolling away, the wound in my belly, lost in the haze, waving goodbye, my love, wave goodbye."

His deep, husky voice spilled the lyrics, each word dripping with sorrow. The way the melody lingered after each phrase only deepened the emotional impact. His pain—the loss of his dream, his love, his very self—poured out with raw honesty.

"Like a bird destined to roam the boundless sky, life feels empty after being apart from your lover, wave goodbye, my love, wave goodbye."

The music gradually built, and his voice began to rise with it, but the sadness never left, lingering in the undertone of every note. His bitterness was palpable, and though it filled his soul, there was no release, no escape. He stood there, lost, with no direction, drawing the strings again. Only the familiar melody could offer a fleeting moment of warmth.

This rendition of "Song of Dink" was unmistakably Renly's, yet the arrangement was completely different from what came before, showcasing a side of him no one had seen. Where the first rendition felt full of youthful vigor, this one was steeped in loss and introspection. It was a story of departure, one filled with hope and joy, and another consumed by confusion and sorrow.

Unconsciously, Carey Mulligan turned her head, wiping away a tear. There was something uniquely moving about folk songs—something about their wandering spirit that could speak to the soul. Every melody tells a story, a life, and while the song may be old, it never grows stale.

Carey saw Renly through the lens of his music, understanding the scars, the blood, the relentless pursuit of a dream. Renly had revealed his soul to the world through his performance, but how many could truly understand it?

In a world that prizes fast success, how many are willing to slow down, to listen deeply, to pursue their dreams with patience and commitment? How many are willing to relinquish the pursuit of instant gratification for a deeper, artistic goal?

Bob Dylan had succeeded, but without the groundwork laid by Dave Van Ronk, the folk music movement may have never existed, and Dylan would not have risen to prominence.

People remember Dylan, but they cannot forget Van Ronk.

Carey's thoughts shifted to LeVine Davis as she reflected on Renly. If Renly had failed, if "Don Quixote" had disappeared into obscurity, he would have been just like LeVine—a dreamer in the vast, impersonal city of New York, still chasing his ambitions, uncertain if success would ever come. Even if he succeeded, he would remain LeVine, just as Dave would never truly become Bob.

The realization made Carey uneasy.

What few knew was that Carey was struggling herself.

She had just wrapped filming "The Great Gatsby" with Leonardo DiCaprio, an opportunity any actor would envy. Yet, despite the honor, she found herself questioning her performance. Her portrayal had felt off—perhaps even terrible—and she began doubting everything from her original decision to take the role to her abilities as an actor. She felt lost in her own craft.

Then, today, she had seen herself in Renly's music.

Suddenly, a round of applause pulled her from her thoughts. All eyes turned toward Joel Coen, who was clapping excitedly, unable to contain his enthusiasm.

"Yes! This is exactly what I was hoping for!" Joel exclaimed. He turned to Ethan, seeking validation but didn't wait for a response before continuing. "That's it, perfect. That's exactly what we need. Your performance and singing—just perfect!"

At the beginning of the story, Levine's performance of "Dink's Song" is full of life, unrestrained and vibrant. By the end, however, Levine has grown, facing his confusion and introspection. Though outwardly nothing has changed, internally, everything has. The world continues to rush by, but Levine is trapped in his own unfulfilled dreams.

This subtle but profound transformation was captured perfectly in Renly's singing.

From understanding to interpretation, from grasping to expressing, the boundaries between Renly and Levine had blurred. A few lines of song, and the setting of Pioneer Village faded away, replaced by the intimate atmosphere of a gaslight bar. Renly's performance had a mesmerizing quality that made Joel unable to contain his excitement.

John Goodman leaned back, reflecting thoughtfully. His long-standing friendship with the Coen brothers gave him insight into their work, and this collaboration was no different. Renly's ability to capture the essence of the character in such a short time had truly impressed him.

When asked about his thoughts on Renly, John smiled knowingly, adding, "It's paying off. I knew this would be something special."

Ethan's voice broke through the moment, his tone thoughtful but reserved. "Your understanding of the character is spot on. Your performance—this is the flavor we were hoping for. About the song's adaptation, would you be interested in working on that too? You could help adapt all six of Levine's songs as part of your performance."

Renly didn't hesitate, nodding without pause. "I'd be happy to. I'm sure Justin would be up for it too. It should be an interesting experience."

Justin, sitting quietly next to him, raised his hands in mock protest. "Hey, that's not in our contract! I can refuse," he quipped, causing the group to laugh.

The light-hearted moment helped clear away the lingering sadness from Renly's earlier performance, and the atmosphere lightened once again.

Curious, Carey spoke up. "Why this song, Renly?" Her gaze remained fixed on him, and she added, "There are many songs in the movie that could showcase Levine's performance. Was there something special about this one?"