The Greatest Showman #1189 – Special Audience

Carey Mulligan, upon her arrival today, exchanged only a few polite words with Renly, maintaining a professional and respectful distance. As the lead actress, she remained low-key, perhaps too much so.

But at that moment, a mysterious glint appeared in her eyes, as if the mask she wore had been lifted, revealing her truest self—the face of an actor, an individual chasing a dream, no matter the cost.

Her gaze was deep, meaningful, and complex. A simple question seemed to carry a wealth of unspoken understanding.

Carey is a good actress, one with her own story. Unfortunately, after gaining early fame with An Education, and with high expectations following her, she has struggled to break through and seems to have stagnated.

"Because it's the only duet LeVine ever performed in the movie—except for that 'Please, Mr. Kennedy' mishap," Renly remarked, glancing at Justin as if he were LeVine, and then looked at Jim. Justin raised his hands in surrender, which caused the group to laugh lightly.

Renly turned his attention back to the discussion. "In the story, LeVine had a partner once. They were a duet, but the partner unexpectedly died. After that, LeVine continued his journey alone as a solo artist."

During the 1960s, duos and trios were incredibly popular in folk music circles—think of Jim and Jane, the quartet later formed, or the partnership between Troy and others. Pairing up often generated buzz and attracted audiences.

LeVine was once part of such a duo, but after his partner's death, he chose to remain solo. The story doesn't explain why, but one can infer that LeVine's refusal to seek another partner had something to do with his dedication to his late companion. Perhaps it was the memory of that lost partnership that kept him going, much like Heather Cross.

"'Fare-Thee-e11' is the only song LeVine and his partner ever sang together, at least in the movie," Renly continued, his gaze falling on the Coen brothers. "At the beginning of the song, LeVine is saying goodbye to his lover and his partner, but by the end, the sadness and emptiness linger, refusing to leave."

For LeVine, he believed he could move on. Farewell marked an end, but it was also a new beginning. He set out to carry on his dream alone, convinced he could still reach the other side. The bitterness and sadness of the past were buried in the music, allowing him to sing with a certain freedom.

But by the end of the song, LeVine finds himself lost. He has nothing—no money, no friends, no family. Even his partner, who once walked beside him, is gone. All he has left is a dream, a dream that now seems impossible. The sorrow and dullness of his situation are woven into the song, which he sings with a raw vulnerability.

"Fare-Thee-e11" is a fresh adaptation of Dink Song, a blend of two versions that bring new meaning to LeVine's story, shaped by Dave Van Ronk's influence.

Kerry's expression grew distant as he reflected on this, the sorrow and loneliness etched between his brows. He sat in quiet contemplation, lost in his thoughts, with no one able to truly understand what was going on inside him.

Everyone has their own story.

Renly broke the silence, steering the conversation in another direction. "In my opinion, we should have two versions of the song on the soundtrack—one with LeVine and his partner, and another with LeVine alone."

This meant they would need another actor: someone who could sing just one song.

Ethan nodded in agreement but then thought of another question. "What about the opening performance? Since the partner is gone, which version should LeVine perform? Are there differences in style and content between singing with a partner and performing alone?"

"There are definitely differences," Renly responded without hesitation. "But it's all about how we arrange and produce it. If necessary, we can film the opening performance more sparsely, to highlight the emptiness of the partner's death. During the song, the emotions can be subtle but still conveyed, even if the audience doesn't fully grasp what's going on."

Joel and Ethan quickly joined the discussion, followed by Justin and a now-refocused Kerry. The set, once quiet, was now full of life.

The visit to the Surrey photo base felt like it had just happened, but now, Renly had a full understanding of the story—much more than the Coen brothers had anticipated. Even the detail about the partner had been addressed. Clearly, Renly's vision for LeVine-Davis was coming together.

No words, no discussions—actions always speak louder than anything else. The critical and speculative glances had quieted, leaving no room for gossip to flourish.

On the first day of shooting for Drunken Town Folk Ballad, the progress was far smoother than expected.

The combination of veteran actors, pop superstars, fresh faces, obscure supporting roles, and hotshot stars initially seemed chaotic. But thanks to the song "Wave Goodbye," they had smoothly settled into the rhythm of the production—a pleasant surprise.

Standing outside, looking up at the towering buildings and the overcast sky, Annie Silliman often felt lost in the steel jungle of New York. The city in January always seemed so cold and unchanging, with the relentless gloom making time feel irrelevant. The days blurred together, unnoticed.

Despite the biting wind, Annie was unaffected. Holding Anita Tunisa's right hand, she stood at the entrance of Mount Sinai Hospital, her little head peeking out curiously. She occasionally jumped up and down in excitement, her joy contagious. Anita laughed, asking, "Are you in a good mood today?"

Annie didn't answer. Instead, she bit her lip, then looked up at Anita with a radiant smile. She shrugged dramatically and released Anita's hand, forming a flower shape with her small hands and resting them on her chin, revealing a tiny white tooth as she beamed.

Every action, every smile radiated happiness. The dreary weather seemed to fade away. The wind, sharp and bitter, couldn't overshadow the girl's unrestrained joy. Her spirit broke through the clouds of winter, offering a fleeting glimpse of spring. Onlookers couldn't help but smile, finding themselves laughing along with her.

A dark blue four-door sedan pulled up at the hospital entrance. A tall, thin man stepped out, followed by a shorter, chubby figure.

Annie took a small step back, still smiling but now curious. She peered out from behind Anita, scrutinizing the man who had arrived.

"Annie, good afternoon," the man called out. "I'm Paul. Do you remember me?"

Annie didn't respond immediately. Paul thought she had forgotten him, so he continued, "I'm Paul Walker, a friend of Renly. I visited you here before with him, and we played games together in the activity room."

Annie interrupted, "I remember you." She pouted slightly, looking up at him with mock indignation. "You and Renly took Heather out to the movies, but you didn't invite me."

Paul chuckled awkwardly, scratching his head. Just as he began to find the right words, Annie burst out laughing, her small hands covering her face.

Paul realized she had been teasing him and couldn't help but smile. "Renly's busy preparing for today's work, so I came to pick you up. What do you say? Will you join me for tonight's date?"

Behind Paul stood Nathan Press. While Paul wasn't well-known around Mount Sinai, Nathan certainly was.

Annie stepped forward, giving a polite, lady-like half-curtsy. "Of course, it would be my honor," she replied with a playful smile. Then she took Anita's hand and nodded. "I'll be back on time tonight. Don't worry."

Anita smiled gently and brushed Annie's nose with her fingers. "Enjoy your date tonight."

Paul gave a respectful nod to Anita, then escorted Annie to the car, carefully fastening her seatbelt. Annie, her eyes wide, stared at Paul for a moment.

Paul, puzzled, was about to ask what was going on when Annie spoke up. "So, since Renly is busy, does that mean you're my date tonight?"

Paul tried to keep a straight face but couldn't hide his amusement. "Yes, I'm your date. Is that alright?"

Annie's cheeks flushed, and she quickly turned her gaze away, embarrassed but delighted.