The Greatest Showman - Chapter 1203
But then I saw him on set. When Jesse played Mark Zuckerberg in 'The Social Network,' his character was already an intense, commanding figure. This time, though, it was supposed to be different—a down-to-earth singer. I assumed it would be easier, more natural. But I was completely wrong.
Now I finally understand what people mean when they talk about 'stage presence.' God, how did the actors who worked with Meryl Streep and Daniel Day-Lewis manage?"
Justin Timberlake sighed as he spoke into the phone. On the other end was his wife, Jessica Biel. Despite the distance between them, they maintained their routine of constant phone calls, and today was no exception. Jessica laughed as Justin continued to rant.
"Don't worry, today's my day. I have nothing to be nervous about. Haha, he even admitted it himself—he's not a singer! Sales? My albums sell better! Yes, I'm sure! I'm absolutely sure! There's no reason to be worried at all."
Lowering his voice slightly, Justin pushed open the door to the recording studio and stepped inside. He nodded politely to the staff and asked, "Which studio are they in?" After receiving directions, he thanked them and moved forward, still speaking into the phone.
"I got here fifteen minutes early, and I'd bet good money that I'm the only one. Musicians have no sense of time; they're all on 'European time.' It's nine in the morning, which probably still feels like the middle of the night for them. They worked until three or four last night—how are they supposed to be up now?
Still, I wanted to get here early and prepare.
No, not because I'm nervous! Of course not! Okay, fine, I'll admit it—I don't have a deep understanding of folk music. Come on, I'm a pop and jazz guy! I dabble in reggae and R&B, but folk? That's not really my thing."
With a light chuckle, he ended the call. "I'm here. I'll call you later. Love you."
For the next two days, filming for Inside Llewyn Davis was on pause. The Coen brothers needed the time to focus on the film's musical elements: meeting with the scorer and music producer, refining the original tracks, and holding discussions between the actors and the production team.
Renly Hall had previously suggested that the character of Mickey, Llewyn's former singing partner, should have his own distinct presence—even if only in the background. The Coen brothers agreed. They decided to cast a singer to perform Mickey's parts. Though Mickey would never physically appear on screen, his presence would be felt through the film's soundtrack and in character dialogue.
The guest singer would record Fare Thee Well (Dink's Song) alongside Renly and also contribute to The Auld Triangle. The latter wasn't originally planned, but since it was to be performed a cappella, seamless collaboration among the actors was crucial. Rather than risk a clumsy live performance, the Coens opted for a studio recording—the only pre-recorded track in the entire film.
This led to an interesting creative choice. By including Mickey in The Auld Triangle, it subtly suggested that he had already compromised before his tragic end. Maybe he couldn't overcome his personal struggles, or perhaps guilt and shame pushed him toward despair. The Coen brothers left these interpretations open-ended, allowing actors and audiences to discover their own meanings.
Renly fully supported the idea. It added richness to the folk music era being portrayed and deepened Llewyn's character arc. Even if most viewers wouldn't consciously pick up on the connection, those who did would appreciate the detail.
With the plan in place, the next two days were dedicated to musical collaboration.
When Justin stepped into the studio, he froze. The scene before him was nothing like what he had expected.
On his left, three people were seated on various couches, each holding a guitar. They strummed quietly, humming melodies and discussing arrangements. Occasionally, they tapped out rhythms with their fingers or feet, completely absorbed in the music.
On his right, four others stood in a semi-circle, sheet music in hand. They were deep in discussion, exchanging technical notes:
"Can we raise this half a key?"
"Should we slow the tempo by a quarter beat?"
The entire studio was alive with activity. It was so different from his experience recording an album that Justin briefly wondered if he'd walked into the wrong room.
Was he… late?
To his right, Carey Mulligan, Adam Driver, Stark Sands, and Chris Thile were huddled together. Chris, the lead singer of Punch Brothers, had joined the film's soundtrack team at Warner Bros.' suggestion. His folk group would provide harmonies and take the lead on The Auld Triangle.
On his left, Renly Hall, T Bone Burnett, and Marcus Mumford were deep in their own discussion.
Justin blinked. If the group on the right was the cast, and the group on the left was the musicians… then where did he fit?
This was supposed to be his moment. He was the bridge between the two worlds—the one person who had truly succeeded in both acting and music. Last night, he had rehearsed how he would introduce everyone, how he would ease the conversation, how he would take control of the room. For once, he wouldn't be the outsider; he'd be the expert.
Yet now, standing in the doorway, he felt like an intruder.
Had he missed something?
Why did this recording studio feel so unfamiliar?
Why did it feel like the roles had reversed—like he was the guest and they were the hosts?