The Greatest Showman #1254 - Superhero

"Would you be interested if you were asked to play Bruce Wayne?" Barry Mayer asked with a smile. But he wasn't just a kind-hearted old man—there was a hint of cunning, almost treachery, in his expression. Perhaps that's not the most precise word, but it's certainly the most fitting, making his question all the more intriguing.

Renly raised an eyebrow, surprised by Barry's inquiry. As he studied the man's face, he quickly realized that the seriousness in his eyes was not a joke but genuine curiosity. Still, the question remained—

"Why? I thought you weren't interested in inviting me to be a superhero."

"Shouldn't that be reversed? You've never been interested in playing a superhero." Barry countered.

A faint smile appeared on Renly's lips, a mix of amusement and ease. "If I were to say that, in fact, I've always been interested in superheroes, would you believe me?" He watched as Barry's expression instantly shifted to skepticism, his doubt plain to see. Renly's smile widened. "Okay, I admit, that was a lie."

Renly had no regrets about turning down the role of Thor.

"Personally, I love Christopher Nolan's Batman trilogy and Sam Raimi's first two Spider-Man films. Plus, 'X-Men: First Class' and 'The Avengers' were excellent works as well." Renly spoke carefully, nearly mentioning "Captain America: The Winter Soldier," "Ant-Man," and "Deadpool" before stopping himself—those films hadn't been released yet, and he had no intention of letting anything slip.

Then, with a slight shrug, he added a smug expression as if to say, "See? I really do like superhero movies." The mischievous glint in his eyes was enough to bring a chuckle before he returned to the original topic.

"I thoroughly enjoy watching these films. In fact, my personal favorite superhero is Wonder Woman. You know why? It has to do with the psychological themes of sadism and masochism, as well as discussions of disc theory. It's a fascinating exploration."

Renly was referring to William Marston, the creator of Wonder Woman and a psychologist, whose life story was later adapted into the film Professor Marston and the Wonder Women. His words hinted at a different perspective on the origins of one of history's most beloved heroines.

"But watching and acting are two different things. For an actor, the right role has to come at the right time." Renly spoke with a calm certainty. Just last week, he had discussed this very topic with Paul, and now, on Oscar night, it had surfaced again—was this fate?

Barry looked surprised. He hadn't expected Renly to know so much about superhero films. But then again, Renly had accepted Fast & Furious 5, which already spoke volumes. Perhaps they had misjudged his stance all along.

"So, are you interested in playing Bruce Wayne?" Barry pressed.

Time flies, and things change.

Last July, Barry had traveled to London to visit Renly at the Almeida Theatre, primarily to discuss the sequel to Edge of Tomorrow and the details of Gravity. Back then, he had dismissed the idea of Renly as Batman—it would have been a wasted opportunity. So he hadn't even brought it up.

Now, eight months later, the situation had shifted dramatically. Finding a new Batman had been challenging. As one of DC Comics' three key heroes, Batman was crucial to Warner Bros.' long-term strategy, especially following Christian Bale's portrayal. The search had been anything but smooth.

And yet, after all the deliberation, Barry was back where he started—standing in front of Renly.

"No, I'm not interested." Renly's response was swift and decisive.

After all that buildup, after all those discussions, he still refused. And not just refused—he left no room for negotiation. Did that mean everything they had just discussed was... meaningless?

Barry's expression turned playful, his demeanor shifting in an instant. With a sharp look, he lowered his voice. "Are you kidding me?"

One second, the atmosphere was light; the next, storm clouds gathered.

Renly, however, remained unshaken. "That depends on Mr. Mayer. I assumed our conversation was just casual party talk, but if this is a serious negotiation, my answer is naturally different."

Barry's face remained unreadable, his jaw tight, brows slightly furrowed, radiating an air of intimidation. His piercing gaze carried a dangerous edge. "So, what if this is an official invitation?"

Renly dropped his smile and responded sincerely, "Then, with regret, I must decline."

Barry's eyes widened slightly before narrowing again, scrutinizing the young man before him. Renly wasn't bluffing. His unwavering confidence radiated from within, a trait so rare in Hollywood that even Barry had to admire it.

Involuntarily, Barry chuckled.

His previous anger had been a bluff, but Renly hadn't fallen for it. Reflecting on their verbal sparring just now, Barry shook his head with a smirk. "You do realize you're insane, right?" Then, he tilted his head. "Why? I thought you liked superhero movies."

Renly didn't respond immediately. Instead, he studied Barry closely, recalling their last conversation at the Almeida Theatre. Was this just social banter, or was Barry genuinely open to discussion?

After a brief pause, Renly made his choice. "Because you're trying to compete with Marvel, to wrest market share from Disney. It's an ambitious strategy, but it overlooks the essence of storytelling—it ignores the integrity of the characters themselves. That's not what I want."

Barry contemplated those words, but Renly wasn't done.

"More importantly, I don't think I can surpass Christian's Batman. And when it comes to sheer challenge, Batman's abilities don't intrigue me. I prefer... people."

"Batman's abilities?" Barry frowned. "What do you mean?"

"He's rich." Renly deadpanned.

Barry froze for a moment—then burst into laughter, clapping his hands.

Once the laughter subsided, Barry looked at Renly more seriously.

He had to admit, his initial judgment had been correct.

Casting Renly as a superhero was a waste of his talent. For iconic characters like Batman, the role itself carried enough appeal; Renly's presence wasn't necessary. And for lesser-known heroes, using Renly to boost their prominence was like using a sledgehammer to crack a nut.

After a brief moment of reflection, Barry asked, "What did you mean by ignoring the work itself? Do you have opinions on DC's future direction?"

Renly chuckled. "Barry, are you serious? We're standing here discussing the future of DC Comics at an Oscar party?"

Barry caught a subtle detail—Renly alternated between calling him "Barry" and "Mr. Mayer" depending on the conversation's tone. It was an intriguing distinction.

Barry found the whole situation ironic. He was the CEO of Warner Bros., a seasoned Hollywood veteran; Renly was a 23-year-old actor, still a rising star. And yet, here they were, exchanging views on a multi-billion-dollar franchise. It was absurd.

"Why not?" Barry pressed on, his stubbornness showing. "I'm offering you Batman. If you don't give me a satisfactory answer, I won't give up easily."

Inexplicably, Renly was reminded of those domineering CEO romance novels. He couldn't help but laugh.

Still, he answered. "Do you understand why Marvel succeeded?"

That was a question the industry had debated extensively.

By 2016, DC had suffered multiple misfires with Suicide Squad and Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice. The following year, Justice League had underperformed as well. While not outright disasters, the growing gap between DC and Marvel was undeniable.

And in the end, it all came down to one problem: impatience.