The Greatest Showman #1277 - Unique Style

On April 28, 2013, a crisp spring evening, the Olivier Awards were officially revealed at the Royal Theatre.

As one of London's most prestigious, traditional venues, the Royal Theatre has long stood as the pinnacle for ballet and opera performances. It has given birth to countless masterpieces and unforgettable moments. After being bestowed the honorary title of "Royal" in 1892, it solidified its place as an international stage for performances.

Tonight, all eyes were fixed upon it.

For years, the Olivier Awards had been known for their understated nature. The atmosphere was calm, even subdued. Journalists and attendees were more focused on orderly reporting than the frenzy seen at other award ceremonies. The aftermath rarely stirred much excitement; most media outlets only reported the winners and moved on, leaving little coverage for the post-award details. Unlike the Oscars or the major European film festivals, the majority of Olivier's winners, aside from a few recognizable names like Judi Dench and Maggie Smith, were not household names.

But this time, something was different. Tonight could mark a moment of historical significance—or the painful regret of a missed opportunity.

The weight of a trophy was more than just an award—it was the pen that would write history. Whether celebrated or lamented, the anticipation created a moment of tension, a feeling that sent shivers down the spine. No one wanted to miss out.

As a result, the Olivier Awards, typically a quiet event, suddenly commanded attention—industry insiders, the media, and passionate theater fans all gathered in the streets outside the Royal Theatre. Two to three hundred people had arrived early, creating an unusually lively atmosphere.

Though this was small compared to major international award shows, the scene still included over a hundred journalists and around two hundred fans. The theater manager couldn't have been more pleased with the turnout.

On this particular evening, it seemed the weather itself had been touched by the excitement. The gray-blue sky was brushed with the warm hues of an orange-red sunset, hinting at the vibrancy of early summer. The air carried the distinct scent of the Thames and the British Empire Museum, filling the city with historical charm, while a touch of vitality blossomed—an essence uniquely tied to London.

The Oliver Awards had set up a red carpet segment for live broadcasts, but unlike the grand catwalks of the Oscars or Golden Globes, this one was simple and dignified—a gracious welcome for the night's guests.

The atmosphere on the carpet was different too: there was less brashness and more warmth. The tension usually felt at such events was replaced by a more relaxed, friendly tone, with a slight hint of late spring's comfort. It was a night that made one long for a glass of wine or a cold beer, savoring the evening breeze.

Guests stepped onto the red carpet with ease. Some dressed to the nines in elegant evening gowns or sharp suits, while others opted for a more laid-back style—casual skirts, jeans, and light fabrics. A few chose flamboyant, dramatic outfits with sequins and bold colors, adding a touch of the theatrical to the evening.

The atmosphere felt less like an awards ceremony and more like a festive graduation gathering, with everyone chatting and laughing comfortably. The ease and joy were palpable, almost lazy, yet undeniably cozy.

One couldn't help but think of the opposite scene across the Atlantic, where awards ceremonies try to emulate an elite, glitzy extravaganza, with the public joining in on the spectacle. There, art often feels like a stage, and the barriers between the artist and audience blur.

But here, the difference was clear.

As a wise person once said, those who truly possess something are able to let go of their obsessions, embrace possibilities, and remain open. Those who have never had it often find themselves trapped in their desires, unable to loosen their grip.

The warmth of spring filled the air as everyone seemed distracted, their expressions hinting at a sense of something unspoken—a feeling that the real excitement hadn't arrived yet. Something was missing. The night lacked that central moment—the climax that would tie everything together.

Suddenly, a shout pierced the air: "Master!"

The voice rang out like a bolt of lightning, electrifying the crowd and drawing everyone's attention. All eyes turned, drawn to the source of the cry, and there it was—the moment had arrived.

The pinnacle of the evening had finally appeared. All attention focused on a single figure, and hearts began to race as the smile spread slowly across his face.

At that instant, "Empire" magazine's reporter Ned Mullan and his colleague Luke Treadaway both turned toward the sound.

Renly was back.

Dressed simply in a navy blue plaid shirt, light gray jacket, and dark blue suit pants, his look was understated yet impeccably put together. Casual but not careless, the look was relaxed yet still commanding attention. The small detail of a pale pink polka-dot pocket square added a playful, youthful energy that softened the formality.

"Master."

The title, Master Renly, perfectly encapsulated the aura that surrounded him. The words felt natural, their joyful simplicity resonating deeply, like a butterfly's wings fluttering in the air.

After two months of silence, Renly had returned to the spotlight as though he had never left. The crowd erupted in applause, and Ned, overwhelmed by excitement, found himself shouting "Master!" without realizing it.

Ned, who had originally uncovered Renly's true identity, now truly understood the depth of that identity. Renly's presence was unlike any other—effortless, magnetic, and entirely his own.

Despite the usual noise of the red carpet, the crowd remained still and respectful. People waved their arms and cheered but did not push forward. They simply stood in awe, soaking in the moment as if nothing else mattered.

Renly, for his part, moved forward with poise. He shook hands with the audience, exchanged a few words, and shared his enthusiasm with those nearby. The scene felt more like a meet-and-greet than a formal event, where fans could experience firsthand the graciousness of someone who truly belonged to the West End.

"Master!" Ned called again, his voice thick with admiration.

Renly acknowledged him with a smile, and after a moment of politeness, turned his attention to Luke Treadaway, who stood by his side.

Renly complimented Luke's work in "The Mystery of the Puppy in the Night," sharing how much he had enjoyed the show. Luke, surprised and delighted, confirmed that the play was still running at the Kotzger National Theatre before moving to the Apollo Theatre next month.

Renly smiled knowingly. "It seems the audience is still sharp."

Luke laughed, noting that after being nominated for the Olivier Award, the show had attracted even more attention, especially with its upcoming move to the larger Apollo Theatre.

Luke, beaming with pride, couldn't help but joke, "I'm surprised you know me as Luke and not Harry!"

And so, the night continued, with the true highlight emerging in quiet grace, leaving everyone with a sense that something special had just occurred.