The Greatest Showman #1279 - Earl of Oxford

"Your Excellency! Your Excellency! Jesus Christ, Lord Renly, at last! God, at last!"

The cheers broke through the warm air indoors, and found their mark in Renly, who was deeply surrounded by the surging crowd. All eyes turned toward him, and then, without fail, shifted toward the Count of Richard de Ville—

Or, more precisely, the Earl of Oxford.

The Earl was a well-known figure in London's West End circles. He had never hidden his enthusiasm or dedication to theater. His discerning taste and professional vision had earned the respect of countless industry veterans, even though he had never written a single drama review. Each time a new play debuted, his opinions and judgments often became the industry's barometer.

When Les Miserables was staged at the Almeida Theatre, Earl Richard openly expressed his admiration, even going so far as to break from the conventions of high society. Thanks to George Hall's matchmaking, he ignored internal conflicts within the Hall family just to meet Renly.

Every year at the Olivier Awards, the Earl was a fixture. His place was always in the VIP box.

At this moment, Richard paid no attention to the crowd around Renly. He disregarded the social niceties, interrupting the heated conversation with a warm, eager enthusiasm. With excitement akin to a star-struck fan, Richard rushed forward to Renly, his energy contagious.

This was the Earl of Oxford.

A man who broke from aristocratic norms, creating his own path in high society. Even at fifty, he was as carefree and unruly as a child. He was a force of nature in a world bound by rules.

Renly's colleagues, who were familiar with Richard's reputation, immediately made way, giving him space. They all respected Richard—a true connoisseur of the craft. For every artist, knowing that someone like Richard appreciated their work was a driving force that fueled their dedication.

After a brief, polite exchange of glances with Renly, the colleagues politely excused themselves and left.

Richard, however, was oblivious to his social faux pas. His excitement never waned as he eagerly gushed, "Please, tell me—you're returning for the anniversary performance, right? I mean, Daniel is a fine actor, but he lacks that spark. His performance misses that spiritual layer. It completely dilutes John's original vision for the six-hour version."

No formalities, no greetings—just a rush of words. As soon as they met, Richard dove right into the heart of the matter.

Richard was, of course, referring to the lead role in the second version of Les Miserables.

Renly chuckled lightly, "Thank you, I really appreciate it," he said graciously. "But unfortunately, I won't be returning for the anniversary performance. To be honest, after the previous performances, I need some rest. The energy required was overwhelming."

Richard's face fell in disappointment. "Such a shame. Truly a shame," he sighed. After a moment, he regained his composure, spread his hands in understanding, and added, "But I understand. Jean Valjean is an incredibly challenging role, which is why your performance was so extraordinary."

Richard's aristocratic grace shone through, in his ability to pivot between sincerity and control, effortlessly moving through the conversation.

"So, what about the future?" Richard asked, his enthusiasm renewed. "Are you planning to return to the West End? Not the media circus—I mean Shakespeare! You'd make an excellent Shakespearean actor, following in the footsteps of Sir Olivier."

Richard's words referred to a recent US Weekly questionnaire that explored the recovery of Broadway and the West End in the past year. Among the thirty questions were inquiries like "Which actor would you most like to see return to the stage?" and "Which play would you be most willing to see?"

There was also a section dedicated to Renly, with most of the questions centered on Les Miserables. The last question, however, was particularly telling:

"If Renly were to return to the stage, which character would the audience most want to see?"

In the end, The Phantom of the Opera's Phantom took the top spot, earning more than 38% of the votes. However, industry insiders, like Richard, dismissed such polls as shallow.

"Such polls are too simple," Richard said, waving a hand. "The average audience only knows the big hits—the classics like Les Miserables, The Phantom of the Opera, Cats, Miss Saigon. But the real challenge lies in adapting works like Shakespeare. It's a constant reinvention, a true test of both actor and director."

For Richard, Shakespeare was eternal. His mention of James McAvoy in Macbeth and Mark Rylance in Twelfth Night underscored the difficulty and thrill of reinterpreting the Bard's works.

Without waiting for Renly to respond, Richard continued, "Hamlet. Do you think it's too easy? I, personally, would love to see you take on Hamlet! Last year, John Codd staged a completely new version, and it was spectacular. Do you think you could bring something fresh to it?"

Renly, amused by Richard's enthusiasm, smiled and said, "Maybe one day, but not anytime soon." The words were final, without any wiggle room. Renly's determination was clear in his eyes, and Richard, for all his passion, felt the weight of Renly's resolve.

Richard, though disappointed, didn't retreat. Instead, he nodded thoughtfully. "It's a shame," he sighed. "But I understand. As a true lover of theater, I hope you'll return soon. West End theater is where the real actors shine—Hollywood is child's play compared to that."

Renly smiled at Richard's sincerity, touched by his deep affection for the theater.

Richard raised his pipe, took a couple of sharp puffs, and exhaled slowly, his face painted with a touch of melancholy. Finally, he looked up at Renly, his gaze full of hope. "I hope your vacation won't be too long. It would be a loss for the audience if you stay away too long."

"My pleasure," Renly said, genuinely flattered by Richard's earnestness.

Renly had grown used to such praise, yet he never took it for granted. He still felt a flutter in his chest every time he received such raw admiration. He understood that success was earned, not given—it came from hard work and dedication.

Richard, as always, seemed to possess an innate charm. He nodded politely before his eyes lit up, as if remembering something. "By the way, to celebrate the first anniversary of the Almeida Theatre's Les Miserables, I'm hosting a small gathering this weekend. Since you're back in London, I would be remiss not to send an invitation."

Renly, smiling courteously, replied, "If I can, I'll be there."

Richard, knowing Renly's answer was a formality, didn't press further. Instead, he added, "It's a private event, just a few true theater lovers. I've invited Cameron Mackintosh and some of the great actors from the Queen's version as well."

It was an unspoken message: this gathering was special.

Renly paused for a moment, then nodded. "Thank you. I'll think about it."

Richard's eyes gleamed with understanding. He nodded, seemingly satisfied. "I'll send the invitation to your place in Notting Hill."

With that, Richard turned to leave, taking with him his effusive energy. It was an abrupt exit, as always, with the initiative remaining firmly in his hands. Renly, though, was not left behind—he respected Richard's unapologetic devotion to theater. Richard was, indeed, an anomaly among the aristocracy.