The Greatest Showman #1324 – Entertain to Death

Chris Hemsworth was deep within a suffocating crowd, completely surrounded by a swarm of people, their shrieks and chants echoing in his ears.

"Chris! Ahhh! You're so hot!"

"God, oh god! Chris! I love you!"

"Chris, please marry me!"

"I can't breathe! Chris, you are the sexiest man alive!"

"Don't talk, Chris, just hold me tight!"

The shouts, the clamor—it was all too much. The street was so congested that it was impossible to move. Pedestrians were stuck, unable to pass through, and the only way forward was by navigating the edge of the road, maneuvering through a chaos of bodies.

Chris, drenched in sweat from the sweltering heat, felt embarrassed. The clamor around him, the frenzy of fans, only amplified his growing irritability. The sun bore down on him mercilessly, adding to his discomfort. His patience, already stretched thin, was wearing out quickly.

This wasn't just an inconvenience; it was a full-on assault.

Hands reached out from every direction, touching his body—chest, shoulders, waist, abdomen—even his crotch. The crowd, their enthusiasm bordering on mania, was a terrifying sight, a sea of people all trying to get a piece of him, to feel his body temperature, to be a part of him. The energy was suffocating, overwhelming, like a giant beast slowly consuming him.

Ten, twenty, thirty people—it no longer mattered. He was engulfed in a relentless swarm, a tidal wave of hands, pulling and pushing. There was nothing he could do but endure.

He had seen it all before—top stars being mobbed by crowds—but experiencing it firsthand was something else entirely.

What had once seemed like a dream—being surrounded by adoring fans, basking in the glow of fame—had quickly turned into a nightmare. The applause, the cheers, the flashing lights, it all seemed so glamorous from the outside. Yet now, in the midst of it, he felt trapped.

Chris had once thought fame meant entering a world where everything was perfect, where he could soar above the rest. But instead, his life had been reduced to a daily grind of paparazzi and overzealous fans. Even simple activities like shopping or going for a swim had been tainted by the ever-present press.

It wasn't what he had imagined.

Everything he had complained about in an exclusive interview with GQ had proven to be true. Fame had granted him access to the top of the industry, but it had also exposed Hollywood's ugly underbelly—the vanity, the hypocrisy.

He had vented about the way people treated him before and after his rise to fame. "Before Thor came out, no one cared about me," he had said. "Some directors wouldn't even acknowledge my presence. Now, suddenly, they act like we're best friends. It's disgusting."

He recalled how, when Thor hadn't performed as expected, people were ready to see him fail. But after The Avengers hit big, those same people acted as if nothing had ever happened, as if they hadn't written him off just months earlier. It sickened him.

Now, here he was in Cannes, seeing the same fake smiles, the same pretentious behavior. Those directors and producers who had once ignored him now sought him out, fawning over him at every party. It was all so revolting.

But the real issue wasn't the industry—it was the paparazzi.

"When I'm out with my kids, they scare them. They're there, 24/7. If I take out the trash, they're lurking a block away, waiting. They never leave."

The frustration was palpable. Fame, Chris had realized, wasn't the reward it was cracked up to be. The constant attention, the invasive press—it was suffocating. His only desire now was to leave Los Angeles behind and return to Australia, where he could be a regular person again. "I want to go back to Australia," he had said during the interview. "There, I can be normal again."

Today's experience in Cannes had proven his point once more.

Why couldn't these fans just leave him be? Why couldn't they appreciate his work from a distance, like watching a movie in a theater? Why the obsession?

The entrance to the private club was in sight, the staff were clearing a path for him, but the crowd was so tightly packed that he couldn't move. The noise was deafening, and the people around him pressed in from all sides.

His frustration was growing, but Chris forced a smile, maintaining a professional demeanor. He couldn't afford to show his true feelings. One wrong move, one sign of annoyance, and the tabloids would have a field day.

But inside, his thoughts were chaotic: Go away! Go away! Go away!

The pressure was unbearable. He clenched his fists, trying to suppress the urge to shout.

Then, a scream shattered the air, louder than any of the others. "Renly! Ahhh!" It was like a jolt to his system, a sudden shift in the crowd's energy. All eyes turned in the direction of the sound.

"Renly!" The name echoed through the crowd, and like a wave, it surged forward, leaving Chris behind. Within moments, the mass of people had shifted, and most of them were pushing toward the source of the scream, abandoning him entirely.

Chris could only watch as the crowd parted, leaving him with just a few remaining fans around him. The rest were too absorbed in their chase.

He froze, his mouth opening slightly, but no words came out. He was powerless, humiliated.

Renly. Once again, Renly had stolen the spotlight from him. It was a crushing feeling. How many times had this happened? Always overshadowed by Renly, always pushed to the side.

Chris's hand instinctively rose to motion for the crowd to stop, but he caught himself, retracting it quickly. It was pointless.

The crowd had moved on, and Chris was left standing there, an afterthought.

The security staff, oblivious to Chris's inner turmoil, approached him with wide eyes, stammering, "Is that really Renly Hall? Can we get him over here?" They didn't even seem to realize how much they were rubbing salt in the wound.

Chris's face turned pale. He clenched his teeth, feeling the rage and humiliation churn within him. But the staff were already turning away, rushing off to get Renly, leaving Chris behind.

This was supposed to be my moment.