WTR-LAB - The Greatest Showman #1345 - Alone

In a trance, the story forms a circle, with the exact same scene replayed at both the beginning and end of the movie. This illusion of time and space travel draws the audience into confusion, a labyrinth that leaves them wandering before returning to the same place.

Emily couldn't help but remember what Levine had said to Jane: "It feels like a long time, but it's only been a few days."

"You've probably heard this before: If there's a song that's never been new but never outdated, it's a ballad," Levine quipped after his performance, eliciting a few scattered laughs. "Alright, before I leave, one last performance."

The melody that followed was as gentle and enduring as a breeze in late autumn, sweeping through vast, desolate wildernesses. The green turned to yellow, then red, and eventually faded into nothingness, leaving behind a barren emptiness that left the world feeling vast and desolate, stirring a deep unease.

"If I could spread my wings like Noah's dove, I would cross the rivers to find my true love. Waving goodbye, my love, may you cherish." Levine sang with abandon, opening his heart, standing still, and bidding farewell to the one he loved. The word "cherish" barely conveyed the weight of his emotions, so he could only watch his love depart, silently sending blessings before turning away, alone again, embarking on his journey once more.

The raw, hoarse echoes of his voice lingered, steeped in sorrow and loss. The faint bitterness hiding in the notes spread like a shadow.

"Dawn breaks, the drizzle drifts away, the sadness of parting wraps itself around my heart. Waving goodbye, my love, waving goodbye."

Levine's singing was wild and unrestrained, full of urgent desire and raw sincerity. With his eyes closed, he lost himself completely in the music, his furrowed brow revealing grief and pain. In this moment, the emotional bond between Levine and the audience was re-established.

"One morning in the future, not too far away, you will call my name, and I will say goodbye and go away."

The rising melody surged suddenly, striking at the depths of her soul. Emily could not hold back. She covered her cheeks with her hands, but the tears seeped through her fingers, falling uncontrollably. The overwhelming sorrow, the confusion, the despair of a life weathered and worn, all pressed on her chest, heavy and suffocating.

Levine's voice rang out again: "Wave goodbye, my love, wave goodbye."

The story had finally come full circle. The opening melody and the closing song echoed each other, yet they were entirely different, symbolizing the ever-changing world. Even though only a few days had passed, everything was irrevocably different. They had heard the live version of "Wave Goodbye"—Levine's solo rendition—but...

Emily understood. The Levine they had once known was gone forever, taking with him his passions, dreams, and longings, lost with Mike's death. Now, Levine was stuck, looking left and right, unable to find direction, unsure of what lay ahead. He moved forward, but each step felt heavy, dragging his tired body, walking alone.

He tried to find his love, but in the end, he was left alone, adrift in the world's harsh realities.

"If I could spread my wings like Noah's dove, I would cross the river in pursuit of my true love. Waving goodbye, my love, may you cherish it."

His bruised soul, bathed in the soft yellow light, seemed overwhelmed, lost, and disoriented.

"You and Mickey used to sing this song together?" Emily asked.

"Yes."

"Boy, what a mess you were last night."

"Yes... sorry, Papi. I'm an asshole."

"I don't care, it's just music. A friend of yours is in the back alley."

It was the same dialogue, the same scene, the same feeling of familiarity—but nothing had truly stayed the same. Everything seemed unchanged, yet everything was different.

Levine walked into the back alley and found Bob Dylan sitting on stage, strumming his guitar and singing softly. A reporter from Time Magazine sat in the audience.

The western cowboy had arrived again, still rough on Levine, still leaving with his back turned. Levine leaned against the alley, watching the taxi drive away. His face was tired, but a faint smile touched his lips, a brief flash of exhaustion and relief in his eyes.

After crossing countless mountains and rivers, after experiencing the fullness of life, he had come back to the same place, as if nothing had changed. But deep down, he knew everything was different. Now, he was truly alone, left with nothing but himself as he set out on a new journey.

Whether moving forward or stuck in place, spinning in circles, he was still alone.

There was a trace of loneliness in his light brown eyes, and a bitter smile lingered in the fleeting light and shadows.

He said goodbye.

The movie ended.

Emily Chen had completely broken down. Her hands covered her face, but the tears still streamed through her fingers, unstoppable. Bob Dylan's mournful voice reverberated in the background, and Emily's grief, raw and uncontrollable, washed over her. The weight of it all overwhelmed her defenses.

People saw Levine as cynical, out of place, irresponsible, arrogant—but they never saw the depth of his sorrow. For his father's love, for Mike's friendship, for Jane's affection—the burdens of life were too heavy. They dragged him down into the abyss, his hard work and struggle overshadowed by the relentless march of time.

In the end, he sat penniless beside the trash in a bar's back alley, in a world that didn't even offer him a winter coat.

Levine sang, "Wave goodbye, my love."

At the end, he had nothing. Nothing had changed, except that he had lost the passion, the pride, the very essence of himself. No family, no friends, no love, no dreams, no goals, no persistence, no soul. He had nothing left but to say goodbye.

Emily wept, breathless, lost in the story of an era, the eulogy of a life, a loser's tale, and the story of everyone's struggles in real life.

"Oh god, oh dear god," she whispered.

Steven Spielberg stood up, tears welling in his eyes, yet he didn't care. He clapped fervently, passionately, releasing the storm of emotions in his chest. The applause came from a deep place of respect and admiration.

In the era of folk music, everyone flocked to the music industry, hoping to stand on stage with a guitar and a voice, basking in the spotlight. As the Grofiens had said, "I wish I were in your business too. I mean, one hit would fix everything."

But only a few understood that behind the folk songs lay a lifetime of hardship and sorrow. For some, folk songs were just a means to achieve success. For Levine, they were art and dreams, carrying the weight of his soul, too heavy and too intense, like a moth to a flame, burning with passion until it was reduced to ashes.

Folk songs are like this—so why not movies?

This is the story of an era, but also the story of a loser. If Levine is a loser, Steven sees himself as a total loser too.

Since the start of the Cannes Film Festival, Adele's Life had been the talk of the town, always the favorite for the Palme d'Or, and the small city buzzed with excitement. Steven would never deny that it was a brilliant film, but personally, he preferred Drunken Country Ballads. It hit the softest part of the heart so hard that it shook the very soul.

As chairman of the jury, Steven knew he could not express his personal views publicly, nor even privately, until the decision was made. That was his responsibility. But once the film had ended, he could offer his applause in the simplest, purest way, as a sign of deep admiration.

God, how much he loved movies.

Drunken Country Ballads was a film that resonated deeply, its layers of shock and delicate echoes stirring the soul and leaving an unforgettable impression.

So, Steven stood up, clapped, unaware of anyone else, and sent his applause, a tribute to the film's beauty.

Emily, sensing the movement around her, raised her head reflexively. Through her tear-streaked vision, she saw his pale face, overcome with emotion. His joy, sorrow, and respect were all expressed through the simplest of actions.

Subconsciously, Emily also stood up, clapping in unison. Her face was wet with tears, but she laughed through her embarrassment, only to be reminded of the last scene from the film. Those tired, lonely eyes, offering a small, relieved smile, struck her heart once more, and she couldn't stop the tears from flowing.

She cried and laughed, laughed and cried. Movies had a magical power—they told stories of life, of struggle, and of everyone's journey.