The Greatest Showman - Chapter 1354: Conference Venue
Inside, the atmosphere buzzed with anticipation. Every major news outlet had gathered, and soon whispers spread like wildfire—Renly was behind the unexpected arrangement.
That morning, Renly had attended a screening of Blue Ruins in the Directors' Fortnight lineup. On his way past the Film Palace, he noticed a long queue of journalists braving the cold drizzle, waiting for the upcoming press conference. With two hours still to go, the sight was striking—determined professionals huddled together in the biting wind.
Moved by the scene, Renly took swift action. He contacted the Coen brothers and coordinated with festival officials to open the news center earlier. Knowing the infamous inefficiency of French bureaucracy, he also arranged for hot coffee and towels, ensuring that at least some warmth reached those waiting outside.
Thirty minutes ahead of schedule, the journalists were ushered inside. The gesture was handled discreetly, appearing as if it were a routine decision by the festival organizers. If not for the curiosity of a few, the truth behind this considerate act might have remained unknown. Renly had made no attempt to claim credit.
Emily glanced at the steaming coffee in her hands and couldn't help but admire the sheer elegance of the gesture. This was true perfection.
—
"If you don't appreciate it, you can refuse. But don't twist someone's kindness into a publicity stunt. Not everything is about PR. Maybe Hollywood operates that way, but Renly never has—he doesn't need to."
A heated argument had broken out nearby. Emily turned to see Mark Lacante, his face flushed with indignation, standing his ground against two young men dressed in expensive yet rain-dampened attire.
"I'm just stating the obvious," one of them retorted, rolling his eyes. "The industry runs on image. Even if Renly did this as a calculated move to curry favor with the media, what's the harm? It's smart. I just didn't expect him to bother. That's all. What's with the overreaction? This kind of blind fanaticism is why some fans are unbearable."
Mark was trembling with anger. "How dare you? Young Master Renly doesn't need cheap publicity. If he wanted attention, all he'd have to do is raise his hand—thousands of Don Quixotes would rally to him. But he doesn't. He simply loves cinema. That's all."
The other man scoffed. "It's just coffee, not liquid gold. Jesus. You people are acting like it's some divine offering."
He made to turn away, but Emily stepped forward, her voice firm. "Take your trash with you."
The young man blinked in confusion.
Emily held her ground. "This is a press hall, not a garbage dump. Being part of the media doesn't excuse bad manners. Or do you think being 'uncrowned kings' absolves you from basic decency?"
The arrogance in his expression faltered. His companion nudged him, sensing the growing attention from nearby journalists.
Feigning nonchalance, he muttered, "I was going to clean it up later. Europeans always act so self-righteous."
Emily smiled. "I'm American."
A beat of silence. Then, snickers rippled through the crowd.
From the back, someone called out, "Aren't you the ones who love playing God?"
Laughter swelled. The two men hurriedly grabbed their cups and slunk away to a far corner of the hall.
Mark was still fuming. Emily nudged his shoulder playfully. "Let it go."
"But it's unfair," Mark grumbled. "Renly gives so much, and all he gets are accusations of ulterior motives. Do they even know him? In Berlin, he didn't mind being unrecognized—he joined our street surveys and passionately debated films outside the cinema. He cares. And yet people twist his kindness into a marketing ploy. It's disgusting."
"Because they're not worth it." The words slipped from Emily's lips before she even realized it.
She didn't know Renly beyond his films and public persona, yet she found herself defending him instinctively.
Smiling, she repeated, "They're not worth it. The truth doesn't need to be justified."
Mark looked around, noticing for the first time how the crowd had reacted—not with skepticism, but with warmth. Wet coats and damp hair couldn't dampen the camaraderie in the air.
Emily leaned in. "So, tell me, what happened in Berlin? You met him? What movie were you debating? Aloof?"
Mark's scowl melted into a grin, and as they chatted, the tension dissipated. The press conference was about to begin.
—
At 10:30 AM, the event started on schedule.
The hall was packed to capacity—five hundred journalists filled every seat, with more standing in the aisles and at the back. The anticipation was palpable.
Then, under the bright stage lights, the Inside Llewyn Davis crew stepped onto the platform:
Joel Coen, Ethan Coen, Renly Hall, Justin Timberlake, Carey Mulligan, and Garrett Hedlund.
As they settled in, Justin noticed the nameplates prearranged for their seats. Meanwhile, Joel and Renly exchanged quiet words, both chuckling softly.
The moderator smiled and posed the first question. "Renly, you seemed to be in a great mood just now. What were you and Joel discussing?"
Renly shrugged, his eyes twinkling with amusement, but remained silent.
Joel leaned toward the mic. "I mentioned that most of the reporters today are probably here for Renly and Justin. Renly replied that assuming so would be terribly rude to the ladies present."
Laughter filled the hall.
And so, the conference began.