The Greatest Showman #1421 - Tragic Complex

Oedipus, a quintessential tragic figure in ancient Greek literature, was the son of King Laius and Queen Jocasta of Thebes. Unknowingly, he killed his father and married his mother—a fate that is the embodiment of tragedy. Sophocles, the master of dramatic tragedy, enriched Oedipus's story in Oedipus Rex, cementing him as a symbol of fate's tragic grip.

Ancient Greek culture deeply influences Western civilization, especially in its tragic motifs, such as the murder/father plot. Oedipus's myth, in particular, stands as a tragic masterpiece, reflecting a recurring theme in Western philosophy and mythology: the violent overthrow of paternal authority.

The first-generation god Uranus was castrated by his son Cronus, and Cronus himself was eventually overthrown by his son Zeus. This series of paternal betrayals established Zeus as the supreme god of the Greek pantheon. Both generational shifts were marked by acts of parricide.

The Greek word Ouranos translates to "root," while Kronos means "time." These mythological figures represent the forces of origin and development. As time progresses, old generations are replaced by new ones—this theme permeates both myth and philosophy.

This murder/father motif significantly shaped Western thought. In Aristotle's famous line, "I love my teacher, I love the truth more," there's an implicit challenge to his own teacher, Plato, symbolizing a philosophical form of father killing. This intellectual break, labeled as spiritual patricide, plays a central role in the evolution of Western philosophy. Friedrich Nietzsche's declaration that "God is dead" marked the culmination of this father/slaying idea, signifying a personal tragedy but also a dramatic moment in the philosophical tradition.

The slaying/father concept isn't just about violence; it's about overcoming and surpassing an established power to forge a new path. In patriarchal societies, the father symbolizes the highest achievement, and only by surpassing him can society progress.

This dialectical tension—the drive to transcend while acknowledging the past—has fueled countless tragic narratives and philosophical debates.

Renly saw this tragedy reflected in Whiplash.

The film, while an excellent work, could go further, he thought. What if the theme of murder/father could serve as a new lens for its interpretation? What if Andrew's relationship with Fletcher embodied this tragic struggle for transcendence?

"The relationship between Andrew and Fletcher is an evolution of inheritance and transcendence," Renly explained. "At first, Andrew is an apprentice, following Fletcher's lead. But as time goes on, Andrew's ambition to surpass authority—his desire to create his own legacy—awakens. He begins not just to outgrow Fletcher's teaching but to rebel against it, not merely surpassing but crushing it."

"Both Andrew and Fletcher are similar in their refusal to compromise, each willing to sacrifice anything for their goals, even if that means abandoning relationships, like with their families or close friends."

Renly continued, deep in his thoughts, "Ultimately, Andrew must overcome Fletcher in a climactic moment of rebellion. Fletcher, too, finds himself transformed in the process. He consciously guides Andrew to resist, to become better, even if it costs him his own power."

Damien, listening intently, saw the brilliance in Renly's vision. "It's like... a self-sacrifice for the sake of art."

"Exactly," Renly agreed. "Fletcher sacrifices his power, and through this act of sacrifice, he helps Andrew transcend into greatness."

This reinterpretation of Whiplash brought new life to the story. What was once a simple tale of a student's growth now unfolded as a tragic journey of artistic inheritance and destruction.

Damien, inspired by Renly's ideas, imagined the implications for the film's cinematography. "The first half could show Andrew always looking up to Fletcher, while Fletcher looks down on him. But as the story progresses, the camera angle should shift, symbolizing Andrew's rise and Fletcher's decline. This visual change would reflect the psychological power struggle."

As they continued discussing, Damien began to understand the true role of acting in a film. It wasn't just about delivering lines; it was about embodying the characters, breathing life into them, and allowing the director's vision to unfold.

He paused, struck by a thought: "Is this why you're so selective about the roles you take, Renly?"

Renly smiled, but didn't answer immediately. After a beat, he said, "It's about the space a director creates. A great actor needs room to breathe life into the story, to shape it in ways the director never imagined."

Damien nodded, his mind whirling. "So, should we discuss this with JK? He's a key part of the whole dynamic between Andrew and Fletcher."

Renly turned the question back to him. "That's up to you."

Damien blinked, then waved his hands. "Wait, are you suggesting I'm Andrew? I'm not as crazy or obsessive as he is!"

"Crazy and obsessive are often good qualities for artists," Renly replied cryptically. "It's not a bad thing if it helps you achieve greatness."

Renly's point wasn't lost on Damien. He thought for a moment before replying, "I guess if Fletcher is aware of his role, then we should talk to JK ahead of time."

Renly nodded, adding, "But if Fletcher only realizes his role during the final performance, then wait until the last scene to tell JK."

Damien grinned, understanding. He couldn't wait to see how this would all come together.

Meanwhile, Melissa and Blake stood by, quietly observing. Both were stunned and unsure of what to make of the conversation unfolding before them.