The Greatest Showman #1430 - Hidden Easter Eggs

Austin watched the professional musicians around him chatting and laughing, feeling a growing sense of powerlessness.

He now understood why top actors tend to have their own private vans, isolated from the masses—separating themselves not only to maintain a level of exclusivity but also as a necessary means of preserving their mental space. While it may seem like they're playing big shots, it's more about protecting their ability to focus. Extras and actors, still outsiders to the heart of Vanity Fair, are often overcome with curiosity and excitement when peeking behind the curtain. This leads to a mixture of reactions, both positive and negative. The noise, whether internal or external, can undoubtedly influence an actor's performance—creating distractions that make it hard for them to find calm.

Under the bright lights, the fame is intoxicating. But behind that fame is immense pressure. Every step forward is a calculated risk, and the higher you go, the more fragile it becomes. Michael Jackson, for example, could attest to the loneliness at the top—where a single misstep could bring it all crashing down.

After achieving the historic EGOT (Emmy, Grammy, Oscar, Tony), Renly had now become the subject of intense scrutiny. His every move was analyzed and observed through a lens of jealousy, curiosity, admiration, and even disdain. Like a fish caught in a net, Renly had no escape from this constant attention.

But what it truly feels like to be in Renly's shoes is something no one outside his circle can understand. Speculation and assumptions don't even come close. Renly had ascended to a level where he was not just a Hollywood figure—he had become a historical anomaly.

Austin let out a breath and glanced at Renly from a distance, a small flicker of concern crossing his mind. He wondered if Renly would be able to shake off the distractions and give his full attention to the upcoming scene. Austin knew his place; he was just a small actor in the grand scheme of things, with no real stake in Renly's world. But still, the worry nagged at him.

His thoughts were interrupted by Nate's gaze. Nate's eyes were equally filled with helpless amusement, and though he didn't speak, his expression seemed to say, It's getting more and more absurd to watch outsiders speculate.

Both men shared a small, rueful smile. Their eyes drifted toward Renly, and for a moment, neither could quite define the emotions swirling inside them. Unlike veteran actors like Michael Douglas or Matt Damon, Renly's rise to fame had been remarkably swift. His time in the public eye had been short, and the limited information about him was wrapped in an aura of mystery. Following his EGOT win, that mystery only deepened—both fascinating and alienating.

"Ready? We'll start shooting in five minutes," the assistant director's voice cut through the buzz of conversation.

The noise died down immediately as everyone pretended to focus on their work. Yet, their eyes continued to flicker toward Renly, curious about what would happen next. Unfortunately, nothing changed—Renly remained in his chair, flipping through the script, lost in thought.

In five minutes, however, they might see a different side of him.

The next scene was one of the most crucial and difficult the crew had filmed thus far. The focus would be on Andrew and Fletcher. For Fletcher, it was a key scene to establish his character; for Andrew, it marked a turning point—his first step toward transformation.

This scene marked Andrew's first day in the band. He began as a backup drummer, observing Fletcher's sharp, critical nature. Fletcher could identify even the tiniest mistakes—be it a slight variation in timing or a missed beat—and he would call out the offenders, publicly humiliate them, and cast them out. Andrew, a new recruit, soon realized that anyone could be the target of Fletcher's wrath. He had already witnessed Fletcher tear down the chief trombone player, driving him to tears and forcing him out of the band.

What struck Andrew was not just the ferocity of Fletcher's methods but the underlying realization that, if he wasn't careful, he might be next.

Andrew recalled the doubts he had carried into the band—his insecurity about his abilities, which had been undermined by the primary drummer in the previous group. These insecurities gripped him. His hands trembled with uncertainty.

However, during a brief break, Fletcher, noticing Andrew's discomfort, took him aside for a one-on-one conversation. Fletcher shared a story about Charlie Parker, the legendary jazz saxophonist, to inspire Andrew. The encouragement started to lift Andrew's spirits, slowly rebuilding his confidence.

At just nineteen, Andrew was the youngest member of the band—setting a record. A word of encouragement could make him feel on top of the world, while a harsh word could crush him. Fletcher's words convinced Andrew that he was something special—he could become a great jazz musician, like the great Buddy Rich or Charlie Parker.

Feeling bolstered by Fletcher's support, Andrew walked into the rehearsal room with newfound confidence.

This led into the next key moment: Andrew's first official rehearsal with the band. Fletcher had chosen the song Whiplash for Andrew to perform.

To anyone familiar with jazz, this choice was loaded with meaning. The title of the song, "Whiplash," refers both to the physical motion of a whip—a metaphor for the pressure and intensity Fletcher applied in his teaching methods—and to a particular drumming technique called Moeller Technique, which is known for its speed and precision.

Moreover, "Whiplash" was not only the title of the movie but also a real jazz composition by Hank Levy. The track's tempo was complex, and it required immense skill to master. By choosing this piece, Fletcher made it clear that the band's standards were high, far above the amateur group Andrew had previously been part of. It also placed an immense amount of pressure on Andrew to perform flawlessly after witnessing the chief trombone's humiliating dismissal.

As the band prepared, Andrew studied the score, marking the beats in complex time signatures. It was a challenge for any drummer, demanding a higher level of control and technique.

Renly, as Andrew, understood the deeper layers of this moment—how the tension, anticipation, and fear could rise in waves, just like the Whiplash technique itself. He'd studied drumming to prepare for this role, and every detail mattered. The emotional highs and lows were not gradual but intense, like a bungee jump.

Five minutes was all Renly needed to prepare. His emotional immersion into Andrew's world was complete. He didn't need long to embody Andrew's struggle—from his nervous excitement to his fear and his eventual confidence.

"Renly?" Damien called, trying to keep his impatience in check, but not wanting to interrupt Renly's preparation.

Renly finally stood, gave a sheepish smile, and walked toward the drum kit, his nerves and excitement mirroring Andrew's own as he joined the band, ready to prove himself.

The band members watched as Andrew, full of hope and trepidation, sat behind the drums. He wasn't afraid—he believed in his talent, and he was determined to make an impression.