The Greatest Showman#1480 - light weight
The depth of the performance was staggering. Damien had already sensed it during the scene where Fletcher slapped Andrew, but today, it had ascended to a new level—active and passive, superior and inferior, control and resistance. The tension rippled through every movement, culminating in an electrifying crescendo that matched the rhythm of the drums. It was extraordinary.
Damien couldn't tear his eyes away from Renly.
Effortless, ferocious, masterful—Renly's performance embodied the essence of true artistry. It wasn't just about Andrew's drumming; it was about how Renly transformed every beat into a narrative of struggle, defiance, and catharsis.
Even as an outsider to the world of acting, Damien understood that sustaining such an intense emotional state required immense energy and physical resilience. No actor could maintain their peak indefinitely—just as no athlete could continually break world records. Yet, the first thought that struck Damien was clear: he needed more close-ups.
More precisely, he needed to capture the intricate details—the fire in Renly's eyes, the tension in his hands, the rigid set of his back. If the camera only focused on the drum beats, it would be a wasted opportunity. He had initially underestimated how much raw emotion could be embedded in drumming, and more importantly, in Renly's portrayal.
Thoughts swirled in his mind, and before he realized it, he blurted out, "But... but we need additional shots."
The words came out disjointed and unclear. The entire room turned to stare at him, a mix of confusion and disbelief in their eyes.
Even without the weight of their gazes, Damien knew he had misspoken. He sighed, closing his eyes for a moment to gather himself. Then, he quickly corrected, "It's not an issue with your performances. You were both phenomenal! Absolutely perfect, I mean it."
He pressed on before anyone could interject. "I just need close-ups—Renly's eyes, hands, back—the tension in those details is incredible. I want to match them with fast-cut editing to push the intensity even further." He turned to Simmons. "Same for you, J.K. I need close-ups that capture Fletcher's transformation."
Andrew's transformation.
Fletcher's transformation.
The metamorphosis of jazz and drumming itself.
If he could weave these elements together with the artistry of film editing, the scene would be something truly special. His excitement was palpable, an artist eager to bring his vision to life.
"I know you're both exhausted, but... but..." Damien hesitated, his frustration bubbling over as he tore at the packaging of his instant noodles, his hands moving restlessly.
Renly watched Damien struggle, a knowing smile playing at the corner of his lips. Rather than prolong his suffering, he spoke in a lighthearted tone, "I have no problem with it."
Acting and reshooting—that was an actor's job.
Actors were often at the mercy of directors, their performances shaped and reshaped to fit the director's vision. Even when an actor delivered an Oscar-worthy performance, they still had to endure endless takes to align with the director's perspective. A skilled director knew how to harness an actor's talent without exhausting it.
Compared to some notorious directors—like Tony Kaye, infamous for his erratic and often punitive directing style, or the enigmatic Wong Kar-wai, known for torturing actors with endless retakes—Damien was practically gentle. Wong Kar-wai's filming process for Happy Together had become the stuff of legend. Tony Leung had signed on to the project without even knowing the full script, trusting the director's vision. Yet, as shooting dragged on in Buenos Aires, Leung found himself stranded, his passport confiscated, forced to stay on set far longer than intended. The psychological toll nearly broke him.
In contrast, Damien's approach was considerate, even self-conscious. Watching him fumble, torn between his artistic vision and his concern for the actors, was almost amusing.
A quiet amusement flickered in Renly's expression.
Those who knew Renly well could tell—it was Renly who sat behind the drum kit now, not Andrew. Though physically drained, his mind remained sharp, his energy steady. The once-blurred line between Renly and Andrew was beginning to clear.
At the start of Whiplash, Renly had so fully immersed himself in Andrew's psyche that even off-camera, cast and crew sometimes mistakenly addressed him as Andrew. Over time, the intensity of this immersion had faded, allowing him to regain his sense of self. It was a delicate balance—an actor must dive deep into character but never lose themselves completely. Otherwise, they risked becoming trapped in an uncontrollable spiral, their performances suffering in the long run.
Today, Renly was awake. He had found his own unique approach to performance, blending method acting with his personal philosophy. He was in control.
"I have no problem with it," Renly repeated, then turned to Simmons, silently asking if he was on board.
It was then that Renly noticed—Simmons wasn't fully present.
Fletcher still had him in his grip.
Simmons stood there, caught between exhilaration and uncertainty. His gaze was unfocused, lost in the intricate web of emotions Fletcher had stirred within him. Was he reliving the performance in his mind? Was he contemplating Andrew's future, his fate as the next Charlie Parker? Was he marveling at Andrew's skill? Or was he reflecting on Fletcher's own twisted philosophy?
Whatever the case, Simmons was trapped in his own world, disconnected from the present.
Renly recognized the signs. He had seen actors fall too deep into character, unable to extricate themselves. It was a dangerous place to be—an actor too consumed by their role could lose touch with reality, sometimes with devastating consequences. Many top Hollywood actors had therapists precisely for this reason—to decompress, to separate themselves from their characters before it became overwhelming.
Concern flickered in Renly's eyes. He couldn't force Simmons out of it, but he knew how to guide him back.
"Fletcher?" Renly called, his voice calm yet firm. "Wait for my cue."
The words acted as a trigger, pulling Simmons back to the surface. His eyes cleared, the haze of Fletcher's presence lifting ever so slightly.
Still, he looked momentarily disoriented. His lips parted, his voice strained. "What? What... what?"
Renly simply waited, offering a steady presence as Simmons recalibrated.
The line between actor and character was a fragile one, but for now, at least, Simmons had found his way back.