The Greatest Showman #1502 - Just a Few Words

In 1997, Christopher Nolan had just graduated from university. With $6,000 in hand, he spent every weekend working on his debut feature film, Following. After a year of filming, he made his way to Los Angeles, hoping to find exhibition opportunities. He eventually settled in the city and built a stable life for himself.

Though Nolan is British, he and his wife, Emma Thomas, met while studying at University College London. They fell in love when Christopher was 20 and Emma was 19. Later, for Christopher's career, Emma moved with him to Los Angeles and became a producer.

Christopher Nolan is old-fashioned in the best way. He's a staunch supporter of traditional film-making and old-school college-style shooting. While his films are known for their bold imagination and, at times, computer-generated effects, he avoids green screens whenever possible. Nolan detests the visual distortion they create and, during the making of Inception, he built entire sets—such as large containers and rooms—just to ensure the most realistic filming experience.

In this regard, Nolan shares a philosophy with Alfonso Cuarón. He acknowledges the value of computer effects and their role in bringing creative ideas to life, but believes they are just one tool. The real core of filmmaking remains in the tangible world.

One of the most striking things about Nolan is that he doesn't own a mobile phone, nor does he have email—let alone a smartphone. In the high-tech world of Hollywood, this makes him a true maverick. To contact him, you either need to call his landline or reach out through his wife. He has no agent. On set, he also strictly prohibits mobile phone use.

His dedication to an old-school, no-nonsense approach to filmmaking is so complete, it's almost hard to believe this is the same person behind postmodern films like Inception and The Dark Knight. To the uninitiated, Christopher might seem like an antique from the 19th century, but this is the director who redefined the modern cinematic experience.

Every summer, Christopher and Emma return to the UK with their children for a family vacation. This connection to family is something deeply reflected in his work, from Inception to Interstellar to Dunkirk. Family remains the anchor of his life, and his summers are sacred.

As of now, Interstellar remains in limbo, caught in a tug-of-war between Warner Bros. and Legendary Pictures. Renly hopes to be a part of this project, so, for now, he's decided to focus on having a face-to-face conversation with Christopher.

Renly's return to London felt unremarkable, almost like an illusion.

His last time in London had been marked by a whirlwind of events: the Oliver Awards, the Earl of Oxford Dinner, and a humiliating encounter had come and gone so quickly, they felt like distant memories. After that came the Cannes Film Festival, learning the drum set, and the filming of Boom Drummer. In the blink of an eye, two months had passed, and Renly found himself in the midst of yet another transition.

But returning now felt different. There was no nervousness, no pressure—just a quiet anticipation. It was the first time since moving to New York that he could return to London without the weight of expectation or fear of failure. After all, this was where it all began for him.

The plane descended toward Heathrow International Airport. Looking out the window at the misty, water-laden air, Renly knew he was back on familiar soil.

This time, Renly had opted for first class. Fame had its consequences. It was no longer possible to move through crowds unnoticed or casually. This was a new reality, one that came with its own set of demands. Much like Audrey Hepburn's character in Roman Holiday, the price of success was an end to anonymity. But first class allowed him a bit of privacy—an escape from the chaos that came with being a public figure.

After landing, Renly moved through the VIP area, unnoticed by most. No one outside the VIP section had any idea who was on the flight, a quiet luxury that Renly had come to appreciate. The airline had arranged a vehicle to pick him up, and his luggage would be delivered directly to his car—no fuss, no hassle.

In the VIP lounge, Renly spotted Haight Wesley, the Dunlops' butler. Haight was busy, but he smiled when he saw Renly.

"Hey, Haight," Renly greeted, waiting for the butler to turn around and acknowledge him.

"Master Renly," Haight responded with a hint of surprise, but no fuss. He bowed politely, walking up to Renly while keeping a respectful distance. "Did you come back to the Lake District for a vacation? Now's the perfect time, the sun's not too harsh, and you can enjoy the coolness of the water."

This was aristocratic etiquette at its finest—no prying into Renly's personal affairs, no probing questions. Just a casual conversation about a universally appealing topic, like the weather and the beauty of the Lake District. It was respectful, intimate, and perfectly in tune with his station.

Renly smiled slightly, "No, Haight, you know I'm not a fan of the Lake District. I'm here for work."

Haight, who had known Renly since he was a child, chuckled. "I know, I know. You're a workaholic. But that's the advantage of youth, right?"

A warm smile flickered in Haight's eyes. "Master Matthew is the same."

"That's why we get along," Renly replied with a smirk. "By the way, Matthew is doing well. Everything's good."

Haight nodded in gratitude without saying anything further.

At that moment, a new figure approached, greeting Renly with a smile. "Good afternoon," he said, his tone polite but slightly distant. "We haven't seen each other in a while. You taking the flight back too? I didn't see you on the plane."

It was Henry Dunlop, Matthew's older brother and the one who was about to get married. Henry was a serious man, a prosecutor striving to become a judge, though he also had political ambitions. He and Renly didn't know each other well—there were too many differences between them, both in age and personality, for them to ever truly connect.

"I tend to bury my head in the bed and adjust to jet lag after a flight," Renly explained. He had been in a semi-drowsy state on the plane, barely exchanging words with the flight attendants, let alone strangers.

Henry nodded, not out of disbelief, but simply because he didn't care for the explanation—it was just a social formality. "Not long ago, I went to see Les Miserables at the Almeida Theater. The story's the same, but everyone says your version is still different. Elf agreed too."

That sentence had layers. The mention of Elf seemed significant—was he now representing the Hall family's acceptance of Renly? Was it a sign that the upper crust of London had changed their view of him?

Renly didn't engage too deeply with the implication. "Thank you for the compliment. I believe every actor brings something unique to the stage. Did you enjoy the show?"

"Of course," Henry replied. "A different performance brings out different flavors. John Codd's work deserves recognition."

"Has Philip come to pick you up?" Henry then turned to Haight, the question seemingly casual but laden with meaning. Henry was subtly signaling the level of importance with which the Hall family viewed Renly's return.

Haight nodded politely, "Not yet."

Henry gave Renly one last look, then made his polite invitation. "Let's head out together. I'll take you to Kensington."