SPOILER ALERT: This text discusses the “Ren Faire” finale, now streaming on Max.
Long live the king. In his seek for a worthy heir to purchase out his stake within the Texas Renaissance Festival, theme park founder George Coulam has put his subordinates through some dark ages. But, after weighing his options, he’s finally found out the fitting person to be in charge: himself.
“None of us ever really thought that there can be someone that will take over,” says Lance Oppenheim, director and executive producer of “Ren Faire.” “There’s no world during which George could ever give it up.”
The finale of the HBO docuseries sees the octogenarian rejecting yet one more multi-million-dollar offer to buy his festival, as an alternative electing to keep up establishment as ruler of his kingdom. In actual fact, everyone seems to find yourself near where they were initially of the story: a Möbius strip conclusion that sees the potential heirs trapped in the identical long game hoping to take over the fair.
Oppenheim reconnected with Coulam within the months ahead of the series premiere; the punishing purgatorial nature of the situation seems to have been lost on him — at the very least that’s what Coulam claimed.
“He was like, ‘Ah, I had no concept that I used to be causing a lot anxiety for you guys,’” Oppenheim says, intently scrolling through his camera roll. “He’s a trickster, but he’s also of advanced age. It’s hard to know when he’s being mischievous intentionally or simply impulsively.”
Oppenheim then turns his phone, able to press play on a video. He’s pulled up a recording from a night in April, when he revisited Todd Mission, Texas to screen the primary episode of “Ren Faire” for his subjects. Coulam is seen in his house, eyes intently glued to the tv.
Bizarrely, Louie Migliaccio is on the screening too, watching the episode over Coulam’s shoulder. The kettle corn magnate had not one, but two bids to buy the festival get abruptly shut down over the course of the series; yet, there he’s inside Coulam’s front room, watching his defeat play out next to the person accountable for it.
Louie Migliaccio in ‘Ren Faire’
HBO
“Louie desired to be with George when he saw it,” Oppenheim says. “George was kind of like, ‘Why are you here?’ But Louie brought his whole family to the screening.”
Oppenheim then presses play on the video. The group is watching an early sequence during which Coulam goes on a concentrated soliloquy a few Swiss company that focuses on assisted suicide, voicing his intention to pay them to finish his own life when the time comes.
Filming Coulam’s response to the episode, Oppenheim notices something and zooms in: the festival owner is quietly mouthing along to his speech, word by word. Then, an enormous grin. Evidently, this wasn’t a brand new lecture; Coulam probably gets a kick out of giving it to a number of people in his life.
“He has an awareness — a comedic timing — of claiming certain things that he said again and again before,” Oppenheim says. “He’s a troll at the top of the day, in the unique sense. He likes being the guy that’s moving pieces on the chessboard.”
The filmmaker then closes the video and shifts to his audio recordings. He finds a clip of Coulam giving his thoughts after the screening.
“It was great. People will prefer it since it’s different,” Coulam says. Asked whether he enjoyed being filmed, he gives a sheepish chuckle. “It was sort of half-and-half. Sometimes a bit of bit fun. But sometimes not a lot.”
Oppenheim goes on to explain how Coulam would often criticize the documentary crew during production, fervently suggesting that they put money into “higher quality equipment” and sometimes refusing to remain still long enough to get situated in a composed image. He would even transform right into a little bit of a movie director himself once in a while.
“When he’s getting a manicure, the nail technician checked out me to say something while George was talking. He snapped at her: ‘Excuse me, Miss. Don’t consult with them. You consult with me,’” Oppenheim says. “Plenty of the time there was this unpredictability and chaos. And he’d at all times say the identical thing: ‘Get your ugly ass cameraman in and shut up and sit down and let’s get going.’”
Oppenheim recalls these outbursts with a lingering bewilderment, but additionally a tinge of affection.
“To me, he’s a really lonely one that can only get a lot out of controlling people. The one real comfort he has is in inanimate objects and books,” Oppenheim says. “Sure, there’s this lecherous dimension to him, however it all functions out of the identical place. You see roots of his discontent.”
George Coulam in ‘Ren Faire’
HBO
Coulam’s tyranny involves a head early within the finale when he meets with Jeffrey Baldwin, his decades-loyal entertainment director, and unceremoniously fires him. The explanation is vague yet plain: “You piss me off.”
It’s an absolute knife twist for Baldwin, who had just been celebrating one other successful season together with his fellow employees. In an earlier scene, riding the joys of living his dream job, Baldwin gives an emotionally intense reprisal of his most treasured community theater role. With the camera filming within the passenger seat, Baldwin queues up the ballad “Who I’d Be” from “Shrek the Musical” and begins to sing along. Soulfully reciting the opening lyrics of “I assume I’d be a hero, with sword and armor clashing,” Baldwin appears to be projecting his own lifelong ambitions to guide the Renaissance festival into his delicate serenade.
“He wanted to indicate us how he detoxes from the day. He desired to play it,” Oppenheim says of the “Shrek” interlude. “I’m sure some people will probably be like, ‘Possibly the director asked him to do that.’ But there are such a lot of moments on this which are just unplanned. I couldn’t have predicted it.”
Oppenheim calls Baldwin “the guts of the show” and shares that he was the primary worker to totally welcome the documentary production into his life. What’s more, Baldwin introduced the producers to Coulam and vouched for his or her access. The finale ends with Baldwin back within the fold of the festival after begging to be rehired and dutifully accepting a demotion. It’s a fate that Oppenheim seems to lament.
“With Jeff, I used to be at all times like, ‘Bro, you’re higher than this place.’ But to his credit, he was in search of other jobs,” Oppenheim says. “Jeff being so humble and so loyal — over time, George doesn’t need it. He gets bored of it. He wants someone who will challenge him, just so he can destroy them. There is no such thing as a winning with Jeff since you win on daily basis.”
Jeffrey Baldwin in ‘Ren Faire’
HBO
The adversary that Coulam creates for himself is Darla Smith, a former elephant trainer turned general manager. Much of the finale follows Smith negotiating an appropriate deal for Coulam to money out on the festival; her efforts are repudiated and belittled by her boss. In the ultimate title cards, it’s revealed that Smith was ultimately fired by Coulam.
“She’s probably the one person in your complete show who really attempts to defend herself against George, moderately than simply accepting his wrath,” Oppenheim says.
Smith’s steadfast sense of dignity also prolonged to how she approached the docuseries itself. Oppenheim says that she initially expressed skepticism toward the production. Her ultimate fear: “Please don’t make this ‘Tiger King.’”
“She smartly was like, ‘I don’t know if it’s useful for my standing politically here to be on this,’” Oppenheim says. “Once she realized that things were changing round her and that it was hard to know what would occur, she said, ‘I’m able to do that. Let’s discuss what it’s wish to be here.’”
Darla Smith in ‘Ren Faire’
HBO
After driving away his primary dealmaker, Coulam still sits on his throne. Because it stands, the Texas Renaissance Festival is currently planning to rejoice its fiftieth anniversary in the approaching fall season. But at 86 years old, Coulam, a self-professed “sexually lively Caucasian male entrepreneur,” remains to be all but definitely nearing the top of his reign. After the king goes, what’s going to occur to his kingdom?
“There are shareholders, so the query can be if the fair might be run democratically. But there’s also a world during which it just ceases to exist, which I believe is a really real possibility,” Oppenheim says. “I could see it getting sold and became malls or suburban tract homes. The fact is Houston is close and property values are increasing. The land might be the most beneficial piece of the entire thing. I hope this doesn’t occur.”
Most of the festival’s denizens already appear to be living with anxiety about its long-term future. While filming the docuseries, Oppenheim noted a recurring hope amongst employees that his Hollywood production could emerge as a miracle savior.
“Certain people can be like, ‘Can you’re taking the remainder of the budget of the show and just buy the fair?’ We definitely don’t have the funds for to do that,” Oppenheim says. “But hey, possibly if HBO gives us a Season 2 — and three and 4 and 5 — possibly HBO might be the true owners.”
He trails off. Then, a shrug: “I mean, I doubt it.”
