SPOILER ALERT: This text discusses the ending of “Ren Faire”, now broadcast on Max.
Stay long the king. In his search for a worthy heir to buy his interest in the Texas Renaissance Festival, theme park founder George Coulam has put his subordinates through a dark age. However, after weighing his decisions, he finally found the right person to be in charge: himself.
“None of us ever thought there could be someone who would take over,” says Lance Oppenheim, director and executive producer of “Ren Faire.” “There is no world in which George can give up.”
The finale of the HBO documentary series finds the octogenarian rejecting yet another multimillion-dollar offer to buy out his competition, instead opting to maintain the established order as ruler of his kingdom. In fact, they all seem to end up close to where they were at the beginning of the story: a Möbius strip conclusion that sees the potential heirs trapped in the same long-running game in hopes of taking control of the truth.
Oppenheim reconnected with Coulam months before the series premiered; the punitive purgatorial nature of the situation seems to have been displaced on him – at least that is what Coulam claimed.
“He said, ‘Oh, I had no idea I was causing you so much anxiety,’” Oppenheim says, looking intently at his camera roll. “He is a trickster, but he is also old. It’s exhausting knowing when he’s being deliberately naughty or just impulsively.”
Oppenheim then turns on his cell phone, being able to press play on a video. He picked up a recording from an April night when he revisited Todd Mission, Texas, to screen the first episode of “Ren Faire” for his threads. Coulam is seen in his home, with his eyes glued to the TV.
Strangely, Louie Migliaccio is also at the screening, watching the episode over Coulam’s shoulder. The popcorn mogul had not one, but two offers to buy the tender were abruptly ended during the collection; but there he is, in Coulam’s room, watching his defeat unfold alongside the person responsible for it.
“Louie needed to be with George when he realized this,” says Oppenheim. “George was like, ‘Why are you here?’ But Louie introduced his entire family to the exhibit.”
Oppenheim then presses play on the video. The group is watching an opening sequence in which Coulam delivers a focused soliloquy about a Swiss company specializing in assisted suicide, expressing his intention to pay them to end his personal life when the time comes.
Filming Coulam’s response to the episode, Oppenheim notices something and leans in closer: the pageant owner is muttering silently alongside his speech, sentence by sentence. Then, a huge smile. Of course, this was not an entirely new talk; Coulam will probably love giving it to many people in your life.
“He has a consciousness – a comedic timing – of claiming certain things that he has mentioned many times before,” says Oppenheim. “He is a troll after all, in the original sense. He likes to be the man who changes the items on the chessboard.”
The filmmaker then closes the video and moves to his audio recordings. He finds a clip of Coulam presenting his ideas after the screening.
“It was pleasant. People will like it because it’s different,” says Coulam. Asked whether or not he loved being filmed, he gives a shy laugh. “It was half and half. Usually a little pleasant. But sometimes not so much.
Oppenheim goes on to explain how Coulam often criticized the documentary crew during production, fervently suggesting that they spend money on “higher quality tools” and sometimes refusing to stay long enough to be found in a composite image. He even transformed into a bit of a film director from time to time.
“When he was getting his nails done, the manicurist consulted me to say something while George was talking. He replied: ‘Excuse me, miss. Don’t talk to them. You talk to me,’” Oppenheim says. “There was often this unpredictability and chaos. And he always said the same thing: ‘Call your ugly cameraman and shut up and sit down and let’s get going.'”
Oppenheim recalls these outbursts with lingering bewilderment but also a touch of affection.
“For me, he is a very lonely person, who can only get a lot out of controlling people. The only real comfort he has is in inanimate objects and books,” says Oppenheim. “Sure, there’s a salacious dimension to it, but it all comes from the same place. You see the roots of his discontent.”
Coulam’s tyranny turns a head early in the finale, when he meets with Jeffrey Baldwin, his decades-long loyal entertainment director, and unceremoniously fires him. The reason is obscure but clear: “You irritate me.”
It’s an absolute turnaround for Baldwin, who just celebrated another successful season with his teammates. In an earlier scene, enjoying the pleasure of living in his dream job, Baldwin delivers an emotionally intense reprisal for his most treasured role in the local theater. With the camera filming in the passenger seat, Baldwin queues up the ballad “Who I’d Be” from “Shrek the Musical” and begins to sing alongside. Soulfully reciting the opening lyrics of “I suppose I would be a hero, with sword and armor in conflict,” Baldwin seems to be projecting his lifelong personal ambitions to guide the Renaissance competition in his delicate serenade.
“He needed to tell us how he detoxifies from the day. He needed to play it,” Oppenheim says of the “Shrek” interlude. “I’m sure some people will think, ‘Maybe the director asked him to do that.’ But there are so many moments in this that can simply be unplanned. I couldn’t have predicted that.”
Oppenheim calls Baldwin “the heart of the show” and says he was the first employee to fully embrace documentary production into his life. What’s more, Baldwin introduced the producers to Coulam and secured his participation. The final ends with Baldwin back in the competition after begging to be rehired and dutifully accepting a demotion. It’s a fate Oppenheim appears to regret.
“With Jeff, I was all the time like, ‘Bro, you’re better than this place.’ But to his credit, he was looking for other jobs,” says Oppenheim. “Jeff being so humble and loyal – over time, George doesn’t want that. He’ll get bored with it. He needs someone to cause him trouble, simply so he can destroy them. There is no profit with Jeff, as you win every day.”
The adversary Coulam creates for himself is Darla Smith, a former elephant trainer turned common supervisor. Much of the ending follows Smith negotiating an acceptable deal for Coulam to make money off the competition; Her efforts are repudiated and belittled by her boss. In the remaining title cards, it is revealed that Smith was ultimately fired by Coulam.
“She’s probably the only person in the entire show who actually tries to defend herself against George rather than just accepting his wrath,” says Oppenheim.
Smith’s unwavering sense of dignity also extended to the way she approached the documentation itself. Oppenheim says she initially expressed skepticism about the production. Her final concern: “Please don’t make this ‘Tiger King.’”
“She clearly said, ‘I don’t know if it’s helpful to my political standing here to be in this,’” Oppenheim says. “When she realized that things were changing around her and that it was hard to know what would happen, she said, ‘I’m prepared to do this. Let’s discuss what you want to be here for.’”
After removing his main negotiator, Coulam still remains on his throne. As it stands, the Texas Renaissance Festival is planning to celebrate its fiftieth anniversary next fall. But at 86, Coulam, a self-proclaimed “sexually active Caucasian entrepreneur,” is still practically at the end of his reign. After the king leaves, what will happen to his kingdom?
“There are shareholders, so the question would be whether the truth could be managed democratically. But there is also a world in which it simply ceases to exist, which I consider a very real possibility,” says Oppenheim. “I can see it being sold and turned into shopping malls or suburban properties. The truth is Houston is closed and property values are rising. The land can essentially be the most beneficial part of everything. I hope that doesn’t happen.”
Many citizens of the competition already seem to be worried about their long-term future. While filming the docu-series, Oppenheim noted a recurring hope among the crew that their Hollywood production might emerge as a miracle savior.
“Certain people would think, ‘Can you take the rest of your gift budget and just buy the real thing?’ Without a doubt we do not have the funds to do what,” says Oppenheim. “But hey, maybe if HBO offers us a Season 2 – and 3, 4 and 5 – maybe HBO can be the real owner.”
He stops. Then a shrug: “I mean, I doubt it.”