What if…Ren Faire is the most miserable place on earth?

Indexing the despair in HBO’s latest “docu-fantasia”

Hello!

I spent more time than I’d care to admit deciding how to write about HBO’s Ren Faire. The three-part docuseries—described as a “docu-fantasia” by one of its editors—is an embarrassment of riches. It had me ready to do a close-re-read of King Lear, get my Baudrillard citations ready, and then devote 5,000 words to what is essentially a reality show produced by the Safdie brothers. 

(Side note: If anyone has more intel on the timing of this project and the breakup of the Safdie brothers as creative collaborators, I am begging you to spill. Correlation does not imply causation, but, you know, sometimes it can.)

I have a new manuscript I should be writing, though, so instead of a magnum opus about this perfect piece of media, I present to you Ye Olde Misery Index. Consider it a deeply unscientific, highly unserious taxonomy of the wounds and woes of the major players in the Ren Faire universe. I find armchair analysis of unscripted television participants a useless (and often harmful) activity, so you will find zero diagnostic speculation. Ren Faire blends fact and fiction, earnestness and hyperreality. Each character involved is presented as just that: a character—and they shall be analyzed as they are dramatically portrayed. 

Okay lovely. Caveats complete.

Time to index these lords, ladies, and underpaid administrative staffers! 

🎭 🏰 YE OLDE MISERY INDEX 🏰 🎭

All images: HBO

George, The King

One would think “the king” of a Ren faire would at least have a bit of whimsy. Not this piece of work! George claims in E1 that he wants to retire so he can “chase ladies” (who he immediately rejects before they reject him) and “make art in his garden” (perhaps in the same way 98% of male creative writing majors have been “working on a novel idea” for at least 10 years after graduation). These goals aside, his only true hobbies seem to be listening to Enya, berating his employees, and attempting to fill a gaping maw of loneliness by making it known to everyone where he stands on breast implants. For the record, it is firmly against. 

Misery level: Boundless in a way that will haunt me for some time.

This Woman, George’s Assistant

We see this woman numbly sit through a range of sexual harassment in her place of work and production did not consider her worthy of a chyron?! Criminal on multiple levels. After witnessing the swiftness with which George starts dishing about his medically assisted erection routine and his dreams of literally being fucked to death, there is no way she hasn’t put up with worse sans cameras.

Misery level: Horrifying (and hopefully employed elsewhere at the time of writing).

Victor, George’s [Online Dating] Assistant

I can’t help but wonder if Victor accepted a job actually titled “The King’s Scroller” and knew his responsibilities would include managing 15 active sugar daddy profiles, transcribing George’s opening gambits, and coordinating multiple Olive Garden dates per week.

Misery level: If my man knew this going in, likely low-grade. Although Victor is working directly adjacent to George’s main self-esteem wound, so who knows.

Ruben, George’s Groundskeeper

He’s had to listen to Enya all day, every day for six years.

Misery level: He also controls the aux cord. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

George’s Sugar Babies

I hope these women are paid bottomless buckets of money and have access to rock-solid support systems. Production better’ve reimbursed that one girl for the traveling across two timezones just to get rejected at an Olive Garden.

Misery level: Sex work is work, but good god.

Eddie, George’s Driver

He knows where the bodies are buried and never has to look at George directly. There are certainly worse gigs in the empire.

Misery level: Depends on how one feels about gold-plated Cadillacs.

Darla, Elephant Trainer turned Co-General Manager turned General Manager

The bleakest part of Darla’s arc is when she’s put on a remedial “reading plan” by George where every time she pees, shits, or gets laid she must also be reading books from his business book list. There will be a quiz! The questions will be unrelated and obtuse! Success is impossible!

Misery level: Karma

Jeff, Entertainment Director turned General Manager turned Co-General Manager turned Unemployed turned Entertainment Director

At one point, Jeff’s wife Brandi asks him if his loyalty and love for George is “folly,” and he flat-out responds, “Of course.” Luckily I don’t even have to hypothesize the daddy issues here because Jeff cites himself as the Cordelia to George’s Lear. He forgets some key King Lear plot points, though—the first is that Cordelia’s entire deal is that she refuses to puff Daddy up with flattery. The second is that she dies in the end. 

Misery level: Singing every third word to “Who I’d Be” from Shrek the Musical alone in a dark parking lot on the eve of getting surprise-fired. (Reason: “You piss me off!”)

Brandi, (Former) Entertainment Director and Jeff’s Wife

There is a point in E2 where George and Brandi are at a festival in Germany and Brandi is overstimulated and just wants to go back to the hotel where she has proper lumbar support and quiet. George responds to this by making her stay until midnight because she “serves the king” by proxy. In every interaction with Jeff, even when they’re wearing matching outfits to the bar, there is such a deep resentment for the way her husband is possessed by a blinding loyalty to a man who does not care whether he lives or dies. 

Misery level: In her own words, “the whole thing smacks of desperation.”

Lauren, Jeff’s Assistant

Jeff is a better boss than George in the same way unknowingly living in a house with lead paint for a few years is better than drinking cyanide. The unfortunate matter though, is that sometimes dealing with extremes is the only thing that can push you to life-changing levels of radicalization. 

Misery index: However you quantify “says ‘I love you, too’ to their boss and seems to mean it.”

Louie, Kettle Corn Kingpin & Potential Faire Buyer

I saw another writer compare Shrek-obsessed Jeff to Kendall Roy and I’m convinced that other writer has never seen an episode of Succession. If I wrote a character like Louie, I would be laughed out of the document for cranking the sober alcoholic stereotypes too high. Guzzling Sugar-Free Red Bulls while only wearing a single AirPod? Trying to host EDM festivals and introduce “immersive technology” with his trust fund? Looking and speaking exactly like Kendall Roy at Burning Man? It’s all a bit on the nose.

Misery level: As much as I clown on him, I secretly feel like Louie would get up at a 12-step meeting and give the rawest lead you’ve ever heard. Like he’s still miserable, but he’s working on it. And if all else fails, he’s got the bankrolling for a backup plan.

This newsletter brought to you by:

• An earnest recommendation to watch MerPeople on Netflix if you wish Ren Faire were more about the acceptance, joy, and community inherent in participating in a niche subculture with your entire being.

• Walking to Levain to get one choco-chip and one oatmeal raisin so I can have an A+ half-and-half treat situation.

• The following screenshot, from E3. If this is George’s “art,” then I am never questioning my own writing’s artistic merit ever again.