Entertainment
In HBO's rewarding new docuseries, a power struggle at a Texas Renaissance faire
I haven’t been to a Renaissance faire since — well, not quite since the Renaissance, but a really long time. I know from the billboards, though, that a local edition is still going strong. The one I knew — the original Renaissance Pleasure Faire — was held on the Paramount Ranch in Agoura Hills, among the oaks, a cozy, nonprofit, semi-educational, handcrafted hippie festival co-sponsored by KPFK, our leftist community-sponsored radio station. This was back when LARPing had no life past Civil War reenactors, before cosplay went mainstream, before “Dungeons & Dragons,” Medieval Times restaurants and thatched-roof fantasy blockbuster movies.
All things change, even in the re-created Renaissance, and such events, which have proliferated across the country and into Europe, can be big business. In the documentary series “Ren Faire,” premiering Sunday on HBO, Lance Oppenheim (“Some Kind of Heaven”) trains his camera on the 50-year-old Texas Renaissance Festival, outside of Houston, which claims to be the biggest in the nation, and specifically its founder, owner and operator, George Coulam.
The constructed narrative is one of a power struggle. (This is not a detailed look into the obviously complex workings of a Renaissance faire.) In his mid-80s, George is thinking of moving on — he has determined somehow that he will live to be 95, exactly, and wants to leave enough time for working on his art, his gardens and to “chase ladies.” To this end, he’s on 15 dating apps, including “sugar daddy” sites; we accompany him on a couple of dates to the Olive Garden, where his first and potentially only question is “Are your breasts natural?”
“What is the king without his kingdom?” muses George, who favors shirts with patches representing stars and military medals. “What is the king without his property? He’s free.” But, as we will see, giving up his fiefdom won’t be so easy.
“It’s just a game — some people lose and some people win and some people win more than others,” observes Glenda, a.k.a. Fairy Godmother, who has known him for a long while. “Something to fill that emptiness, his games.”
Not only is he “King George” in the context of the faire and the minds of many around him, he’s also the mayor of Todd Mission, the town he incorporated in order to be able to stage an event as large as the festival. (It has its own police force.) He lives there in a stone-walled house he calls Stargate Manor, a temple of expensive kitsch with its own arboretum, chapel — where George prays to Jesus, Buddha and Mother Nature — and waiting sarcophagus. One would call him a naive artist, were it not for the master’s in art.
Barely daring to imagine he might one day wear the crown, but imagining it all the same, is Jeff Baldwin, formerly the entertainment director, the latest in a line of general managers whose tenures last no longer than that of a Spinal Tap drummer. (George is capricious.) His association with the festival, which he loves with childlike passion, goes back almost to its beginning; there’s no one more devoted to it, or to George. (“He is our benefactor,” Jeff says to wife Brandi, now the interim entertainment director. “He is your benefactor,” Brandi replies.) He describes himself as “the head Oompa Loompa” to George’s Wonka; in the “King Lear” metaphor he kicks around with Brandi, he’s hopefully Cordelia, whose imperious, impetuous father finally recognizes his honest child’s worth.
Jeff’s primary opponent in this drama of succession is lean and hungry-looking, overcaffeinated Louie Migliaccio. His spiritual, temperamental and physical opposite, Louie runs a kettle corn stand, a burlesque nightclub and other concessions on the site; he pounds Red Bull like it’s a contest, and is determined to buy the festival — his family is rich — beef it up with “new and immersive technology” and, above all, make a lot of money. “Capitalism has a negative connotation nowadays,” says Louie, “but I see the beauty in it.”
Because the characters can seem both ridiculous and relatably human, “Ren Faire” reads as a comedy, of a melancholy sort — a not-so-fun faire. Oppenheim calls the series a “docu-fantasia,” which is to say, liberties have been taken. Stylistically, it aims for, and achieves, a cinematic look, with shallow focus, extreme close-ups, elaborate camera movements and some hallucinatory visual and sound effects to create tension and indicate emotional distress.
Still, real life has a habit of imposing itself even on a docu-fantasia, and “Ren Faire” does a lose a little steam in its final third, as the characters — now including a third contender, Darla Smith, appointed co-manager with Jeff — continue to go ‘round in circles. You may share their frustration. But as time spent in a different sort of place — different even from the one the characters imagine inhabiting — it’s a quite rewarding, even refreshing, not-overlong watch. And the ending is, in its way, happy.
Movie Reviews
Roll On 18 Wheeler: Errol Sack’s ‘TRUCKER’ (2026) – Movie Review – PopHorror
I am a sucker for all those straight-to-video slasher movies from the 90’s; there was just a certain point where you knew the acting was terrible, however, it made you fall in love. I can definitely remember scanning the video store sections for all the different horror movies I could. All those movies had laughable names and boom mics accidentally getting in the frame. Trucker seems like a child of all those old dreams, because it is.
Let’s get into the review.
Synopsis
When a group of reckless teens cause an accident swroe to never speak of it. The father is reescued by a strange man. from the wreckage and nursed back to health by a mysterious old man. When the group agrees to visit the accident scene, they meet their match from a strange masked trucker and all his toys with revenge on his mind.
Roll on 18 Wheleer
Trucker is what you would imagine: a movie about a psychotic trucker chasing you. We have seen it many, many times. What makes the film so different is its homage to bad movies but good ideas. I don’t mean in a negative way. When you think of a slasher movie, it’s not very complicated; as a matter of fact, it takes five minutes to piece the film together. This is so simple and childlike, and I absolutely love it. Trucker gave us something a little different, not too gory, bad CGI fire, I mean, this is all we old schlock horror fans want. Trucker is the type of film that you expect from a Tubi Original, on speed. However, I would take this over any Tubi Original.
I found some parts that were definitely a shout-out to the slasher humor from all those movies. Another good point that made the film shine was the sets. I guess what I can say is the film is everything Joy Ride should have been. While most modern slashers are trying to recreate the 1980s, the film stands out with its love for those unloved 1990’s horror films. While most see Joyride, you are extremely mistaken, my friend; you will enjoy this film much more.

In The End
In the end, I enjoyed the entire film. At first, I saw it listed as an action thriller; I was pleasantly surprised, and Trucker pulled at my heart strings, enveloping me in its comfort from a long-forgotten time in horror. It’s a nostalgic blast for me, thinking back to that time, my friends, my youth, and finding my new home. Horror fans are split down the middle: from serial-killer clowns (my side) to elevated horror, where an artist paints a forty-thousand-year-old demon that chases them around an upper-class studio apartment. I say that a lot, but it’s the best way to describe some things.
The entire movie had me cheering while all the people I hated suffered dire consequences for their actions. It’s the same old story done in a way that we rabid fans could drool over, and it worked. In all the bad in the world today, and my only hope for the future is the soon-to-end Terrifier franchise. However, the direction was a recipe to succeed with 40+ year old horror fans like me. I see the film as a hope for tomorrow, leading us into a new era.
Trucker is set to release on March 10th, 2026
Entertainment
Review: In ‘American Classic,’ Kevin Kline and Laura Linney deliver a love letter to theater
The lovely, funny “American Classic,” premiering Sunday on MGM+, is a love letter to theater, community and community theater. Kevin Kline plays Richard Bean, a narcissistic stage actor. He’s famous enough to be opening on Broadway in “King Lear,” but he has to be pushed onstage and is forgetting lines. After he drunkenly assails a hostile New York Times critic — caught on video, of course — he’s suspended from the play, and his agent (Tony Shalhoub) advises him to get out of town and lay low until the heat’s off, as they used to say in the gangster movies.
Learning that his mother (Jane Alexander, acting royalty, in film clips) has died, Richard heads back to his small Pennsylvania hometown, where his family — all actors, like the Barrymores, but no longer acting — owns a once-celebrated theater. To Richard’s horror, it has, for want of income, become a dinner theater, hosting touring productions of “Nunsense” and “Forever Plaid” instead of the great stage works on which he cut his teeth.
Brother Jon (Jon Tenney), running the kitchen at the theater, is married to Kristen (Laura Linney), Richard’s onetime acting partner, who dated him before her marriage; now she’s the mayor. Their teenage daughter, Miranda (Nell Verlaque) — a name from Shakespeare — does want to act and move to New York, as her mother had before her, but is afraid to tell her parents. Richard’s father, Linus (Len Cariou), is suffering from dementia, though not to the point he won’t actively contribute to the action; every day he comes out again as gay.
Across the eight-episode series, things move from the ridiculous to the sublime. Richard’s attempt to stage his mother’s funeral, with her coffin being lowered from the ceiling, while “Also sprach Zarathustra” plays and smoke billows toward the audience, fortunately comes to naught; but he announces at the ceremony that he’ll direct a production of Thornton Wilder’s 1938 play “Our Town” at the theater, to “restore the soul of this town.” (His big idea is to ignore Wilder’s stage directions, which ask for no curtain, no set and few props, with a “realistic version,” featuring a working soda fountain, rain effects and a horse.) Fate will have other plans for this, and not to give away what in any case should be obvious, the title of the play will also become its ethos, with a cast of amateurs, including Miranda’s jealous boyfriend, Randall (Ajay Friese), and ordinary people standing in for the ordinary people of Wilder’s Grover’s Corners.
The series has a comfortable, cushiony feeling; it’s the sort of show that could have been made as a film in the 1990s, and in which Kline could have starred as easily in his 40s as in his 70s; it has the same relation to reality as “Dave,” in which he played a good-hearted ordinary Joe who takes the place of a lookalike U.S. president. The town is essentially a sunny place, full of mostly sunny people, to all appearances, a typical comedy hamlet. But we’re told it’s distressed, and Mayor Kristen is in transactional cahoots with developer Connor Boyle (Billy Carter), who wants clearance to build a casino on the site of a landmark hotel. (Much of the plot is driven by money — needing it, trading for it, leaving it, losing it.) He also wants his heavily accented, bombshell Russian girlfriend, Nadia (Elise Kibler), to have a part in “Our Town.”
As in the great Canadian comedy “Slings & Arrows,” set at a Shakespeare Festival outside of Toronto, themes and moments and speeches from the play being performed are echoed in the lives of the performers, while the viewer experiences the double magic of watching a fine actor playing an actor playing a part. Kline, of course, is himself an American classic, with a long stage and screen career that encompasses classical drama, romantic and musical comedy and cartoon voiceovers; the series makes room for Richard to perform soliloquies from “Hamlet” and “Henry V,” parts Klein has played onstage. He brings out the sweetness latent in Richard. Linney, who played against her sweetheart image in “Ozark,” is happily back on less deadly ground (though she’s tense and drinks a little). Tenney, who was sweet and funny on “The Closer,” and who we don’t see enough of these days, is sweeter and funnier here, and gets to sing. (All the Beans will sing, except for Linus.)
As a comedy, it is often predicable — you know that things will work out, and some major plot points are as good as inevitable — but it’s the good sort of predictability, where you get what you came for, where you hear the words you want to hear, ones you could never have written yourself. “American Classic” is not out to challenge your world view in any way but wants only to confirm your feelings and in doing so amplify them. Shock effects are fine in their place — and to be sure there are major twists in the plot — but there is a certain release when the thing you’re ready to have happen, happens, whether it brings laughter or tears. Either is welcome.
Movie Reviews
‘Scream 7’ Review: Ghostface Trades His Metallic Knife for Plastic in Bloody Embarrassing Slasher Sequel
It’s funny how this film is marketed as the first Scream movie in IMAX, yet it’s their sloppiest work to date. Williamson accomplishes two decent kills. My praise goes to the prosthetic team and gore above anything else. The filmmaking is amateurish, lacking any of the tension build and innovation in set pieces like the Radio Silence or Craven entries. Many slasher sequences consist of terribly spliced editing and incomprehensible camera movement. There was a person at my screening asking if one of the Ghostfaces was killed. I responded, “Yeah, they were shot in the head; you just couldn’t see it because the filmmaking is so damn unintelligible.”
Really, Spyglass? This is the best you can do to “damage control” your series that was perfectly fine?
I’m getting comments from morons right now telling me that I’m biased for speaking “politically” about this movie. Fuck you! This poorly made, bland, and franchise-worst entry is a byproduct of political cowardice.
The production company was so adamant about silencing their outspoken star, who simply stated that she’s against the killing of Palestinian people by an evil totalitarian regime, that they deliberately fired her, conflating her comments to “anti-semintism,” when, and if you read what she said exactly, it wasn’t. Only to reconstruct the buildup made in her arc and settle on a nonsensical, manufactured, nostalgia-based slop fest to appeal to fans who lack genuine film taste in big 2026. To add insult to injury, this movie actively takes potshots at those predecessors, perhaps out of pettiness that Williamson didn’t pen them or a mean-spirited middle finger to the star the studio fired. Truly, fuck you. Take the Barrera aspect out of this, which is still impossible, and Scream 7 is a lazy, sloppy, ill-conceived, no-vision, enshittification of Scream and a bloody embarrassment to the franchise. It took a real, morally upright actress to make Ghostface’s knife go from metal to plastic.
FINAL STATEMENT
You either die a Scream or live long enough to see yourself become a Stab.
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