The Wild, Wild Story of the 'Sex Guru' at the Center of Wild Wild Country

Netflix
Netflix

Wild Wild Country, a six-part docuseries on Netflix, tells the unbelievable true story of what happened when an Indian "sex guru" and thousands of his crimson-clad followers infiltrated a sleepy town in Oregon in the 1980s. This binge-worthy retelling of a bizarre moment in American history features plenty of free love, to be sure. But there's also betrayal, wire tappings, immigration fraud, attempted murder, a late-night arrest, the largest bioterrorism attack in U.S. history, the relocation of thousands of homeless people in an attempt to sway a local election, and—at the heart of it all—a gussied-up guru who owned enough Rolls-Royces to drive a different model each day for three months.

But the voice of Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh, the very man who founded "Rajneeshism," is surprisingly silent throughout the series. According to brothers Maclain and Chapman Way, the directors behind Wild Wild Country, this was intentional. The docuseries primarily focuses on the years 1981 to 1985, which coincided with a period in Rajneesh's life where he took a vow of silence.

“We really just wanted to drop the audience into whatever was happening at that moment,” Chapman told India's CNN News18. “And the truth of the story is at that moment [Rajneesh] wasn't speaking to the locals, nor was he speaking to his followers. So, we wanted the audience to experience the story as the characters in the documentary were experiencing it.”

Still, viewers were left wondering what made Rajneesh’s followers—largely well-educated and well-off Westerners—renounce their past lives and devote all their time and energy to the guru’s teachings. To understand how Rajneesh, a former philosophy lecturer, gained thousands of followers from around the world, we need to go back to the beginning.

 
 

Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh was born Chandra Mohan Jain on December 11, 1931. (He wouldn't begin calling himself Bhagwan, which means the blessed one, until 1971.) He was raised for the first seven years of his life by his grandparents, merchants who greatly influenced his views on religion. His grandfather was a Jain, part of a religion that preaches asceticism and avoids all forms of self-indulgence, but took an interest in other views. He often invited Jaina monks, Hindu monks, and Sufi mystics into their home, where an inquisitive young Rajneesh grilled them with questions.

Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh speaks with his followers in 1977
Redheylin, Wikimedia Commons // CC0 1.0

Rajneesh’s grandmother didn’t believe in religion—a highly uncommon stance at that time, but one that also resonated with her grandson. Later in life, Rajneesh spoke out against organized religion, arguing that it interfered with the practice of meditation.

In school, Rajneesh proved to be a bright pupil and voracious reader, but by his own admission, he was both argumentative and mischievous. However, this served him well as a student—and later, a lecturer—of philosophy.

In his youth, Rajneesh developed an obsession with meditation and experimented with different methods, all while pushing himself to physical extremes by running at least five miles twice a day. He claims to have reached enlightenment at the age of 21 while sitting under a maulshree tree—similar to the enlightenment story surrounding the Buddha. Rajneesh later told his followers that his current life was an extension of a past life he experienced 700 years before.

Although his insubordination got him expelled from the first college he attended, he transferred to another university and earned a degree in philosophy. He went on to earn a master's in the subject and even lectured at the Mahakoshal Arts College at the University of Jabalpur for some time. However, he often took breaks to go on speaking tours, where he traveled around India spreading his own views on enlightenment—a pursuit he took up full-time in the mid-1960s.

An image of Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh making the peace sign with his fingers

Somprakashmlaobra, Wikimedia Commons // CC BY-SA 4.0

Rajneesh quickly gained a reputation for his controversial views, which angered many but also attracted followers he dubbed sannyasins (those who renounce the world in pursuit of spiritual enlightenment). He regularly criticized revered figures like Gandhi and Mother Teresa, but reversed his view on religion several times, at one point proclaiming, “Ours is the only religion—first religion in the history of the world.”

 
 

People in India started calling Rajneesh the “sex guru” after he gave a number of lectures on the transcendental and divine nature of fornication. In 1968 he gave a series of lectures that were published as From Sex to Superconsciousness, and later urged his followers to meditate during sex because because “it is one of the most peaceful, silent, harmonious states—where meditation is the easiest.”

In his book, he references some of the theories of Friedrich Nietzsche, and this blend of Western thought and Eastern spirituality is a recurring theme in Rajneesh's teachings. Or, as the Daily Mail put it: “His teachings were a bizarre mixture of pop psychology, ancient Indian wisdom, capitalism, sexual permissiveness, and dirty jokes that he gleaned from the pages of Playboy magazine.”

It’s important to note, however, that sex was merely one component of Rajneesh's philosophy. The meditation method he invented, called Dynamic Meditation, was largely aimed at inducing a cathartic release. This was achieved by getting his followers to scream, hit things, cry, jump up and down, and dance blindfolded. Brigid Delaney, a writer for The Guardian who tried some of these methods at a meditation camp, wrote:

“There are psychological theories behind this process of letting go in a contained and safe space. In some ways it’s like a self-exorcism: you release your own demons and suppressed emotions and afterwards, feel lighter for it. It worked for me.”

There's no denying, though, that Rajneesh's talks on sex attracted the most attention, and they coincided with the “free love” movement of the 1960s. As such, it was around this time that he began attracting followers from Western countries. To accommodate his growing group of devotees, Rajneesh founded his first ashram (commune) in Pune, about 90 miles southeast of Mumbai, in 1974.

Rajneesh's eccentric and indulgent habits only attracted more attention. He had a squad of 50 sannyasins, all trained in karate and other martial arts, to protect his home, and “sniffers” stood guard at his lecture hall, ready to turn away anyone who smelled of perfume or other pungent odors. (He was supposedly sensitive to strong smells.) He even hired a limousine to carry him 150 yards from his home to his lecture hall. When asked why he made such a dramatic entrance, Rajneesh was matter-of-fact in his response: “I want people to talk about me.”

Later, after moving to the U.S., he racked up a collection of 93 Rolls-Royces, earning him the nickname “Rolls-Royce guru." He also had a habit of sporting gem-encrusted Rolex watches. According to Vulture, he owed his fortune in large part to donations from his wealthy sannyasins.

Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh driving one of his Rolls-Royces circa 1982
Samvado Gunnar Kossatz, Wikimedia Commons

His followers, however, were unperturbed by their master's flagrant materialism. Indeed, his commune in Pune grew and grew until it became clear that the ashram was no longer large enough to accommodate Rajneesh’s vision. Unable to find a suitable property in India that could house the 100,000 sannyasins he someday hoped to preside over, his assistants (most notably Ma Anand Sheela, who is arguably the real focus of Wild Wild Country) started looking for property in America. However, as The New Republic reported, there were other factors that likely spurred Rajneesh to leave India, including unpaid taxes and disagreements with the locals in Pune.

 
 

In 1981, Rajneesh and 15 of his followers came to Antelope, Oregon, where they bought a 64,000-acre ranch and ultimately took over the town, renaming it Rajneeshpuram. It’s here where we catch up with the events featured in Wild Wild Country, a story which culminates—spoiler alert!—in Rajneesh’s arrest at the Charlotte Douglas International Airport in October 1985 following an attempt to evade charges of immigration fraud for arranging sham marriages among sannyasins who faced deportation. He was 53 years old at the time.

Rajneesh himself was ultimately deported from the U.S. and lived out the rest of his days in India, where he died of heart disease at the age of 58.

In yet another reversal that occurred a few years before his death, he called for an end to the religion of Rajneeshism and eventually asked his followers to start calling him Osho, meaning “on whom the heavens shower flowers,” according to his obituary in The New York Times.

After disavowing the religion he created, Rajneesh said, "There is no church, no holy book, no catechism, no priest, no congregation, no baptism ... It is a mystic commune ... of people who are individuals searching and seeking ... It is a way of being religious but not a religion. I am a friend, a guide, a philosopher."

Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh holds court among his followers in Oregon
Netflix

In keeping with his worldview, Rajneesh's epitaph fittingly carries these words: “Never born, never died, just visited this Earth from 1931-1990.” His teachings, however, live on in the many spiritual centers around the world that continue to teach his meditation techniques.

Josh Trank Wouldn't Mind Erasing Fantastic Four From Film History

Ben Rothstein, Twentieth Century Fox Film Corporation
Ben Rothstein, Twentieth Century Fox Film Corporation

It’s not every day that you hear a director talking about wanting to completely erase one of their projects from film history. But when the topic of the 2015 box office bomb Fantastic Four comes up, director Josh Trank isn't mincing words. The director tweeted that he would “gladly” donate to a GoFundMe page to have his failed adaptation erased from the cinematic history books.

It's no secret that Fantastic Four is a sore subject for Trank. The production was plagued with rumors that there was a bit of friction on set, particularly between the director and star Miles Teller. Even once the film had wrapped, reports about the troubled production plagued Trank, and eventually led to him parting ways with Disney, for whom he was supposedly developing a standalone Boba Fett movie. (It didn't help that Fantastic Four tanked at the box office and even won a Razzie for Worst Picture).

The topic of starting a GoFundMe page for the film started after Trank responded to fans rallying for a page to get the rat at the end of Martin Scorsese's The Departed digitally erased. When asked if he would support a page to get rid of Fantastic Four, Trank seemed to oblige (though he has since deleted the tweet).


It’s no secret the previous Fantastic Four movies have had little success, but now that Disney and Fox are joining forces, the series could be entering into the Marvel Cinematic Universe. Maybe now these superheroes will finally get the movie they deserve.

Hollywood's Brief Love Affair With Young Einstein Star Yahoo Serious

Warner Bros.
Warner Bros.

The theater owners and exhibitors attending the ShoWest convention in February 1989 had a lot to look forward to. In an attempt to stir their interest in upcoming studio releases, major distributors were showing off stars and footage: Paramount led with Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, and Columbia had Ghostbusters II. But it was Warner Bros. that caused the biggest stir.

In addition to Lethal Weapon 2, the studio had Tim Burton’s Batman, a straight-faced adaptation of the comic, and Michael Keaton—who slipped into a screening of some early footage—was no longer being derided as a poor casting choice. Then, in the midst of all this star power, the studio brought out a 35-year-old actor-writer-director with a shock of orange hair and an Australian accent.

The man had never appeared in a feature film before, much less starred in one, but Warner was gambling that his forthcoming comedy about a Tasmanian Albert Einstein who invents rock music and runs into Thomas Edison would be a hit. It had already become the sixth highest-grossing film in Australia's history, besting both E.T. and Rambo: First Blood Part II.

The man’s real name was Greg Pead, but Warner Bros. introduced him as Yahoo Serious, Hollywood’s next big comedy attraction.

 

To understand Warner’s appetite for an unproven commodity like Yahoo Serious, it helps to recall the peculiar preoccupation American popular culture had with Australians in the 1980s. Energizer had created a hit ad campaign with Mark “Jacko” Jackson, a pro football player who aggressively promoted their batteries in a series of ads; meanwhile, Paul Hogan parlayed his fish-out-of-water comedy, Crocodile Dundee, into the second highest-grossing film of 1986. (Serious would later bristle at comparisons to Hogan, whom he referred to as a “marketing guy” who sold cigarettes on Australian television.)

Born in Cardiff, Australia on July 27, 1953, Serious grew up in rural bush country and mounted car tires at a garage in order to pay his way through the National Art School. When he was expelled for illustrating the school's facade with satirical jokes that the faculty didn’t find particularly funny, Serious moved on to direct Coaltown, a documentary about the coal mining industry, and pursued painting.

Serious would later recall that the desire for a larger audience led him away from art and into feature filmmaking. ''It hit me like a ton of bricks one day,” Serious told The New York Times in 1989. “I remember having a cup of coffee and I went, 'Well, look, there is a giant canvas in every little town everywhere around the world. And on this giant canvas there are 24 frames of image on that screen every second and it's the most wonderful living art form.'” It was around this same time, in 1980, that Serious changed his name.

To get a feel for the language of film, Serious sat through repeated viewings of Stanley Kubrick's Dr. Strangelove; he aspired to have the kind of total autonomy over his movies that directors like Woody Allen and Charlie Chaplin enjoyed.

In 1983, Serious was traveling along the Amazon River when he spotted someone wearing a T-shirt depicting Albert Einstein sticking his tongue out. The image is now pervasive, appearing on posters and other merchandise, but it seemed unique to the performer, who was struck by the idea that Einstein was once young and never took himself too seriously. And the concept for Young Einstein was born.

 

Serious's idea, which transplanted Einstein to Tasmania and imagined encounters with Sigmund Freud, Thomas Edison, and the atomic bomb, took years to assemble. He borrowed camera equipment and sold his car to help finance the film; he shot an eight-minute trailer that convinced investors he was capable of making a feature. His mother even cooked meals for the crew on set.

In order to maintain creative control, Serious gave up profit participation in Young Einstein, which he starred in, co-produced, co-wrote, and directed. When the film was released in Australia in 1988, it made an impressive $1.6 million at the box office and drew the attention of Warner Bros., which likely had visions of a Crocodile Dundee-esque hit. American press had a field day with Serious, who appeared on the cover of TIME and was given airtime on MTV.

Critics and audiences weren’t quite as enamored. The Orlando Sentinel suggested that "Tedious Oddball" would be a more appropriate name for the film's creator. In his one-star review, Roger Ebert wrote that, "Young Einstein is a one-joke movie, and I didn't laugh much the first time." In the U.S., Young Einstein grossed just over $11 million, a fairly weak showing for a summer comedy. It was bested in its opening weekend by both Ron Howard’s Parenthood and the Sylvester Stallone action-grunter Lock Up.

 

Although American distributors quickly cooled on Serious, Australia's enthusiasm for the filmmaker didn’t dampen. When Serious released 1993’s Reckless Kelly, a fictionalized account of outlaw Ned Kelly, it made $5.4 million in Australia—three times as much as Young Einstein. Serious took a seven-year sabbatical, then returned with 2000’s Mr. Accident, a slapstick comedy about an injury-prone man who tries to thwart a scheme to inject nicotine into eggs. Meeting a tepid critical and financial reception, it would be his third and (likely) final film.

At roughly the same time Mr. Accident was released, Serious took issue with upstart search engine Yahoo!, alleging the site was piggybacking on his popularity. He filed a lawsuit, which was quickly dropped when he failed to prove the URL had damaged him in any way.

Yahoo Serious attends an event
Paul McConnell, Getty Images

The amused headlines stemming from that incident were the last examples of Serious capturing attention in America. Having completed just three films, no other projects have come to fruition; Serious launched a website detailing some of his background and to air some of his Yahoo!-related grievances.

Now 65, Serious currently serves as founding director of the Kokoda Track Foundation, an Australian aid organization dedicated to improving the living conditions of Papua New Guineans. The board’s website lists him as Yahoo Serious, which is the name he claims that all of his family and friends have called him since he changed it in 1980.

“You can choose every aspect of your life,” Serious once said. “Why not your name?”

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