What follows has more twists and turns than the Monaco Grand Prix. It would be cruel to spoil the more shocking reveals, but the structure of the series, which is produced by the Duplass Brothers, masterfully weaves the story of the incorporated township of Rajneeshpuram—how it was founded, what it wanted to achieve, and how it fell apart in dramatic and extremely public fashion.

Rajneesh, the eldest of 11 children living in a small village in India, claimed to achieve spiritual enlightenment in 1953 at the age of 21, sitting under a tree in Jabalpur. During the 1960s, Rajneesh espoused a vague philosophy of meditation and sexual freedom as the road to harmony on Earth. His message, which aligned neatly with the free-love movement happening in the West, gained him a devoted following during the 1970s, when he established an ashram with money donated to him by one of his acolytes, a Greek shipping heiress.

Wild Wild Country reveals little of this biographical information, though, at least in the first four episodes made available for review. The Way brothers seem less interested in the guru than in his followers, particularly Sheela Silverman (Ma Anand Sheela), Rajneesh’s personal secretary, whom they interview at length. Sheela describes meeting Rajneesh for the first time when she was 16—how tears rolled down her cheeks, and how convinced she was immediately that he was a second Buddha. If she had died in that moment, she explains, she would have been happy. “My life was complete,” she says. “My life was fulfilled.” Sheela became invaluable to Rajneesh on his dual missions to spread enlightenment around the world and to acquire significant wealth. She was also instrumental in the purchase of the aforementioned tract of desert land in Oregon in 1981, which the Rajneeshees worked tirelessly to transform into a self-sustaining town.

The most immediate obstacle the group faced was the people who lived in Antelope, Oregon, a tiny town of fewer than 50 people located 19 miles from the commune. Wild Wild Country features interviews with some of the bemused locals 35 years on. Jon Bowerman, a local rancher, describes how a tight-knit community of mostly retired Oregonians, in which different members took turns to be mayor, was disrupted by the unexpected arrival of the Rajneeshees. The latter dressed only in red, smiled so consistently that they appeared stoned, and appeared to practice a mindboggling variety of sexual rituals whose nature and range caused the god-fearing Antelope residents no small amount of distress.

The collision of Antelope and Rajneeshpuram is one of those old-meets-new encounters in which discord seems inevitable. But the reality of what actually happened is breathtaking, and involves political maneuvering, combative TV appearances, the founder of Nike, a diner whose name is changed to “Zorba the Buddha,” three explosions, the amassment of assault weapons, and an incident or two of domestic terrorism. The biggest asset Wild Wild Country has is its modern-day interviews with Rajneesh’s followers, who include a softened Sheela sporting silver hair, glasses, and a patterned shawl; Jane Stork (a.k.a. Ma Shanti B), an Australian woman with a gentle manner and a grey twinset; and Swami Prem Niren (born Philip J. Toelkes), Rajneesh’s lawyer, avuncular in his sweater vest.* They recount their devotion to Rajneesh, but what becomes most clear is what he represented for them: a path away from conventional middle-class life.