Though exactly as scattershot as its clumsy personalized title lets on, “My Scientology Movie” succeeds at exposing the nuts and bolts elements of the pseudo religious cult imploding under the weight of its abusive methods of mind control and extortion. You know there’s a glaring problem when you see that a copy of Scientology’s “Sea Organization Religious Commitment” contract requires believers to sign on for a “billion years” in order to save Earth.
You almost have to laugh. Cue the sad trombones for the next billion years. It does however raise an inconvenient question about Scientology’s absentee voices regarding climate change. Where do Scientology’s Earth-protecting activists stand ecologically? I smell fodder for another Scientology documentary.
Longtime BBC documentary producer/host Louis Theroux (pronounced ‘through’) is the investigator busy tweezing out all the information he can about Scientology via any legal method available. Theroux is hilariously pokerfaced as this film’s all-too-present narrator. Nick Broomfield has nothing on Louis (pronounced Louie) Theroux when it comes to putting himself front and center in his films. Perhaps it’s a British Unfortunately, Theroux’s less than charismatic persona saturates every frame of “My Scientology Movie.”
His efforts unsurprisingly earn him Scientology’s enmity, as evidenced by an ongoing stream of bizarre harassment he receives throughout the shoot from mealy-mouthed Scientologists who randomly appear throughout the film. Their scare tactics are cartoonishly mafia-level, yet nerves are rattled.
The film opens with Theroux’s tweets requesting participation from Scientologists. Obliquely threatening responses advise him, “don’t go there big man.” The “loonies” are out in force. You get the feeling that Scientology’s protectors have a lot of free time on their hands.
Theroux lived in Los Angeles for more than a year in order to be close to Scientology’s headquarters in Hammet, and closer still to Scientology’s “celebrity center,” during which time he earned the trust of Marty Rathbun, the former Inspector General for the religion. Rathbun was in charge of intimidating possible defectors (a.k.a. “suppressive persons”), and applying well-placed punches whenever he deemed that the situation demanded it.
Marty eventually “blew” from the church after a falling out with David Miscavige, the church’s chairman of the board. Miscavige took over control after the death of its science fiction writer leader L. Ron Hubbard. Since then, Miscavige has been known to wear a ridiculous quasi-naval uniform complete with a board of medal ribbons for who-knows-what.
More ridiculous yet is the Sea Org motto, “Revenimus” (“We come back”). You just can’t make this stuff up. I mean, yes people can make this shit up. And other people believe it. Time to reassess your beliefs perhaps?
The filmmaker posts casting notices for a film about Scientology, then goes on to use audition clips and recreated Scientology training sessions to show how easily people can be transformed. Rathbun oversees the sessions and even interacts as he once did with members in order to turn them into docile tools of Scientology. Exercises such as the “bull-bait drill” leave a lasting impression on all parties involved. It‘s probable that the Church of Scientology planted at least one of the actors auditioning for Theroux’s film. The filmmakers do indeed cast reasonable facsimiles of David Miscavige and Tom Cruise.
Scientology loves jargon; it even has a ready-made term for Theroux’s idea of recreating church practices; they call it “squirreling.” The film states that there are about 25,000 Scientologist members in the U.S. The future does not look bright for the Church of Scientology, but documentaries like this one will leave audiences picking over its bones long after it is dead and gone.
Not Rated. 93 mins.
