Physical Address
304 North Cardinal St.
Dorchester Center, MA 02124
MeIf you were interviewed for a movie, what would you expect? Attractive, honest, good egg? Or change pathologically, until the audience wants to throw their shoes at the screen? I found myself untying my Doc Martens this week, watching the documentary about the biggest scam of the last few years.
In 1995, a scandalous film was released purporting to be an autopsy performed on a creature found at the crash site of a military base in Roswell, New Mexico. The event had been isolated for a long time in ufology, but no moving pictures were revealed. You have seen it. Hazmat figures stare at the head of a man in good shape, spread out on a table. His eyes are dead, round and black, his mouth, his stomach. I saw some scary cartoons last night, or so I thought I did. It was actually my laptop screen going dark, as I lay in front of Netflix.
All over the world, the media has declared these images to be the most important discovery. The Alien Autopsy Scandal (Friday, 9pm, Sky Documentaries) playfully lets us know how it was made in a Camden house in 90s London; opinion of two entrepreneurs, Ray Santilli and Gary Shoefield. The pair used a sculptor who worked on Doctor Who to create the alien, and a magician to shoot the film. Their homemade ET is filled with a mix of animal parts including lamb brains and pork rinds, so everything looks decidedly moist.
What is impressive is the courage. Santilli – described as a “music entrepreneur” – still sticks to his story. He was sold the original film, he keeps, and a real soldier who served in Roswell in 1947. During the contract, the film was damaged by oxidation – so Santilli decided to, ah, repair what was missing. His approach was inspired by art, especially Leonardo da Vinci’s painting of The Last Supper, a fragile image that has become popular with modern artists. “For us, it’s a return to work that already exists.”
When suspicious US journalists wanted to meet the unknown photographer, Santilli and Shoehart naturally bathed and shaved the homeless man and then photographed him in the dark, posing as a retired veteran. (Their old-fashioned filter failed when a researcher showed the opposite on his TV.) The couple insists the artist is real – but he’s dead now. Yeah, and I’m dating Beyoncé, but we’re keeping quiet.
It’s a great watch – part Spinal Tap, but real. Interestingly, it was Reg Presley, singer of the Troggs, who broke the story of the unusual autopsy. He becomes Santilli’s friend, and we see him telling the world about his presence on the couch of the 90s afternoon show Good Morning With Anne and Nick. TV journalists around the world smell gold, too. “I’m a big believer in the universe, and a big believer in movement,” says Shoehart, who looks and sounds uncannily like Harry Enfield’s character. One whose words end up being “For big cups!”.
To him, Santilli trembles with fear and endless laughter. He looks as reliable as a fox selling a second-hand red dress. More than once, they bring up the question of fraud – either going forward with the case or admitting it without realizing it. Facts are semantics, they argue. At one point, he says, “What we created is the real thing.” It’s no surprise that the two first met when Santilli was challenged by Shoeheart on a project. Good meeting-beautiful.
Our current dystopia is created by big people who have decided that big lies are easy to sell because their audience wants to believe them. Santilli’s laughter and Shoefield calling for shoes. They got rich because of their technology, because of the profit of renting VHS houses. Shoehart is interviewed in Beverly Hills. I wonder if he calls home.
Yet in the age of AI slop, where fakery is considered, there is a charm to the fake analogue. Those who were deceived were so because they were innocent. “We are not alone, we have never been alone,” one believer affirmed. Instead of being mocked, I was moved. Today we killed the trust and shared our surprise. Many once believed that the truth was out there, when it was not. Now, no one believes it is anywhere, even though it is. I think I should go to bed. Don’t open me!
