When we think of the term “cult film,” we’re usually thinking of underground movies with devoted fanbases. Or, maybe we’re thinking of movies (including documentaries) about cults. Welcome to Space Brothers reminds us that we could also think of cult films as movies produced by cults. The documentary chronicles the history of the Unarius Academy of Science, a UFO religion founded in Southern California in the 1950s that reached peak notoriety in the late 1970s as an extravagantly kitchy group known for its flamboyant costumes and promise of impending extraterrestrial visitation.
Calling Unarius a cult is probably a disservice to the group, which still exists, as they don’t appear to have been a scam (other than it not delivering on the UFO landings), nor was it headed by a predatory or abusive yet charismatic leader. Still, it fits the more innocent definition of a cult as a social organization with unusual beliefs.
Director Jodi Wille, whose last feature was the 2012 documentary The Source Family, again shows respect for her latest cult of interest (she also previously made a short about Unarius titled We Are Not Alone). That will make this less appealing to audiences looking for another group to laugh at or be shocked by. Most of the participants interviewed were or remain followers. While I will never totally understand the devotion of such individuals, I’ve never appreciated the draw of such communities more than I did thanks to this film.
Churches are best (in my opinion) as places to come together, whether it’s for worship or company. Unarius is based in spirituality goals, but it also comes across, most simplistically, as a social club for fellow folks sharing common intrigue about aliens and reincarnation, and a willingness to play dress up and maybe perform in parades and sci-fi movies.
The movies are what really grabbed me while watching Welcome Space Brothers. I couldn’t care less about the inner workings of the religion or the strained relationships among members over the years. That’s just typical of any organization. Other than co-founder and leader Ruth Norman being extravagant and sometimes controlling (even while reprimanding others for not abiding by the religion’s no-ego policy), there’s not much that’s outstanding about the personalities involved.
Yet the fact that Unarius produced some spectacularly cheesy but incredibly artistic and technically remarkable films and shows to promote themselves is fascinating. They look as good as the worst B-movies of the era that have become cult films, and I’m thinking of ordering some of them to see more. So not only is the documentary a gracious showcase of Unarius, but it might even benefit them financially.