The Alien Autopsy Scandal: this fascinating tale of a bizarre DIY hoax hits Spinal Tap levels of hilarity
A fake alien made by a Doctor Who sculptor, animal organs sourced from a butcher, an actual magician behind the camera … this outrageous story makes for a great watch
If you had to be interviewed on film, how would you hope to come across? Attractive, honest, a good egg? Or pathologically shifty, to the point that audiences want to throw their shoes at the screen? I found myself unlacing my Doc Martens this week, watching a documentary about the biggest hoax of the last century.
In 1995, a grainy film was released that purported to be of an autopsy conducted on a creature recovered from a crash site on military land in Roswell, New Mexico. The incident had long been hallowed in ufology, but no moving footage had ever been uncovered. You’ve seen it. Hazmat figures loom over a bulbous-headed humanoid, spreadeagled on the table. Its dead, oval eyes are black, mouth agape, belly distended. I saw the shocking footage again last night, or thought I did. It was actually my laptop screen going dark, after I fell asleep in front of Netflix.
Globally, news outlets heralded the footage as the most important ever recovered. The Alien Autopsy Scandal (Friday, 9pm, Sky Documentaries) playfully lets us into how it was actually created in a Camden flat in 90s London; the brainchild of two businessmen, Ray Santilli and Gary Shoefield. The pair employed a sculptor who worked on Doctor Who to create the alien, and a magician to shoot the film. Their homegrown ET was filled with a mix of animal organs including a lamb’s brain and pig’s pluck, which is why it all looked convincingly moist.
What is fascinating is the brazenness. Santilli – described as a “music entrepreneur” – still sticks to his story. He was sold the original film, he maintains, by a real soldier who served in Roswell in 1947. During the deal, the film suffered oxidation damage – so Santilli decided to, ah, recreate what was missing. His approach was inspired by fine art, specifically Leonardo da Vinci’s mural of The Last Supper, a fragile mural stabilised by modern artists. “To us, it’s a restoration of an existing work.”
When sceptical US journalists demanded to meet the anonymous cameraman, Santilli and Shoehart naturally washed and shaved a homeless man then filmed him in the dark, posing as the retired veteran. (Their rudimentary filter failed when an investigator turned up the contrast on his TV.) The pair insist the cameraman is real – but he’s dead now. Yeah, and I’m having an affair with Beyoncé, but we’re keeping it quiet.
It’s a great watch – Spinal Tap territory, but real. Hilariously, it’s Reg Presley, singer of the Troggs, who broke the story of the alien autopsy. He happens to be a friend of Santilli, and we see him tell the world about the existence of aliens on the sofa of 90s daytime show Good Morning With Anne and Nick. TV reporters around the world smelled ratings gold, too. “I’m a great believer in the universe, and a great believer in momentum,” says Shoehart, who looks and sounds uncannily like a Harry Enfield character. One whose catchphrase could be “Ya big mugs!”.
For his part, Santilli vibrates with nerviness and a perpetual smirk. He looks as trustworthy as a wolf selling a secondhand red hood. More than once, he brings up the question of fraudulence – either to get ahead of the accusation or to subconsciously confess. Authenticity is semantics, he argues. At another point, he claims, “What we created is a level of reality in itself.” It’s unsurprising that the pair first met when Santilli was being sued by Shoeheart over another project. The perfect meet-cute.
Our current dystopia is crafted by big characters who have figured out that bigger lies are easier to sell because their audience wants to believe. Santilli and Shoefield’s grins invite the boot. They grew wealthy from their chicanery, thanks to profits from VHS home rentals. Shoehart is being interviewed in Beverly Hills. I wonder if he ever phones home.
Yet in the age of AI slop, where fakery is assumed, there is an analogue charm to hoaxes. Those who were fooled were so because they were innocent. “We’re not alone. We’ve never been alone,” one believer affirms. Rather than feel scorn, I was moved. Today we have killed trust and dissected our wonder. Many once believed the truth was out there, when it wasn’t. Now, no one believes it’s anywhere, even though it is. I think I need to lie down. Don’t cut me open!