The Scientology film Tom Cruise wouldn’t want you to see . . .

THE collision between the Church of Scientology and Louis Theroux’s trademark fauxnaivety was always likely to be a hoot, and so it proves, especially when, entirely po-faced, he films them filming him filming them.

Theroux (pictured), as always at least twice as guileful as his politely respectful demeanour suggests, finds out far more about this deeply strange organisation, founded by the man they all call ‘Ellaraitch’ (sci-fi writer L. Ron Hubbard), than more pugnacious documentary-makers ever could.

His uneasy ally is Marty Rathbun, who was once the Scientologists’ ‘Inspector-General’ but has since turned his back on the whole crazy business. Substitute ‘witchfinder’ for ‘Inspector’ and you wouldn’t be far wrong; Rathbun was a kind of enforcer, in thrall like everyone else to the sect’s charismatic leader, David Miscavige. Theroux has little actual archive to work from, though what he does have is disturbing enough, including a shot of the church’s most famous disciple, Tom Cruise, solemnly saluting Miscavige (who was best man at Cruise’s wedding to Katie Holmes).

Instead, with Rathbun’s help, Theroux hires actors to show how Scientology’s top-brass operate behind closed doors. If accurate, it’s beyond bizarre.

Of course, they say it’s not accurate. They claim to be an honourable organisation, outrageously maligned. A Miscavige of justice, if you will. Maybe that’s so. I certainly didn’t warm to Rathbun, whose sense of self-importance doesn’t seem to have diminished much since he was Miscavige’s right-hand man.

But if the Scientologists are more sinned against than sinning, there’s precious little evidence here.