Hoyt Richards was the quintessential “all-American” guy. Tall, tan and blond, Richards was awarded a football scholarship to Princeton before becoming the world’s first male supermodel — jet-setting all over the world to work campaigns for top fashion houses such as Versace, Valentino, Ralph Lauren and Burberry, and posing for the likes of Helmut Newton and Steven Meisel. He was raking in millions of dollars and became the envy of many. Little did any of them know that nearly every dollar the model made was going toward a doomsday cult involving alien UFOs, drug-fueled sexcapades, an illicit gem business and a charismatic leader who claimed to be an E.T. from the star Arcturus.

“Bring Me the Beauties,” a three-part HBO docuseries premiering June 1, captures how Richards was ensnared in the Eternal Values cult and the heavy toll it took on him. The show features interviews with Richards and several other ex-Eternal Values members, as well as a trove of archival footage of Frederick Von Mierers, the mysterious man at its center. It’s an eye-opening tale, and comes from Chris Smith, the veteran documentary filmmaker behind “American Movie,” “Fyre,” “100 Foot Wave” and “Bad Vegan.”

“It took us about five years,” Smith tells Variety. “It took years for us to develop relationships with people in Eternal Values who eventually spoke. There was very little information about the group online, as it was pre-internet.”

The story begins in 1978. Richards, then 16, was approached on a Nantucket beach by Frederick Von Mierers, an urbane New York socialite with bronzed skin, sculpted cheekbones and a seemingly endless supply of pink Brooks Brothers shirts. Von Mierers, who’d secured a spot in the Social Register — the crème de la crème of high society — whisked Richards and others off to exclusive nightclubs like Studio 54, followed by afterparties at his East 54^th Street apartment. “Only invite the beauties,” Von Mierers would say.

Before long, a number of attractive people — including Richards — were living at Von Mierers’ apartment, sleeping side-by-side on futons and subjected to a strict set of rules: restrictive diets filled with fruits and vegetables, regular tanning sessions, deep-cleaning Von Mierers’ apartment and renouncing any and all sexual activity (especially romantic love). Abiding by these edicts would gain them entry into, as Von Mierers put it, “God’s higher cocktail party on Earth.” He’d also conduct “life readings” of his acolytes, or ninety minutes of relentless “character analysis” where Von Mierers would use astrological charts to break down his subjects into little pieces and tug at their insecurities. They were encouraged to purchase pricey gemstones from him that were supposedly imbued with healing powers. “I was becoming a more evolved, better me,” Richards recalls in “Bring Me the Beauties.”

“What was interesting to me was seeing how far ahead of the curve they were in so many things that have been adopted over the last couple decades in health and wellness,” Smith reasons.

Von Mierers’ charges accepted these rules because they believed his incredible backstory: that he’d lost his parents in an automobile accident, was placed in the care of his grandparents (who also died), was subsequently raised by his filthy-rich socialite-godmother, had modeled and risen up the ranks of New York high society — until an alien from the star Arcturus entered his body and told him that he had ten years to find and train other Arcturians, or leaders of the New Age, for a “pole shift” that would destroy the planet in 1999. Von Mierers and his fellow Arcturians would be spared from this cataclysm, scooped up by UFOs and placed in rejuvenation chambers until it was safe to return to what’s left of Earth. A compound was acquired in Lake Lure, North Carolina, because it was deemed an ideal landing spot for the UFOs.

Followers of Von Mierers were convinced of this not only due to his magnetism, but also because Ruth Montgomery, a former D.C. media correspondent turned New Age guru, had given him her imprimatur in the bestselling book “Aliens Among Us,” confirming he was a “walk-in” and “Arcturian.” Von Mierers eventually turned Eternal Values into a sprawling business empire incorporated as Ultimate Fitness Opportunities (UFO), which included courses, supplements, exercise equipment, gem prescriptions and pricey astrology readings. They even inspired Sammy Hagar to pen the 1985 Van Halen song “Love Walks In.”  

“When looking at more formalized religions, Hoyt would say, ‘Your angel came down with wings; mine came down in a spaceship,’” explains Smith. “He’d made a very astute observation that because these things have existed so long in established religions. We don’t question them to the same degree as the idea of a ‘walk-in’ or someone coming from Arcturus.”

Smith is also quick to point out that any similarities between “Bring Me the Beauties” and Steven Spielberg’s sci-fi epic “Disclosure Day,” which follows alien “walk-ins” on the run from a government-backed corporation that has been covering up the existence of aliens for decades (and hits theaters June 12) is nothing more than a happy accident.  

Oh, and that aforementioned compound in North Carolina for the UFOs? That was largely paid for by Richards who, in his off-hours from the Eternal Values cult, had become the top male model in the world, posing alongside Cindy Crawford and Fabio, and striking poses all over America and Europe. But most of the money he earned was poured into Eternal Values, with Richards estimating that his contributions “totaled in the millions.” He was also forced to disown his family.

As with most cults, things eventually turned dark in Eternal Values. Members were made to “watchdog” on each other and punish those who broke any rules with “slamming sessions,” where Von Mierers and the other members would loudly berate the offending party, and Von Mierers went as far as bashing someone’s face in. One member was locked in a room without food and water for days until they finished a long list of astrology readings. Von Mierers even compelled his followers to take ecstasy and have sex with each other — which they found “incestuous,” since they considered each other like family — or have sex with strangers.

In “Bring Me the Beauties,” Von Mierers’ assistant of sorts, Paul Hinton, recalls how members of Eternal Values would pay gigolos to have sex with Von Mierers — who was gay, but claimed to be asexual and fully committed to the cause — multiple times a week. On one occasion, Von Mierers ordered Hinton to take him to Times Square so they could find “the biggest dicks in the universe” to pleasure him.

After an embarrassing appearance on “The Richard Bey Show,” where Von Mierers and his followers, including Richards, were made to look like utter fools, Vanity Fair released a damning exposé on Eternal Values in 1990 titled “The Ford Models and the Alien from Arcturus.” Von Mierers, who was on his fifth facelift by that point, even posed for the article — but died of AIDS five days before it would hit newsstands. A power struggle ensued, with the remaining members of Eternal Values retreating to the lake house in North Carolina. They began shooting guns and armed themselves to the teeth, filling entire storage units with arsenals of weapons, food and other survival tools. They even purchased large quantities of gold and silver, which they believed would be the only forms of currency post-cataclysm.

On one of his modeling trips to Los Angeles, Richards began a relationship with a woman named Donna, and the two fell in love. Since Von Mierers taught the group that “romantic love was the downfall of mankind,” the Eternal Values members made him break up with Donna and further punished him by having Richards perform menial tasks around the house, shave his head and quit modeling. So, he escaped and returned to his real family, only to discover his mother was dying of cancer. He became her primary caregiver during her final years. “My mother’s illness gave me an opportunity to prove to my family that I was back,” Richards says in the doc.

As for Frederick Von Mierers, he was actually born Freddy Miers — a Jewish kid from Brooklyn raised by a single mother and later, his aunt. He changed his name to “Frederick Von Mierers” and, after a brief modeling stint, climbed his way up the social ladder. A regular Tom Ripley, as it were.

“We actually thought about calling it ‘The Talented Mr. Von Mierers,’” shares Smith. “I think Frederick would have thrived in the age of social media. He has an undeniable charisma that would have spoken to a lot of people.”