Documentaries about cults all have the same task, at which they nearly all fail: explaining exactly how so many people fell under the spell of a man (it’s always a man) who was, to outside observers, so obviously a damaged charlatan. None of it makes sense; it wouldn’t count as a cult if it did.

Bring Me the Beauties: A Model Cult does a messy job of telling the story of Frederick von Mierers, who spent the 1980s luring models into his spiritual enlightenment society, Eternal Values. Von Mierers’ life was all lies, chaos and mystery and it would be hard to set it out coherently, however diligently you tried. But this is like trying to keep up with an erratic bar-room raconteur who keeps glossing over the important bits so they can skip on to the next bit of gossip. Admittedly, each new piece of info is wildly juicy.

The early years of Frederick von Mierers are murky, but the key facts are that, as a 40ish former model, he was an elegant socialite, living in an apartment in midtown Manhattan and frequenting Studio 54, where the doormen would pull back the velvet rope to let him sashay past the crowds and walk straight in. He had inherited wealth and alien good looks, somewhere between Christopher Walken, Gary Numan and a svelte Dolph Lundgren. In 1978 he suffered an ear infection, and when his fever subsided he announced that his body had become the vessel for a being from the red giant star, Arcturus.

With an extraterrestrial glint in his already piercing eyes, Von Mierers began presenting a public-access television show where he spread the word about the benefits of a healthy diet, the power of controlled emotions – the notion of romantic love was an instrument of “the most diabolical and the most evil forces in this world” – and the importance of recognising that material possessions were not a route to happiness, all these being wisdom direct from the cosmos.

Ordinary punters sent cheques to Eternal Values for astrological readings; members of the inner circle got to share Frederick’s apartment, where they would sometimes wake to find that he had applied a mint-scented face mask to them during the night. Less adorably, he fostered a culture in which anyone who stepped out of line was ruthlessly pilloried in recriminatory interventions known as “slamming sessions”. As well as fearing the loss of the gang’s favour, the Eternal Values foot soldiers anticipated a re-alignment of the Earth’s magnetic poles, foreseen by the Arcturians, which prompted the organisation to purchase a second base in the North Carolina mountains that would survive the earthquakes and tsunamis to come.

What’s never a mystery with cults is the motivation of the leader: it’s always sex and/or money, and, for Von Mierers, it was both. Our main witness is a man named John Hoyt, who under the name Hoyt Richards was one of the highest-paid male models of the late 1980s and 90s, regularly appearing in shoots with Cindy Crawford and the like. After completing jobs in Milan, the Caribbean or Los Angeles, John would return to sleeping on the floor of the EV flat, handing all his spare money to Frederick in return for ethereally powerful “gemstones” that may in retrospect have been costume jewellery. Occasionally Frederick would invite to his room young men, whose spiritual insights were so penetrating that John would be asked to hand them $100 on their way out.

Eternal Values members were required to participate in sexual practices, but this is mentioned almost in passing and then demurely not expanded upon, which makes it rather confusing when two of the group are severely punished for dating each other. Somehow the series also skips over the whole alien possession thing: Hoyt and other Von Mierers acolytes, several of whom are interviewed, aren’t asked why in the heck they took this wild baloney at face value.

But the series does note that everyone involved, Von Mierers included, was affected by loss, or the feeling of being lost, in their impressionable early adulthood. Von Mierers may have targeted models because he understood they were likely to be insecure people, worried that their supposedly enviable careers and personal relationships were superficial and meaningless.

In the last episode of Bring Me the Beauties, there are desperately moving scenes as the admirably frank Hoyt recalls his agony at realising, a few years after Von Mierers’ death from an Aids-related illness, that he had abandoned his family and friends for nothing. Hoyt now works as an exit counsellor, trying to make cult members understand that they’re in one. As this programme discovers, however, why people join cults is hard to understand.