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Cavalli teased the shoot before she took the plunge, writing: “Shark diving for Cam Soda today. But Cavalli maintains that she was indeed injured by a shark, and released a statement, saying: “I want to thank my fans for their outpouring of support as I heal my foot following the shark bite. Wish me luck.” The grisly footage, uploaded by the company to You Tube, saw mixed reactions from commenters. “Look around you, you’ve got a cult in your town, I almost guarantee you.” Allen himself joined the Buddhafield in 1985, fresh out of film school, and he was personally responsible for shooting nearly all the footage seen in the documentary — footage that’s all the more fascinating for having been cobbled together with corny, late-’80s public-access-TV effects to emphasize the state of spiritual ecstasy Michel inspired in his followers.Although Allen was basically making high-end VHS home movies for the group to rapturously relive at a later date, outsiders can’t help but see things through more skeptical eyes, especially when Michel makes his big-screen entrance.Like watching a takedown of Hitler by a disillusioned Leni Reifenstahl, what emerges is one of the decade’s strangest and most unsettling documentaries, especially given its as-yet-unwritten ending.Whereas a less invested director might have either sensationalized the story or exploited the situation for its absurd comic value, Allen comes from a place of deep personal disillusionment, the way a sexually abused altar boy might attempt to reconcile his wounded faith.

That makes even more sense when you think of how the app treats its photos and videos ephemerally.

A nail-biter with no artificiality, filled with sentiment that elicits honest tears, becomes a stirring quest movie when the grownup Saroo Brierley (Dev Patel) embraces a wave of primal feeling and resolves to find his hometown and his birth family.

The director, Garth Davis (who made four episodes of Jane Campion’s miniseries, exert a visceral pull and surrounds audiences with its spaciousness and sweep, but I think its accomplishment goes deeper.

As it turned out, the film was directed by Will Allen, who had been the group’s videographer (and resident propagandist) for nearly 22 years, making him uniquely poised to assemble the most damning portrait possible of his former mentor, a vaguely Ramon Novarro-esque failed actor named Michel, who addressed his disciples in a strange, impossible-to-place accent and convinced them to abandon their jobs, their families and their homes in order to follow his teachings and receive what he called “the Knowing,” a form of intense communion in which they might meet God.

When things went sour, Allen was armed with a wealth of footage to deconstruct his former idol.

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Though the doc plays like a thriller at times, especially in the paranoid aftermath of 1993’s notorious Branch Davidian standoff (which took place outside Waco, Texas, just 100 miles north of where the Buddhafield was then based in Austin), its power springs from the fact that it portrays the former Buddhafield members as relatively normal people — no more or less suggestible than your typical religious convert, with the same sort of insecurities and desires as most Americans.

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