Marjoe Gortner: The Evangelist Who Pulled Off the Ultimate Hustle
If you’ve never seen Marjoe, the 1972 Academy Award-winning documentary, consider this your sign from on high to watch it. Produced and directed by Howard Smith and Sarah Kernochan, Marjoe is an astonishing piece of filmmaking that unpacks one of the most audacious cons in American religious history—straight from the mouth of the conman himself.
It’s rare to see a huckster break the fourth wall, admit to the scam, and then willingly invite a camera crew to document it, but that’s exactly what Marjoe Gortner did. A former child evangelist turned adult superstar preacher, Gortner let the hippie filmmakers infiltrate his gospel empire, capturing every manipulative trick in his holy-roller playbook. What unfolds is a documentary so compelling that it almost feels scripted—except it isn’t. The man was simply that good.
But before we get into the jaw-dropping moments from the film, let’s take a moment to appreciate the deeply weird origins of Marjoe Gortner.
The Making of a Child Preacher (Or: How to Raise a Conman)
First, the name—Marjoe. A bizarre fusion of Mary and Joseph, which already suggests that the kid was set up for something biblical. Born in 1944 to evangelical parents who viewed him less as a child and more as a Pentecostal ATM, Marjoe was thrust into the spotlight at the tender age of four. His parents, particularly his mother, trained him relentlessly to memorise elaborate sermons, punishing him with smothering and near-drownings if he failed to deliver with the right amount of fire-and-brimstone fervour.
And deliver he did.
By six, he was an evangelical phenomenon, appearing at press conferences and telling reporters he was “here to give the devil two black eyes.” Clad in tiny sailor suits and cowboy boots, the pint-sized preacher even officiated full-fledged wedding ceremonies, making headlines while simultaneously horrifying church leaders. Evangelicals, of course, were scandalised—because that was apparently where they drew the line. Not the child exploitation, not the financial grift, but the fact that a kid was performing weddings.
Yet despite the constant praise, magazine covers, and LIFE magazine spreads proclaiming his divine gifts, Marjoe didn’t buy a single bit of it. He wasn’t a believer—just a skilled performer. By his teenage years, he had begun to see the cracks in the system, but his parents had already taken the money and left him with nothing. With no real-world skills beyond showmanship, he did what he was trained to do: he kept preaching.
The Great Evangelical Heist
Fast-forward to the early 1970s, and Marjoe—now a tall, golden-haired, hippie-chic evangelist—was back in the revival circuit. Only this time, he had a plan. He was going to burn the whole system down from the inside.
In the documentary Marjoe, we meet our protagonist in a dimly lit hotel room, surrounded by a film crew of shaggy-haired, permanently stoned documentarians. He’s explaining the evangelical game: how to work a crowd, how to get them speaking in tongues, and—most importantly—how to separate them from their money.
The film follows him as he preaches his way through the Bible Belt, dazzling congregations with theatrical sermons and Mick Jagger-inspired stage struts. He expertly gets people to fork over their cash (“the largest bill you have, folks!”), and behind closed doors, he counts the money on a hotel bed, shaking his head at how absurdly easy it is.
At one point, he reveals one of his more theatrical tricks: a special water-activated powder that, when mixed with sweat, makes a cross appear on his forehead. The audience sees it as divine intervention. Marjoe sees it as an easy payday.
Marjoe’s Gospel of Materialism
In a 1972 interview with Roger Ebert around the time of the film’s release, Gortner illuminates the materialist sham:
“These people lead miserable lives, and suffer in silence because they know they’re going to get their reward in heaven. A preacher is a man who has been blessed by God on Earth. If he doesn’t drive a Cadillac, they don’t think much of him; God must not favour him. He’s got to look good, feel good and smell good.”
Indeed, Gortner was a rock star in the pulpit. He admitted that he studied Mick Jagger’s stage movements and incorporated them into his sermons, saying:
“When I’d do a hip movement or a jump, or start walking over the backs of the seats, they’d say, ‘Hallelujah! God’s behind him!’ But if they saw Mick Jagger doing the same thing at a rock concert, that was the work of the devil.”
And lest anyone suspect that Marjoe was just another con job—that he was cashing in on his exposé—he pointed out that he would have made far more money staying in the business.
“A lot of people have charged that I made the movie for money. That’s ridiculous. At the time I quit, I honestly think I was the best preacher on the circuit, I could cut anybody. In five years I would have been on top and probably a millionaire. One thing a lot of people forget about is the tax advantage: I was tax-deductible.”
From Evangelism to Exploitation Cinema
After torching his career in ministry, Marjoe needed a new hustle. So, naturally, he turned to Hollywood. With his chiseled features and effortless charisma, he enrolled in acting classes and soon found himself in a string of B-movie roles.
In 1976, he starred in Bobbie Jo and the Outlaw opposite Lynda Carter (yes, Wonder Woman herself). He appeared in disaster films (Earthquake), crime thrillers (The Gun and the Pulpit), and even a horror flick where he played a murderous Satanist (The Food of the Gods).
His film career, while not exactly Oscar-worthy, was decent enough. And in a poetic turn, he found himself in roles that often parodied his past—grifting, preaching, and conning his way through the silver screen just as he had in the pulpit.
The Final Act of Marjoe Gortner
Unlike many evangelical fraudsters who either double down or flee to obscurity, Marjoe chose an oddly dignified exit. He largely stepped away from both Hollywood and the revival circuit, appearing in the occasional documentary or interview but never attempting a grand comeback. His story, unlike that of his evangelical peers, is one of true repentance—not of faith, but of self-awareness.
He had played the game, exposed the scam, and walked away. He never tried to build a personal empire or rebrand himself as a reformed preacher. In an industry built on deception, Marjoe Gortner remains a fascinating anomaly: the man who could have been a millionaire televangelist but chose instead to call out the con.
It’s an only-in-America story. And if you haven’t seen Marjoe yet—seriously, watch it. It’s not just a film. It’s a masterclass in performance, persuasion, and the fine art of the hustle.
That’s the story of Marjoe Gortner—evangelist, scam artist, actor, and accidental cultural icon. From holy water to Hollywood, he remains one of the most unique figures to ever grace a revival tent or a B-movie set.
You can watch the full documentary here