Here come the men in black. Tall, square-jawed and with the impossibly white teeth of Homo Americanus, they scope out the Aotea Centre foyer like they’re going places, moving forward, soon to kick goals and inevitably hit targets.

They look a lot like Mormon missionaries and, indeed, they could well be. Call the 0800 number for the Financial Superstars Seminar and you’re patched through to a call centre in Utah. And here, right now, standing beside the tea and coffee table is Nathan Osmond, scion of the famous dynasty — yes, those Osmonds (he’s the son of Alan, nephew of Donny and Marie) — shaking hands, clapping backs. “I just love Noooo Zealand,” he tells an audience of cooing Kiwi mums. “Wow! I could just live here.”

Twenty-seven year-old Osmond may be the MC and star of the show, but his 20 or so charges — the Superstar’s salesmen — are equally versed in the art of winning friends and influencing people. They introduce themselves, call you Sir or Ma’am for a minute, then skillfully wheedle out your name and slip it into every second sentence. “We really appreciate you having us here, Peter,” says a guy with a Secret Service-style earplug. Hey! It’s good of you guys to come!

They’re Kiwi battlers from the suburbs. They wear the
clothes working people put on when they go for a
job interview: collared shirts with a sports coat or
leather jacket, cellphones worn proudly on the belt…

I’d first heard the ads on Radio Sport. “We’ll show you how to buy real estate at 31 to 57 percent below value,” said a slick American voice that seemed to know what he was talking about. “Avoid capital gains tax. Retire in two to five years with an additional cash flow of $9000 per month.” Too good to be true? The Consumers’ Institute certainly thought so. “The promises made for this seminar are some of the most ludicrous we’ve seen,” said Institute head David Russell. As Russell pointed out, New Zealand doesn’t even have a capital gains tax.

A fair point, perhaps, but the 700 Aucklanders in attendance are not here to deal with complexities. They’re here to get rich. Most of the ethnically-diverse audience look like they’re Kiwi battlers from the suburbs. They wear the clothes working people put on when they go for a job interview: collared shirts with a sports coat or leather jacket, cellphones worn proudly on the belt. These are the sort of people who work hard for their money, contribute mightily to the national economy, but never seem to get ahead.

The intermission bell rings and Nathan Osmond, “please call me Nate”, leads us back inside the auditorium to hear the last superstar of the day. He is chased down the aisle by a middle-aged woman on crutches who has an old LP of the Osmond Brothers she wants to give him. “You could only get this in New Zealand,” she says. “It’s in perfect condition. Take it home for your Dad.”

He’s such a sweet boy. Here’s a guy who proposed to his wife immediately after their first kiss on the shores of Lake Utah, who collects Disney memorabilia, who recorded an album with his seven brothers, titled I Love America. In short: here’s a guy you can trust with your money.

“It’s great to be down here in Nooo Zealand,” Osmond says again as he glides across the stage. Apropos of nothing, he tells the crowd his Uncle Donny toured for six years with Joseph and His Technicolour Dreamcoat, then bursts into a hammy rendition of ‘Any Dream Will Do’.

There’s muted applause when he’s done. “Thank you. Thank you. Wow! You guys are a great crowd. We’re so happy to be here with y’all.”

Wow. Back to business. The next speaker is 53-year-old real estate guru James Smith, whom Osmond introduces as his “hero”. While the other Superstars swaggered about the stage with one hand in pocket, Smith drapes himself over a barstool. He kicks off with a reference to the All Blacks. “I was watching the game against Argentina. They’re such a great team, the All Blacks. You know you could see in their eyes that they were gonna win.”

The audience in his pocket, Smith launches into a speech littered with clunky, meaningless aphorisms. “I am an example of the American dream come true,” he says. “I graduated dead last in my class.”

You should never lose sight of your dreams, Smith says. But we do. “You know adults stop dreaming at the age of 22. Talk to an eight-year-old girl and she’ll say she wants to be a ballerina. Or an astronaut. See a 67-year-old lady serving up slops in a restaurant — they see the dark side of the moon.”

“Catch this. Most people will be sheep. They will follow
the flock. They’ll end up in someone’s pot for dinner.”

The secret to success? “You gotta be nice to people. My motto is, ‘Moral and ethical — just with no heavy lifting.’”

There’s more: “Catch this. Most people will be sheep. They will follow the flock. They’ll end up in someone’s pot for dinner.”

Then: “Catch this. This is major. You gotta position yourself to win otherwise you end up nowhere. Catch this. You deserve the best.”

Eventually, Smith gets to his pitch: He’s coming back in mid-August to present a three-day get-rich-quick seminar. The cost? Usually it’s $3995, but if you go out to foyer right now and hand the Men in Black your credit card, you can come along for an “investment” of $2995 and bring a friend for free.