The Hardest (Working) Man in Showbiz (30 page)

(Courtesy of Metro)

chapter 12

THE AMBASSADOR OF PORN (OR, A MIDSUMMER BOOGIE NIGHT’S DREAM)

For an industry
that’s so universally misunderstood, there’s an awful lot of people who are curious about what goes on behind the scenes on a porn set. It’s not just the guys and girls who sneak into the back rooms of video stores to rent the occasional smut flick. The entire
world
is infatuated with porn, even if they’ve never watched so much as five minutes of a blue movie.

I can’t tell you how many talk shows and TV interviews and college lectures I’ve done where audiences grill me about what
really
goes on during a porno shoot. We’re all curious about sex, and a porn set is where sex is dragged out of the shadows and examined under bright lights. Everybody wants to visit a porn set because it’s like taking a guided tour of your own id.

But as enticing as porn sets may be, not just anybody is welcome inside. You can’t knock on the door and ask, “Do you mind if I poke around for a while and see what’s going on in here?” (Unless you’re a vice cop.) No, to scale the walls of a porn set, you need somebody on the other side willing to throw down a rope for you. You need a friend with connections.

Somebody like me.

My sets have been visited by more famous faces than have walked the red carpet at most award shows. I’ve invited actors, directors, musicians, comedians, writers, studio executives, and politicians. And with very rare exceptions, I won’t reveal their names.

When you walk onto my set, you enter into a sacred bond. Your anonymity will be protected at all costs. Some, like Rodney Dangerfield and most of the rock stars, didn’t care who knew they were there. Others have arrived in full costume, right down to the fake beard and oversize hats, and only I knew their real identities. You can stay as long as you want, watch as much as you can stomach, and leave without anybody being the wiser. In some ways, it’s a lot like Las Vegas. What happens on my porn sets
stays
on my porn sets.

I do have rules, however. And here they are, in no particular order:

LAWS OF THE PORN SET

Law #1: You may not watch me have sex.

Law #2: No touching the performers unless a specific invitation is given, or you’re Tommy Lee.

Law #3: Don’t speak too loudly during a sound take.

Law #4: Ease up on the directing advice (unless you happen to be a famous director).

Law #5: If the performers want privacy during the hard core, the guests can watch only the kissing, petting, and foreplay, then retire to the monitor to see the rest of the action.

I’m particularly strict about law #1. I realize that this law may sound a little prudish, especially coming from a porn actor who gets
paid
to have sex in front of other people. But I’ve always been uncomfortable being naked around celebrities. I don’t mind taking them to the set if I’m directing or writing or producing. But when I’m actually having sex in front of a camera, I just feel funny about it. I don’t want them to look at me in that way, especially if they’re somebody who could potentially help my mainstream career. Because once somebody has seen you have sex on a porn set, they’ll never look at you the same again. They’ll forever think of you as that naked sex actor rather than an actor. I could have sex in front of a friend, like director Adam Rifkin, because he’s a real buddy and it wouldn’t matter.
*
(But he couldn’t stomach that.) But a celebrity that I’m trying to impress is never going to watch me do a sex scene.

As nervous as I can be about having famous people on my sets, it doesn’t begin to compare with the anxiety that inflicts many of my guests. Rock legend Stephen Stills was so tense during his visit to my set that he was barely able to sit still. It’d been years since porn sets had been raided by the cops, but he was acting like he was in a brothel, glancing over his shoulder as if he was certain that a vice squad was going to come running in at any moment. During the entire shoot, he was pacing back and forth and sweating a bit.

“Relax,” I told him. “You’re just watching. Nobody’s going to jump on you or tell the press that you’re here. We’re not rats.”

I’d heard that he’d recently given up smoking. But at one point, I looked over and Stephen was puffing away at a cigarette. He was sucking on it like he thought it might contain vitamins. So I guess I’m personally responsible for getting Stephen Stills back into smoking. I’m not proud of that. And in all fairness, he hardly watched any action. We just happened to be shooting a film near where he lives, so he came over mainly to see me.

After the shoot was over, he ran over and shook my hand. He was talking a mile a minute, not even pausing to take a breath. “Thanks Ron that was cool really cool I gotta go okay see ya later.” And then he jumped into his car and drove away.

Over the years, I’ve learned little tricks to put my guests at ease. When the Nelson brothers, the blond glam-rock duo, paid a visit to one of my sets, I tried to make them feel more comfortable by overexplaining exactly what they were seeing. I did it mostly to be funny, and maybe a little annoying.

“You see that, boys?” I whispered to them, pointing out a sexual position that was taking place just a few feet away. “In porn, we call that the
reverse cowgirl
.”

“We
know
, Ron,” they snapped, a little annoyed by me.

Later, when the actors switched positions, I pulled the Nelsons aside again for another porn primer.

“This is called
doggy-style
,” I said. “And pretty soon, that naked guy over there will be doing something called the
pop
…
shot
. Do you want me to explain what that is in more detail?”

“Shut up, Ron,” they yelled at me. “You’re an asshole! We know what a fucking pop shot is, you jerk!”
*

I was just trying to embarrass them in front of the crew. And it worked like a charm. By the end of the day, they were so relaxed and unfazed by all the sex happening all around them you’d think they were at a church social.

But it backfired on me. I was so worried about keeping the Nelson brothers happy that I didn’t even think about what their presence would mean to the other actors. Buck Adams, the male star of my film, was having a slight difficulty keeping an erection. He did the scene just fine, just without his usual lightning-fast speed. And it was all because of the Nelsons.

“Thanks a lot, Ron,” he complained. “The girls keep staring at these two beautiful blond boys. They all want to have sex with them, and they’re being paid to be with me. How is a guy supposed to get wood with this kind of competition?”

He was right. It just wasn’t fair. So I politely asked the Nelsons to retire to the monitor, in the other room.

“Why?” they asked. “What did we do?”

“No offense, boys,” I told them, “but you’re just too pretty.”

N
ot every visitor to a porn set comes to stare at the naked ladies. Some, like famed director John Frankenheimer, were there to do research.

Frankenheimer was a movie director whom I’d idolized since I was a kid, the man responsible for such classics of cinema as
Birdman of Alcatraz
and
The Manchurian Candidate
.
*
When I got the call, John told me that he was working on a new film called
52 Pick-Up
, based on an Elmore Leonard novel of the same name. The story involved a businessman who was blackmailed by a sleazy porn king. Known for his stark realism, John didn’t want to base his movie on conjecture alone. If he was going to accurately portray the gritty realities of the smut trade, he needed an “expert” to advise him, taking him deep into the belly of the beast for a firsthand look.

He came to a few sets with me before I invited him to sit in on one of my shoots in Laurel Canyon. John couldn’t have cared less about the sex. He was more intrigued by the production end. When we’d finish a scene in one take, he’d shake his head in wonder.

“You don’t need to do it again?” he asked. “What if the lighting was wrong? What if the continuity is screwed up? What if you don’t have enough coverage?”

I just shrugged. “Hey, it’s porn. Our audience is
very
forgiving.”

He couldn’t resist interrupting me with the occasional comment, suggesting a different angle or changing a lighting gel in midscene.

“Hey,” I teased him. “Did I tell you how to shoot
French Connection II
? Don’t tell me how to shoot a porno.”
*

John spent most of the afternoon with us, and I hoped he was getting something useful from the experience. Compared to the danger and intrigue of his
52 Pick-Up
script, our set must’ve seemed monotonous. There were no mafia henchmen, no women tied to chairs, no sketchy characters delivering briefcases full of cash. It was just another movie, no more exciting or eventful than any other film set.

Until the cops showed up.

It was an unlucky coincidence. Had John visited me on any other day, he would’ve come and gone without incident as he had before. But he just so happened to be on my set during the very day that I was first raided by the L.A. vice squad. When John saw the cops come storming through the door, his face went as white as a sheet.

He was rounded up with the other actors. The cops recognized him but didn’t let on. He asked for a moment alone with me, and we retreated to a corner to confer in private.

“You have to get me out of here,” he whispered.

“I’ll do what I can,” I said. “I don’t have too much pull with the LAPD.”

I walked back over to Como and explained the situation to him. I didn’t need to give him a list of Frankenheimer’s credits.

“I know who he is,” Como said. “He’s the
Manchurian Candidate
director, right? What the hell is he doing on a porn set?”

“It’s a long story,” I said. “He’s scouting locations and doing research for a new film. He isn’t involved in any of this. Any chance you can cut him a break?”

Como sighed as he considered what to do. We both knew that he could easily nail John just for being there. But it might also hurt the city’s case against us. If word got out that a mainstream director was associating with a porno production, it would only legitimize us. We couldn’t as easily be vilified as a criminal operation if we had too many famous friends.

Photographic Insert II

Famous Friends

With Samuel L. Jackson and some gal backstage during a commercial for the MTV Movie Awards.

Keith Richards and me at Musso and Frank’s Restaurant (Keith was meeting with Johnny Depp).

With Rick James (R.I.P.) outside the China Club in L.A.