“Twilight of the Porn Stars”: The Forgotten Victims of Adult Entertainment?

At five years old I was invited to my friend James’ birthday party at the local community centre. Comrades though we may have been in the playground (he would let me trade conquers with him at absolute steal prices), poor James wasn’t one to push boundaries and his shindig was distinctly vanilla. He’d opted to hire the in-vogue children’s clown, Mr Biscuit, who seemed to crop up at the lower school’s bashes just as frequently as cocktail sausages and Ribena. Don’t get me wrong; he was a natural. Holding a gaggle of 30 sugared up and boisterous rugrats riveted was no sweat, and juggling the party hats he’d just swiped off the front row a complete doddle. Sagaciously sensing that James’ get together had peaked with Biscuit’s signature miming bit, when he sloped off out of the centre at the close of his set I thought I’d tail him. I’m no psychologist, but I’m unshakable in that what I saw in the car park outside put a pronounced and caustic stopper in my childhood: Mr Biscuit, as it turned out, drove a Volvo; Mr Biscuit owned a mobile, talked with a Brummie accent and had a wife whom he called “pet”. And worst of all, Mr Biscuit’s gigantic smile and Simpson-hue came off with a face wipe.

Since that earth-shattering day fifteen years ago I guess I’ve always staunchly believed that some performers, primarily those whose charm lies in being outlandishly irrealizable, should keep their masks on in public spheres. Is the rapport between enigmatic performer and audience not desecrated if five minutes after the curtain call the former is plonked on Daybreak’s sofa declaring the tricks of their trade? On these grounds I was initially reluctant to tune into Monday’s BBC2 documentary “Louis Theroux: Twilight of the Porn Stars”; its premise of tailing the pornographic industry’s stars (who are often, ahem, larger than life on screen) ran contrary to my Mr Biscuit-inspired convictions. That said, this week’s headlines featuring the Deputy Children’s Commissioner’s chastisement of the porn industry, for the way it has desensitized aggressive sexual content amongst children, made me reconsider. I’m one for the feeblest of underdogs (fingers crossed for England tonight), and imagined Theroux’s show as one giving the sympathetic, insightful side of the porn biz. What the Beeb in fact offered was a distinctly less binary, decidedly humanistic take on the bursting of the porn bubble industry and, critically, what it means for those who work and live inside of it.

Adult admin: Fran shared her views on the industry

From square one the doc stressed the demise of the porn industry in recent times thanks to the advent of triple-X loaded internet content. Surprisingly, Theroux’s team pinpointed the spiritless, weary team behind the lens prior to picking apart the stars themselves- a bold move, and one that signaled this documentary’s unwillingness to merely make spectacles of adult performers. At the headquarters of a leading talent agency for aspiring pornographic models, Theroux grilled the CEO’s secretary, Fran, about why she never filled in hopeful talent about what a life as a porn star would mean: “I would take three-quarters of the girls out of the business.” Fran perched at her desk like any condescending pen-pusher, asserting that porn “f**ks with the heads” of girls before greeting an amateur model with a toothy grin and a hefty pay packet. At a shoot in San Fernando Valley, the “capital of porn”, crew members were shot with smartphones in hands, supposedly more interested in checking their home screens than the grunts and moans of their subjects (I know Google Maps is a jaw-dropper, boys, but really?). It was in these segments that Theroux’s uncommon talent as an objective documenter came to the fore; his presence provoked no pretense of professionalism or spotlight-vying, but instead his softly-softness and apparent reticence helped him blend seamlessly into the background. That said, at a later and “lower-end” shoot Theroux shifted momentarily out of his studied fly on the wall persona. When the male lead, Tony, became “spooked” by the thought of what he was caught up in and was handed viagra nonchalantly by a set-worker, Theroux’s astonishment was palpable. Probing the drug-baring employee just enough, he was sagely told “the penis is a very tricky animal” and handed the inside-scoop on the hostility towards the internet held by the industry’s workers. Theroux showcased his natural intuition and flexibility as a reporter: quite content to let the material speak for itself but ready to prod it into dialogue if called to. The show shined most fixedly on those behind the camera when it dropped in on producer Rob Black, an industry insider previously famed for his unorthodoxly violent subject matter. Theroux had first encountered Black when filming his first foray into porn-documentaries in ’97, and since that time Black had been convicted of obscenity and toned down his output. “It’s acceptable to watch pornography” he affirmed stubbornly, before giving Theroux a run-down of his latest, parody-based adult flick “IRON MAN” (which, he assured a comically bemused Theroux, is “f**king fabulous). Despite Black’s gargantuan personality and steadfast pride in his work, Theroux was careful to be the voice of piercing reason: “they’ve tamed you, haven’t they?” Black could have screamed himself hoarse about his recent films being “evolved” and less “silly” than older work; Theroux was dogged with the idea that Black had fallen victim to the burnout of the industry and made it non-negotiable that his viewers think the same.

“Twilight of the Porn Stars”, as I’ve said, refused to deride the adult models it followed. Rather, Monday’s show presented them as curiously complex, slippery characters. During another revisit Theroux was reunited with J.J. Michaels, a newcomer to the scene in 1997 who had born a blasé attitude to the dangers of working in the business. 15 years on, Michaels was found a married I.T. worker who prophesied the total ruin of professional pornography before 2020. Nicole Richie’s post-baby taming is nothing compared to J.J.’s turnaround. Michaels pondered that he had only become invested in making adult films due the death of his son and a consequent reckless attitude to life, and Theroux’s dismay at not having unearthed such a nugget during his ’97 research was tangible. The message was glaring; working in porn is a path taken by the mentally unstable, those who have been battered by life in some sense, and not just a means of making a quick buck for the well-endowed. Theroux’s time at the home of “industry veteran” Tommy Gunn cemented the idea. Gunn contended that being a pornographic model can wreak peculiar emotional havoc when performers come to crave longer-lasting affection with their costars: “you do have a heart and it does show its face.” Shrewdly sensing he was on to something, Theroux followed up with an on-set visit. Whilst his bubbly blonde counterpart, Tash, bumbled around and giggled with the crew, Gunn intimated that the filming wasn’t such a casual matter for him: “would these girls be f**king me if they weren’t being paid to do it?” As Gunn admitted he fell “in love” with Tasha momentarily mid-set Theroux once more flaunted his readiness to delve into thornily awkward subject matter: “she doesn’t seem that interested in you.” The comment was bang-on with what we were all thinking at home, put candidly and without a whiff of bungling reserve. During the house call footage of Michaels and Gunn producers deemed it worthwhile to include scenes which saw the former boast of his “progressive power-thrash metal” music and the latter’s ambitions to direct a zombie film. For me, these smacked of conceited editing. Were we to decide unshakably that the pair were that shade more screwed up for having oddball hobbies? Given the comparative subtlety and skill of Theroux’s conversations thus far it was a smidge shameful to throw in content so lucidly guiding.

Another day at the office: Stefania and Tony denied any off-screen attraction

The doc achieved cohesion when Theroux, seemingly inspired by Gunn’s thoughts about intimacy between pornography costars, made on-screen and off-screen relationships a particular focal point. When the aforementioned “spooked” Tony had gotten his act together and done the deed(s, presumably), he and fellow star Stefania faced probing on their chemistry following Theroux’s observation that they just “clicked”: “You’re so funny!” Stefania insisted, right before hopping in the shower with a distinctly more relaxed Tony. Theroux’s befuddlement was priceless; it was conceivably at this stage that the gulf between documenter and documented was at its most marked, and this contrast alone made for enthralling telly. Theroux’s two visits to couple Cagney and Monty provided an additional spin on the biz’s relationship impacts. Monty explained his role as full-time assistant and beau to model girlfriend Cagney, as he nonchalantly wiped down the kitchen sides whilst she staged a “live-show” in the next room. Theroux became involved more assuredly than at any other time with this pair, sensing Monty’s misgivings about his other half partaking in a “five-man shoot” and stoking the flames. “Monty has a really good life,” Cagney attested, “that I provide for.”

Honest: the widow of a late porn star broke down to Theroux

Across his meetings Theroux was plagued by the memory of a one John Dowe: a performer he had met in 1997 who had since committed suicide. For the documentary’s culmination, Theroux tracked down Dowe’s widow, Monique, and their child. Gladly, “Twilight of the Porn Stars” here atoned for its questionable Michaels and Gunn editing; Monique’s conviction that her husband’s death was down to drug-taking and being “broken” and not directly to working in pornography may not have accorded with the earlier drive that porn is mentally destructive, but its inclusion nonetheless gave the entire documentary previously compromised objectivity and authenticity. Indeed, Theroux’s closing insistence that the industry “is more demoralized [than in ’97] and still taking the privacy of its cohorts” was pacified with his opinion that “porn is also a refuge” that “could also occasionally surprise with its tenderness”; ultimately, he gave viewers the option to forge their own assumptions.

At the end of it all, Theroux swerved of the issue of whether pornography should be so readily available on the net, as well as that of its morality. Instead, Theroux extended and complicated the debate; might the overlooked stars and producers of pornography not need every inch as much help as their viewers? My bet is that next week some lengthily titled minister will submit their report deploring the industry’s effect on its visionaries, and calling for porn stars worldwide to be taken into people’s hearts. Maybe.