Porn Free
by michael dare
Count me among those fools who created a website, put it up, and just hoped
that people would find it. Doesn’t happen. You’ve got to get other sites
to link to you, or announce yourself to all the search engines, before
you get any guests.
Once
your page is attached to the search engines, you never know who is going
to show up. The search engines have spiders that crawl through your site
with a magnifying glass, alerting the searcher to every single noun you’ve
had the audacity to post. People find you because they were looking for
alien, and you happen to use the word alienate somewhere.
Links
work best, and I wanted one from the WGA, which I got on the new member’s
sites page. Now people find me who are in the industry and looking for
writers. At the bottom of each page on my site, there is a letter getting
stuffed into an envelope, and if you click on it, you’re automatically
sending me e-mail. I’ve gotten a lot of them, from God knows who, including
one recent one from a director who admired one of my scripts. Turns out
he’s doing a non-union porno gig in town next week. Would I like to come
to one of the shoots?
I’ve
never been asked by a director to attend a porno shoot, which explains
my immediate lack of a prepared response. A legal pad appeared in my head:
on the left, all the reasons to go, on the right, all the reasons not to
go. They all added up to a big Why not?
A
street in Laurel Canyon. Don’t ask me which one or I’ll have to kill you.
Lots of street parking, suburban neighborhood, big houses, all quiet except
for the one with the truck parked in the driveway and the ten cars parked
in front.
There’s
a woman sitting at the truck. She takes one look at me and says “This is
the place. Go on in.”
Big
living room, walls covered in Renaissance art, a little alcove to the side,
a crew is set up and shooting but I can’t see what. I look around. There’s
a monitor set up, a guy watching it, others walking around, I look at the
monitor. Is THAT what’s going on in the other room? How come I didn’t notice?
I move closer and my suspicions are confirmed. What is going on in the
monitor is precisely what is going on in the other side of the room.
They are both pretty good looking, both totally naked, both women, both
all over each other doing dialogue. Turns out they do all the dialogue
first, saving the actual sex for the end of the day. The actors just want
to get it over with and get it on, but the director wants them to do little
things like remember their lines while constantly flashing each other and
the camera. If one of them were doing to me what they’re doing to each
other, I wouldn’t be able to remember my lines either.
The
guy next to the monitor keeps calling out to the director how much time
there is left on the tape. Apparently not enough so the director never
cuts, just keeps saying “keep it rolling, do it again.”
When
the tape runs out, he takes a break, notices me, and we meet. He invites
me to watch the playback. I follow him, and so do the two actresses, who
stand on either side of me watching the screen, giggling, totally naked,
smoking cigarettes. They’re glistening with perspiration. I can feel their
heat. One of them starts spraying herself with perfume, her belly just
inches away. I watch her and I try to figure out whether this is one of
things on the left or the right side of the legal pad.
After
viewing the tape, giving it his blessing, and giving instructions for the
next set-up, he introduces me around. The crew are all professionals who
don’t give a hoot or amateurs who are doing their damnedest. Just as I’m
wondering what it’s like to be on such a crew, one veteran explains to
me that the crew never gets laid. I suppose that answers my question.
During the next break, the director shows me the script and asks me if I’d like to write one. Pays about $1,500 upon acceptance. Years ago I would have jumped on this, but now I’m in the WGA. I start thinking about what fake name I would have to use. For some reason the name Andy Lusiandog pops into my head just because nobody will get it. I ponder the irony of the fact that the very first gig I am ever offered as a result of my link to the WGA site is non-union.
He tells me about other union guys who do this, including a porno version of a popular TV show that was written by the actual writers of the show. The union would boot us all out if they ever found out, but that $1,500 sounds pretty good. Do I forsake my fellow writers in the quest to feed my children by writing a script that will actually get shot instead of languishing on my bookshelf with all the others? This demands serious consideration.
Porno films are always satirizing popular films, I tell myself. I like satirizing popular films. A title pops into my head. I ask the director “How about Men in Black Women?” He immediately digs it, pictures it, we gab, and in five minutes we’ve worked out the whole picture. All black women are aliens from another planet and the only way you can tell is to screw them. He offers me the opportunity to play the Rip Torn part.
Back to work, and it’s finally time for the actual sex when two cops enter the front door. Just as I’m picturing how I’m going to explain this to whoever bails me out, the producer walks up to them and says “Hi guys, how yuh doing?” They’ve met before.
Turns out they’re not cops but fire marshals. They’ve gotten a complaint from neighbors and need to see the shooting permits, which are immediately shown. Standard stuff. Apparently this house is used for this purpose all the time, the neighbors don’t like what’s going on and make complaints. This time they complained that the crew was taking up all the parking spaces, which is obviously not true. Other than the cars parked right in front of the house, the whole street is vacant.
Their job is done but they don’t leave. They hang out in the living room for the next two hours and watch the two actresses get it every which way from Mr. Talent. And they say civil servants have it bad.
Finally, it’s a wrap. The director promises to invite me to the premiere and I head home for my computer.
I type “Men in Black Women” at the top of the page, then my mind wanders. I saw the film long ago and barely remember it. How can I write this? I stare at the blank page, and I remember that this is more than an offer to write a movie, it’s an offer to play a part and potentially get blown in a movie. My mind wanders further. I picture it. I’m the head of an agency that has to seek out black women and destroy the ones who are trying to take over the planet. Would I have to have sex? In front of the camera? Well, I suppose it’s up to me. After all, I am the writer.
Or am I? Can I write this? Of course I can, I can write anything. The question is, can I sell it? What if they don’t buy it? It’s hard to imagine any other market for this cracked idea. No, if I write it, I’m writing it for them. The director told me he doesn’t need a treatment, just a script. He’ll give it to the video company, and as soon as they approve, we’re off.
Nobody’s paying me. It’s just like every other writing gig in Hollywood - do all the work for free and if we like it we’ll pay you. Maybe it’s just my stubborn background in journalism, but I like the idea of “assignments” where you KNOW you’re going to get paid.
If I’m not getting paid, I write what I damn well feel like writing. I’d like my resume to be porn free. I erase “Men in Black Women” and type “Porn Free.” I keep typing until right about now.
Emulsional Problems
