Sunday, 3 September 2017

So Sad When A Vile Person Dies

I've lost a few friends and acquaintances this past few weeks. Dear Charley Marouani, Barbara's manager and the man who opened so many doors for me...when Charley died, part of me died with him. Jeanne Moreau. Mireille Darc. And poor Ludovic Chancel, who was not blessed with the nicest of mothers.

I cry when those whom I care about die. Occasionally, though, there is the demise that makes by heart beat wildly with joy, when I am able to shout out, 'Thank God for that!' Today was one of those occasions. An occasion when Mrs. B and Master B shouted 'Thank God for that!' in unison.

I will not mention the name of this hideously vituperative female who has curled her toes in foreign climes, save that she was older than us, and that Cocteau may hold the clue, though bonne she certainly was not. This creature created a furore a few years ago by writing that, not only was I languishing in jail, but that Mrs. B was in fact my mother, and that our son was autistic because he was the product of an incestuous relationship. Therefore am I glad that she is dead? You bet I am!

Only yesterday I was checking through Death List 2017. This is a list of fifty personages predicted to cash in their chips this year. Many of them are very old, therefore it's inevitable that the Grim Reaper is prowling around their boudoir. Some are not. As of yesterday, ten of the fifty have departed this life.

Two years ago, my Death Wish List amounted to just seven names, As of today, only three remain. Karma has been very kind to me of late. Let's hope that she keeps up her good work...

Monday, 17 July 2017

RIP Ludovic Chancel, Maligned By His Pop Star Mother

Ludovic Chancel took his own life two weeks ago. He was just forty-two, and leaves behind a wife and two young children.

He was the son of the French pop songstress Sheila, of whom Marlene Dietrich observed, "She wiggles her backside and sucks on the microphone, and tells everyone she's famous. What she doesn't say is that she doesn't have any talent!"

I might disagree with my friend there. Sheila did have talent, but as a mother she left a great deal to be desired, and she made Ludo's life a living hell. When she found out that he was bisexual, she disowned him and he went through a very bad patch indeed. Only last year she was saying that she would never wish to have anything to do with him again.

Like myself, Ludo fought back. He and I had much in common, almost parallel lives. We knew each other. He detailed his struggles with a bad parent in his book, Fils de... I chose a stronger title: Old Bastard. I was lucky in that my old man curled his toes, not that there is anything in there that I wouldn't have said to his face, and indeed him and his horrendous second wife.

There's a lot more that I could say about Ludo here, and a lot more I could say about Sheila. She's getting all the sympathy, whereas Ludo's wife and children appear to have been overlooked. My son was a fan, but his Sheila records have now gone in the bin. I would define Sheila, and in no way is this litigious, as the second most repulsive female who has entered my world. Karma, though, has a nasty habit of biting you on the bum. Ludo never mentioned his mother while in our company, and though Sheila claims that they made up and put their differences behind them some time ago, others firmly believe...and have stated openly in the press...that there was no contact between them for seven years.

Now, I hope that this dear chap, wherever he is, has found the peace he never managed to find in this life.

RIP, Ludo.

Friday, 7 July 2017

Casey Donovan: Pioneering Gay Porn Legend: Edinburgh Festival 1979

In 1979 we attended the Edinburgh Festival with our friends Marian Montgomery and Richard Rodney Bennett. Sitting at the dinner table, one of thirty people, was this very handsome American man who looked like he had stepped straight out of a fashion catalogue. Marian introduced us, not just to him but to around a dozen others. I never thought about until some years later when I was made aware that the pretty blond was Casey Donovan, in Edinburgh as part of a group to promote the prize-winning film, "Gal Young Un". So we met gay porn's pioneering legend without even knowing who he was! Later on we met Ryan Idol, Karen Dior, and of course Joey Stefano and a few others. All of them absolute legends.

Casey's story is now published:

“I think my greatest accomplishment so far is something that doesn't show up in lights or get reviewed - and that's simply the sexual sanity that I have tried to contribute to over the last twenty years.”
   This was Casey Donovan, speaking in 1983, four years before his untimely death.
   Born John Calvin Culver, he was a pioneer and will eternally remain amongst the elite of the adult film industry. Yet he was more than just a porn star. As a hustler par excellence his clients included movie stars, senators, European royalty, and ordinary fans. The love of his life was the tough-guy actor Tom Tryon, who treated him badly. His other famous lovers included Rock Hudson, Paul Newman, and Superman actor Christopher Reeve.
   Casey scored successes on the legitimate stage—Tubstrip toured for two years and packed theatres across North America. He acted opposite Ingrid Bergman, and played Jesus Christ in an avant-garde production of Shakespeare’s Merchant of Venice. As a “tour guide” he escorted well-heeled clients to exotic locations. As an “agony uncle”, he eloquently responded to fans’ letters for four years in Stallion magazine. It is for his contribution to the cinema, however, that he was revered. He shot to fame in Boys in the Sand in 1971, the very first gay porno feature film as opposed to the tawdry “loops” of the day. He triumphed in Radley Metzger’s Score, made heterosexual porn films, and remained at the top of his profession for fifteen years, a long time in the world of adult film.
   Away from the screen, Casey was the unassuming boy-next-door. On film nothing was too exhibitionist or outrageous for him to tackle. Published to commemorate the thirtieth anniversary of his death, this is his amazing story. It includes full details of his twenty-seven films and ten theatrical runs, and more than fifty photographs.

Saturday, 17 June 2017

Is Owen Jones An Enemy Of The State?

Without Prejudice
Personally, I think that he is. This man's behaviour since the general election, and particularly in the wake of the Grenfell Tower tragedy, has been nothing short of reprehensible.

We don't yet know how many people perished in that fire. We don't know exactly how it started, or who is responsible. This is why they are holding a public enquiry, while the tabloids speculate about exploding fridges and illegal cladding.

Owen Jones blames the tragedy on the government...not the one who was in power when the flats were built, but the one who is in power now. He has launched a campaign to oust our elected Prime Minister, Theresa May. As Alex Deane said just now on the news, the "Owen Jones" of this world are in so many words accusing Mrs. May of arson.

Owen Jones is a revolutionary. He has always been possessed of two non-qualities: an over-sized ego, and a head the size of a gasometer. And with a mouth to match. He is a Labour supporter, therefore to his blinkered way of thinking, anything the Conservatives do is tantamount to heinous crime.

He has been organising rallies and protests left, right and centre. Yesterday there was one outside a church, for goodness' sake. Today, he has reached the zenith of puerility. After gurning while clutching a "clean up" feather duster, he has advertised a protest he has organised to take place in Downing Street. "Bring your families and friends," he pleaded. So yes, the reward for dozens of people dying in a fire...the recompense for THEIR families and friends, is Owen Jones' Family Outing. I'm surprised this odious little man didn't set up a stall selling popcorn.

But his protest did not end there. Adding to the unwanted mayhem, and I don't doubt to the grief of those families who were invited to Number 10 today, was a pathetic sideshow within which a hideous drag-queen was "singing" seditious songs about Theresa May to a whooping, I should say inebriated crowd. What a pity that this loathsome creature did not topple of its high-heels and break its neck.

I confess that Mrs. May took her time speaking to relatives of those lost in the tragedy, but this does not mean that she was not thinking about them, that her heart is in the right place and that she was working behind the scenes to help them. She has only just one week ago emerged from a general election. She had just returned from official duties in France, and was putting together a cabinet. Owen Jones' mouth may be all over the place right now, but Mrs. May can only do one thing at a time.

I don't doubt that Mr. Jones will keep up his vile campaigning, just as I do not doubt that this will lead to a great deal of civil unrest in the coming weeks on account of this modern-day Jack Cade with a mouth and ego the size of Wales, and few grey cells governing. I am certain that any day now we will be turning on the news to see our hard-stretched police forces out in droves, clutching shields and wielding batons while being attacked by yobs who are daft enough to listen to this mouthy clown.

Let's hope then that someone arrests him before then.

Thursday, 11 May 2017

The Sun "Newspaper" and "Benidorm": Reaching A New Level of Stupidity

The Sun newspaper, aka The Katie Price & McCann Hourly News, has plunged to the nether depths of stupidity once more.

On Benidorm, that wonderful character Joyce Temple Savage, played by the equally wonderful Sherrie Hewson, observed of a high-pitched, not very handsome karaoke singer that he had "the voice of a thirteen-year-old girl and a face like a dropped pie." We all roared with laughter at the series' funniest episode yet.

Now, the Sun~famed for digging the dirt on recently-deceased celebrities, and hounding the likes of Justin Fashanu to suicide but for writing persistent bullshit about missing children's grieving families, talentless women with big tits who have had more men than Mary Millington, and druggie soap-stars who really do have faces like dropped pies~is accusing Benidorm of mocking disabled people. "They are mocking people with cleft palates," barks Paul Revoir.

Mr. Revoir~might I suggest it should be au-revoir~clearly belongs to that school of "journalists" who would be incapable of writing their initials in the snow. Sherrie Hewson was doing no such thing, you silly gawp! Neither she nor the millions of viewers would have noticed "the cleft palate" if you hadn't pointed it out~ and don't you think the actor doing the crooning would have been shown the script?

So, why don't you stick to writing about what you know? Which happens to be not much...

Sunday, 7 May 2017

UK Tabloid Obsessions: Writing Rubbish About Trashy Celebs While Ignoring Real Stories About Real Criminals

The Mail, The Sun, The Mirror and The Daily Star are all guilty of obsession with people that they label stars, whether these be criminals, drug addicts, faded soap stars, or reality trash.

There is the former glamour model (I use the term lightly) who will doubtless die, aged 47, when her implants explode, and whose six husbands and coterie of lovers will squabble over which of them will be her pallbearers.

There is the junkie soap star whose face looks like it's been run over by a bus, and who has been in and out of rehab more times than Jock Strap had his willy inside Mary Millington.

There is the never-ending saga of the missing child, which will go on until Stephen Hawkins' end-of-humanity prediction occurs. From where I'm sitting, at least two journalists are employed full-time scribbling about this.

There is the "romance" between the tattooed Irishman and his lush, both of them so thick that they wear C & A undies so they know which way to put them on.

There is the footballer who has been in more clinics than Doctor Spock, and who will end his days face-down in a pool of vomit after one tipple too many.

There is the hideously ugly American sportsperson who does not know if they are male or female, or something in between, and who has spawned the latest accessory: transgenderism. So daft that kids of five want to have a go

On and on it goes...

Now, we have a "Let's pick on Rolf Harris" day, which of course will go on for weeks until he dies, whence we will get a wealth of "Rot In Hell" headlines.

In the UK, we have laws. Nobody serves a full prison term unless they are murdering maniacs. Mr. Harris is about to be released, having served his term and behaved himself, to look after his dying wife. The tabloids are baying for his blood. They want him and two very nice footballers who happened to use their cocks instead of their brains (but on whose side I will always be) to be dragged to some modern-day Tyburn and strung up.

Whatever Mr. Harris did was years ago. I am hard put to remember some of the things that happened to me in 1975, but these "victims" of course can remember every little detail. Why they wait such a long time to jump onto the bandwagon is another matter. I would suggest it's not justice they want, but money.

It's okay for the British tabloids to victimise old men who are in no position to fight back, and to write thoroughly pointless "exclusives" on any of the above which appear at an hourly rate on their on-line pages...but what about all the REAL stories that they are covering up? Why don't they have the guts to employ journalists to write stories that might have some impact on our society--such as reporting criminals, paedophiles and the like, that they are well aware of, and that they have known about for some time? Criminals that are active, ere we speak. They knew all about Jimmy Savile. And who in their right mind is going to believe that silly story of how Rolf Harris shoved his hand inside a television presenter's knickers, on live television and while an entire crew was standing around?

Why don't our tabloids NAME the felons who are known to them, and who are doing damage to our children and young people NOW instead of decades ago? Why do they wait until they are dead to hold an enquiry?

There's a simple answer to this. They don't have the guts.

Wednesday, 19 April 2017

Joey Stefano: My Doubts About The Biopic

Let me begin by saying that I am NOT against the Joey Stefano biopic, the brainchild of Chad Darnell, said to be "in pre-preduction". As Joey's biographer, however, I feel qualified and entitled to have my say.

First of all, like the biopics of Montgomery Clift, Ramon Novarro and Diana Dors, that have also been "on the stocks" for years, I cannot see Joey Stefano: The Movie ever seeing the light of day. The scripts for Monty, Ramon and Diana all contain wall-to-wall men and sex, and this was NOT what they were about. Likewise the proposed project about Joey, which is not based on any book in particular, but on interviews with some of his "friends".

There is a misconception that, because Joey was a gay porn star, that his life comprised a 26-year-long saga of sex, drugs, and seediness. It did not. Regarding the drugs, he was no better/no worse than many of the rock and movie stars of his generation. Regarding the sex, he was promiscuous on the screen because this was his job. Away from the screen he had many less lovers than most of his so-called legitimate film contemporaries. I would even say that in my time, even I had more than him. Away from the screen he was a decent man, and not some mincing queen. There are even those today who claim that he was not even gay, but straight and gay-for-pay. I wouldn't go that far, but having met him I can avow that he was an extremely manly man, very much in the stamp of Rock Hudson. At the time of his death, he was engaged to be married to a woman he had known for years.

We will always be grateful to Chi Chi LaRue for launching Joey's career, to Madonna for making his name just that little bit more international, and to the likes of Karen Dior (Geoff Gann). I spent some time with her in Chicago, and she told me some wonderful anecdotes about Joey during which we laughed and cried. These people have my utmost respect.

What worries me are anecdotes from the likes of Doug Smith, a hustler friend of Joey's of whom I will say, "With friends like him, who needs enemies?" Smith would not be able to lie straight in bed. To be honest, I thought he would have self-destructed by now. He told the story of how Joey called him one day, and during the course of their chat just happened to mention that he was HIV positive." I never believed this for one minute. The story continued that Joey wrote out a list of "grievances" and gave this to his last lover, Alberto Shayo. One of the items listed was "HIV Positive!", with an exclamation mark. Here's what I wrote about this:
As previously stated, there is considerable doubt relating to Joey’s supposed casual admission over the phone to Doug Smith back in 1990 that he had been HIV positive—and the fact that he appears to have told no one else. Such secrets, shared with gossipy individuals, rarely remain secrets for long. But had Joey been tested recently? And if so, and if he had tested positive for real this time, would Alberto Shayo have reacted to such an admission from his lover with apparent indifference, having slept with him? One very much doubts this.
   “Joey bottomed most of the time in his work because this was what had been expected of him,” Karen Dior said. “Away from the camera, he was versatile. He liked to be the one on top because he hardly ever did this on film.”
   In other words, had Joey been HIV-positive, any partner might have been put at risk having sex with him, but more so the passive partner. Yet Alberto Shayo is not on record as having panicked about Joey’s admission, therefore one may assume that he never took this item on his list seriously, and neither should we.

It's probably against protocol, I know, but I contacted the hospital where Joey died (he did NOT die in a motel room) and, after some wrangling, managed to get out of them the contents of his death certificate. He was NOT HIV positive.

There are other stories told about Joey, mostly by Smith, which I accuse them of making up:

One anecdote recounts that Joey was slumped on the staircase of a four-star hotel, with a needle in his arm, and that blood was streaming down this and on to the stairs...moreover that guests were walking past him, oblivious to this. Really?

Another states that Joey was slumped on the pavement outside a New York bar, and that he had called a "lover" in New Jersey to say that he taken an overdose and was dying. According to the lover, he drove to New York and found him still on the pavement, three hours later. Absolute bullshit! If the story was true, didn't any of the hundreds of people who walked by notice anything? Then I checked up on the story. On that very day, Joey was IN New Jersey, shooting a film, and he was hale and hearty.

Then there is the unpleasant anecdote related by someone who is said to have been interviewed for the Joey biopic. The fact that a report came in to the Advocate that Joey had committed suicide by slashing his wrists at the Days Inn, on 1 January 1994, his birthday. I called the Days In, and was told that Doug Smith had called them to say that Joey had called him, to announce his death...that the receptionist had called an ambulance, only to find Joey sitting alone in his room, feeling despondent because he hated his birthday, which was also the birthday of his father who had sexually abused him as a child. One week after this supposed event, Joey shot About This Night, insisting that the cameraman zoom in on his wrists to prove that Smith had made up the story in a drugs-induced haze. There are no scars.

The worst treatment of Joey by these so-called friends occurred during the last days of his short life. He was staying at the La Brea Motel, and according to one story was discovered TWICE by these people, unconscious and with needles sticking out of his arm. And what did they do...summon help? No, they left him there knowing that he might die, according to one story. If this is true, then in my opinion they should have been questioned by the police and held accountable for their actions. Save that the story of the first "drugs overdose" is NOT true, for when Joey was supposed to be slumped in the shower after taking an overdose, he was actually on the phone to a mutual friend of ours, said to be quite chirpy. Sadly, the second part of their story IS true, and the fact that they all went off shopping...that the man who sold him the drugs, apparently well-known to them, absconded and got away with it. Had they got Joey to the hospital, he would have been saved...not that he mightn't have done the same again at a later date, with the same end result, had he not received the treatment he obviously needed. We shall sadly never know.

Is this then the scenario that is to be transferred to the big screen, one which will relay the message to the world that Joey Stefano was not a nice young man, extant of the raunchy sex-machine we see in his films...but a dirty, perverted, neurotic, hopeless, drug-addicted loser?

If so, let us hope that this project will be assigned to oblivion. If not, then I wish Mr. Darnell all the luck in the world and when it appears will swallow the biggest chunk of humble-pie known to man.

Also we are yet to learn, after NINE years, who is going to be playing Joey Stefano. All that we know so far is that for one of the parts, an "actor" has been hired who goes by the name of Alaska Thunderfuck. Imagine that on the billboards!

Heaven Have Mercy!