UNDERNEATH IT ALL

Traci Lords

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Matt jerked off in the 80's...

There are few things as disappointing as a repentant ex-porn star. Given the opportunity to reflect on a life in the adult movie business, one should smile and make no apologies rather than lash out with anger and regret. The biggest contrast to Traci Lords' new memoir is the film Porn Star: The Legend of Ron Jeremy. That film features a gleeful, charming porn star with no illusions about his life or work, but also no self-pity and sense of shame. One ends up liking Jeremy because he is so completely himself. Lords, on the other hand, can find only disgust with her former life, believing the porn business to be emotionally crippling and dangerously exploitive. As she says near the end of her story, "I believe hard-core porn is desensitizing to the viewer and that it objectifies its performers." Notice the inclusion of "hard-core" to her criticism. She must add this loaded term lest she be labeled a hypocrite for continuing to make money from displaying her physical charms. I guess for her it is perfectly acceptable to make money and secure fame by defining one's self as a set of tits, so long as those tits aren't covered with jizz. Her self-righteous stance, at this stage of the game, comes of as silly given that the book itself is loaded with half-naked pictures of Traci and dozens of come-hither glances. She's still selling sex and she still hopes we're buying.

It is this reality that leads me to believe that more than an opportunity to "heal," this memoir is yet another slick business move. If any theme resonates from the book it is a driven careerism; an unending push to secure public exposure. That Lords has kept her porn name as her legal identity is a bit odd given her alleged desire to erase the painful past. Born Nora Kuzma in Steubenville, Ohio, Lords lived the stereotypical life of any woman who ends up chugging cock for a living. Her mother was irresponsible, her father was distant and eventually left the family (not before beating Traci's mother within an inch of her life), she was raped at age ten, and to top it off, was molested by her mother's live-in boyfriend. I do not dispute Traci's story, but it is the stuff of melodrama and as such isn't the most compelling read. Nothing about Traci's rough childhood surprised me and given what she went through, a life other than that of porn star would have been unbelievable. Traci's mother finally moved the clan to California, where Traci ended up in the adult film world after answering an ad for a "model." Lords was an instant success, securing numerous jobs in skin mags and eventually landing the coup of coups -- the centerfold gig in the same Penthouse issue as Miss America Vanessa Williams.

Eventually, of course, Traci started work as a porn star. I was amused (and surprised) to learn that she first had sex on camera with the boyish Tom Byron, who should be familiar to anyone who jerked off in the 1980s. Still, Lords claims that she banged Tom while being unaware that the cameras were rolling, which is of course a lie, and nothing more than her way of avoiding responsibility for her start in porn. Lords doesn't name-drop that much in terms of her porn life, although she mentions Ron Jeremy ("a fleshy hairball") and Christy Canyon ("sweet little pussy"). Lords is quite candid about "the life," what with the heavy cocaine use and rampant alcoholism. I have no doubt that Lords was stoned most of the time she was being filmed, but at this point in her life, such memories strike me as flimsy excuses for her acts. I would have rather she own up to her past, say that she has moved on perhaps, but that porn was not as bad as people think. Hell, she could even admit that she enjoyed it! For every AIDS victim like John Holmes or messy suicide like Savannah, there are dozens of hard-working professionals in the business who simply love sex. Lords doesn't seem to understand that her porn life is the sole reason why anyone currently cares about her and that she should thank the business for helping her have nice cars and lavish homes. Don't bite the hand that fed you, sweetheart.

And Traci might fancy herself an "artist," but having a desire, no matter how strong, does not make it so. Yes, she has gone legitimate in that loads no longer coat her face, but B-movies and cheesy alien shows are hardly Shakespeare in the park. She is still a novelty like Elvira or Ed Wood -- a pop culture curiosity who has no real talent, but someone we'd still like to watch now and again. And now that Lords has become a recording artist in addition to her acting, well, is that not all too typical of American life? Musician, actress, author, poet; why not politics or brain surgery? I have a deep resentment of those who believe they can have it all and "be" something merely because they have the will. Lords continues to trade on her sexuality and this book is nothing more than a desperate attempt to keep the fires of publicity burning. Lords is very sexy to be sure, but such appeal fades with every statement she makes about the "pain" of her upbringing. She might appear at book signings, on Larry King, or even NBC's Dateline, but she will never be mainstream. For all those who have seen her take it from behind, it is a nightmare more hideous than the techno-pop she now performs. She might work with John Waters and Francis Ford Coppola (who produced one of her shows), but she will always be that 15-year-old, wide-eyed innocent who knew her way around a nutsack.

Still, despite the overall tone of regret, the book will interest anyone who wants to relive the 1980s. From references to Poison and Guns N Roses, to the Meese Commission (who eventually raided Traci's home after watching her for two years) and unhinged hedonism, the ride is a fun, if familiar, one. Lords is certainly not the greatest writer (the prose is matter-of-fact and earnest, but lacking any real style), but she does an adequate job of getting her points across. Given that everyone who has ever appeared on camera or recorded an album has seen fit to tell their life story, Lords' contribution is no better or worse than the others. Underneath It All follows the tried-and-true formula of the Hollywood celebrity (rise, fall, redemption), but it isn't boring. It's a quick and easy read that won't win any prizes, but will serve as a well-earned break between your more ambitious summer reads. So yes, Traci has been abandoned, abused, humiliated, betrayed, screwed over, and after it all, is "lucky to be alive" and at bottom, "a survivor." Whatever. Just show me your tits one last time.