Boy next door

If Ron Jeremy, the subject of Scott J. Gill’s documentary Porn Star: The Legend of Ron Jeremy, did not exist, somebody on Saturday Night Live would probably have invented him. Short, pudgy, homely, with a receding chin and hair pretty much everywhere, he nevertheless has the dubious distinction of being one of the most durable performers in the porn industry, appearing in, as near as he can remember, some 1,600 porn films in 27 years. And he’s durable in more ways than one: for one video gig, Jeremy reportedly had sex with 14 women in four hours—a feat that Jeremy’s co-workers describe in the hushed, reverent tones baseball fans use when talking about Don Larson’s perfect game in the 1956 World Series.

Born Ronald Jeremy Hyatt, he dropped the last name when he got involved in porn; Jeremy’s father, who is otherwise bemused by and tolerant of his son’s career, asked him not to drag the family name into that line of work. Jeremy’s—ahem—entry into the field of dirty movies came when a girlfriend, without his knowledge, sent a nude photo of 20-year-old Ronnie Hyatt to Playgirl Magazine’s “Boy Next Door” feature. So spectacular was Ronnie’s endowment that—like Mark Wahlberg’s character in Boogie Nights—the porn industry came looking for him.

What made Ron Jeremy such a success—besides his endowment and endurance—is his very homeliness, even in his younger and trimmer days. Ordinary guys identify with him, he says. “When they see a schlub like me getting laid, they know there’s hope for them too.” That kind of honesty is what makes Jeremy, in spite of everything, more than a little likeable.

Jeremy’s self-delusions, on the other hand, make him a little pathetic, too. His original plan of making just one or two porn films for the money, then pursuing a career as a serious actor, has long since fallen by the wayside, yet he still thinks there’s a chance. “I’d much rather be making a Spielberg movie, if you want to know the truth.” (Well, if you want to know the truth, Ron, that’ll probably never happen.) Jeremy has managed to do a few mainstream movies—mainly bit parts in things like Killing Zoe and Detroit Rock City—but his friends say he has been cut out of many others because of his hard-core notoriety. The film also shows Jeremy taking a shot at stand-up comedy (“Every girl should use this finger to masturbate with, and you know why? Because it’s mine.”). His efforts are dismissed even by his old friend Al Lewis (the original Grandpa Munster): “He has no material, he has no presence, and he has no presentation.”

Gill touches only briefly on the pathetic end of Jeremy’s story, however—including fleeting references to Jeremy’s loneliness and inability to sustain a personal relationship. Jeremy blames the lack of a relationship on his lifestyle, but whether the lifestyle simply provides him with an excuse is a question neither Jeremy nor Gill seem inclined to explore. For the most part, Porn Star revels in Jeremy’s life and experience just as much as he does himself. For every hint that Jeremy’s life might not be perfect, Gill shows us 20 shots of drooling 20-something men saying things like, “Ron Jeremy is my idol, man, he’s like da king!” For every shot (and there are several) of Jeremy schlepping alone through airports, his belongings crammed into plastic grocery bags (a well-known tightwad, he’s too cheap to buy a suitcase), there are a dozen interviews with co-stars with names like Seymore Butts and Anita Cannibal testifying to his life-of-the-party esteem.

And let’s not forget all those scenes from Jeremy’s long career; Gill is generous with those. In fact, Porn Star devotes so much of its 80-minute running time to them that Gill must think we don’t know what a porn star does for a living.

In a way, though, Gill may be performing a service. Men can go to Porn Star pretending it’s journalism—the way they used to buy Playboy for the articles, or thumb through Coronet Magazine or the National Geographic looking for skin.