Does Anybody Want to Buy a Used Porno Company?

(Excerpt from SKINFLICKS: The Inside Story of the X-Rated Video Industry)

It was a tough time to sell a used porno company. For one
thing, there were a lot of them on the market. Like the cartoon of
a little fish being eaten by a bigger fish being eaten by a huge
fish, Sturman’s Las Vegas “porn emporium” Talk of the Town
gobbled up 4-Play, Masterpiece, Lipstik and Now Showing; then
Sturman’s 300-title Vidco got swallowed by Caballero. (By then,
in l988, Sturman was too busy battling major tax evasion charges
to continue fighting on the video front.)

Superior’s only real assets were a room full of well-used
video hardware and twenty-six adult feature movies. But if the
titles couldn’t keep a small outfit of a half a dozen people in
business, the package wouldn’t add much to bigger companies
that were also struggling.

The offers I got were laughably low. Nobody had any cash
to spend (which is all I would take for the titles), except Jerry
Tanner. The little Israeli called to cuss out the last series of sex scenes I’d sold him: “I throw better stuff away all the time, Daveet.” He asked if I had any more to sell.
“Jerry,” I said. “How’d you like to get the whole works: lock,
stock, and barrel?”

Perspiration rolled down Jerry Tanner’s face. “My wife says
I’m crazy to carry around this much cash.” I discreetly looked
away as he turned the dial of the combination lock on his
briefcase. He opened it to reveal neat stacks of hundred dollar
bills (I promised Jerry I’d never divulge the amount).
We sat on packing crates in my storage vault, away from the
eyes of the crew that was loading Jerry’s rented furniture van
with my nine years of edited masters, camera originals, color
separations, artwork, and cartons of finished VHS and Beta
tapes. I concentrated on the crisp bills Jerry counted out in rows
of ten each on top of a trade show poster for Diary of a Bad Girl
that we were using as a table. Jerry finished counting, sighed,
and mopped his forehead with a sleeve. “You are making the
right move, Daveet. It’s hard to make a buck anymore.” He was
pensive as I filled my own briefcase with the money. “I’ve got to
tough it out,” he said. ” Everything I have is tied up in this business.”

My heart was pounding as I drove to my bank, eyeing every
car around me for thugs waiting to cut me off and demand the
briefcase. I mentally rehearsed pulling Maggie up from the
Corvette’s door pocket. I almost collapsed with relief upon
reaching the bank, where the manager and her assistant ushered
me into a rear suite and took turns solemnly counting out the

Next Post: “You’re Going to Make a Lot of Money with This Book.” Yeah, right….

The “Smut Glut” Part 3: The Victors and the Vanquished

The depression into which the porn industry had plunged produced at least one good laugh.  Finances had become so bad at Visual Entertainment Productions (VEP) that the company’s in-house bill collector had turned against them   My mob-connected, former boss Tony Romano had staggered into VEP only to find his partner Norm on the floor. ( Passages from SKINFLICKS are in italics.)

According to a VEP saleslady, “Tony came in, drunk as usual, and goes, ‘What’s Nahmy doin’ layin’ dere on da flahr?’ Somebody tells him Ron punched Norm out.  Tony just shrugs and says, ‘Hey dese t’ings happen.’  Then he goes into his office and locks the door.  A couple hours later, his secretary looks in. There’s Tony with his head on his desk, fast asleep.”

With VEP in tatters, my chances of collecting on the $10,000 bounced check they had stuck me with looked slim indeed.  Superior Video’s own money woes were so dire that I actually considered barging into VEP with “Maggie” (my .357 Magnum).  In the porn video business of the late 1980s, “bad paper” had become an epidemic.

So had bankruptcies.  VEP joined such industry giants as Select-Essex and (my former employer) VCX in Chapter Eleven.  Even the “General Motors of Porn,” Caballero Control Corporation, was so deeply in arrears that Adult Video News stopped running its ads.  But emerging from the rubble of fallen leviathans–like small mammals scurrying over the remains of dinosaurs—were niche companies that tapped the limited but steady “specialty” market.

Among their titles were Kinky Midgets, Black Anal, She-Males, The Enema, Foot Worship, Latex Slaves, National Transsexual, Pregnant Mamas, and Anal Nation.  But even good old-fashioned all-American straight sex could be a specialty in the right context.

A popular new genre had lone women taking on groups of men, such as Biff Malibu’s Gang-Bang Girls line.  Agent Jim South complained about girls being offered “a seemingly large amount of money for a day’s work, but on the amount of sex, she’s getting short changed.”  Another genre that allowed dirt-cheap porn-making was the “pro-am” (professional/amateur) hustle, which allowed horny men (the “pros”) to make money screwing new ladies (the “ams”).

Scrawny San Francisco Bay Area porn agent Joe Elliot starred himself in the Joe Elliot’s Girlfriends and Joe Elliot’s College Girls lines.  When a girl answered Elliot’s ads in publications such as The Berkeley Barb, he would give her a quick on-tape interview then proceed to have sex with her.  If a cameraman such as myself wasn’t available, Elliot would lock his camera on a tripod and shoot the sex in one continuous wide-angle shot.

Bespectacled, big-nosed, nerdish-looking Ed Powers ostensibly picked up women in streets and bus stations, then taped himself having sex with them.  Actor/author Jerry Butler wanted to know why every time Powers “picked up” a girl, agent Jim South got $50.  “I DO pick up girls on the street,” Powers protested. “I really do!”

The biggest success in this niche market was cheerfully sleazy John Stagliano, who resembled an anorexic John Travolta.  Starting his Evil Angel Productions in 1988, Stagliano exploited his fascination with the female posterior.  As “Buttman,” he approached women in public, begging them to bare their bottoms before his camera.  With little more than that documentaire shtick and lots of rump-romping sex shot from low, ant’s-eye angles, the Buttman series found a ready audience of males disgruntled with the bland, couples-oriented drift of the overall market.

The “couples market” was a niche in itself. Anthony Spinelli’s Plum Productions, a family affair (wife Roz, son Mitch), adapted well to the age of the micro-budget.  Like haiku, the short stories of H. H. (“Saki”) Munro, and Twilight Zone reruns, their spare, interior dramas appealed to the cerebral end of the market.  Plum’s “one-act morality plays”—as AVN’s Joe Daniels called them—gave couples a springboard for more elevated post-coital conversation than “Was it good for you too?”

A new generation of porn fans discovered—to their delight—the high quality of the 35-millimeter (35mm) films from the 1970s “Golden Age of Porn.”   Reinvigorated, the stumbling 35mm king, Caballero, rose up and purchased Reuben Sturman’s Vidco, creating a 700-title monster.  Caballero head Noel Bloom said, “Catalogue is the strength today.  And now we have…the largest adult video catalogue in the world.”  Another 35mm giant, the over-extended Video Company of America (VCA) roared back to life.  Originally despised as “dupers (video pirates),” VCA’s Russ Hampshire and his menacing, mob-connected partner Walter Gernert had invested their earnings in premium 35’s.  Their new-found success allowed them to pay small creditors like Superior Video.

Superior Video was hemorrhaging money.  My choice: try to ride out the slump in hopes of returning to profitability or sell off rights to my titles and shut down the company.  What finalized my decision was a mistake that could have put me in prison for a long time.

Next post:  Trying to Sell Illegal Pornography in Canada, eh?