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The Adams Report
by J.C. Adams
June 2001
Department of Corrections: Last month for our GayVN Awards coverage I made a hideously stupid mistake. In listing Stan Loeb as this year’s Special Achievement Award winner, I misattributed the company with which Mr. Loeb has earned his sterling reputation. He is with Paladin, a longtime distributor of the industry’s finest videos. John Rutherford of Falcon Studios was the first (of many) to alert me to the gaffe. I humbly accept my 40 lashes with a wet noodle.
Moving on… At press time the Tom Cruise/Kyle Bradford contretemps is barely a month old and I’m already sick of the whole damned thing. Everyone and their daddy has by now contributed their two cents regarding the 100 million-dollar lawsuit, and I don’t have much else to add at this point--except to note that as this column went to press in early June, Mr. Bradford (a.k.a. Chad Slater) had not been served with papers. And he won’t ever be served. Cruise and his lawyer, Bert Fields, achieved their purpose. Bradford finally learned to shut his trap, and the media outlets all over the world who initially printed the story of Bradford’s alleged affair with Cruise have been terrified into silence. And that, my friends, was the point of this so-called lawsuit. Cruise/Fields could have easily threatened Mr. Bradford with legal action in private, but they wanted to send a strong message to the world, and did so effectively in one fell swoop. Cast aspersions on the sexuality of Tom Cruise in print, and they’ll come down on you like a sumo wrestler.
I have some sympathy for Kyle. I’ve met him a few times, and while he enjoyed the ego strokes (who wouldn’t?) provided by porn stardom, he had a rough time adjusting to the price one must pay for it. In the mainstream entertainment field, you have the opportunity to prove you can sing or act--that you’re more than a pretty face. The porn industry is about nothing but your pretty face. It seems obvious, doesn’t it? But quite a few models have trouble adjusting to the skewed reality of the porn world. And although Kyle Bradford may be indiscreet and more than a little selfish, take a moment to ponder what it must feel like to wake up one morning and realize that the entire world knows your name. How would it feel to realize that hundreds of newspapers and magazines, television programs, radio stations and Internet sites are trumpeting your indiscretion for entertainment? How would it feel to rocket from semi-obscurity to worldwide infamy as reporters and paparazzi pick over your life? And then there’s the matter of the biggest movie star on the planet telling anyone who will listen that he’s planning to sue you for $100 million. Ouch.
In other news, the New Times Los Angeles recently ran a cover story titled “The Bagman,” detailing model-turned-director Paul Barresi’s role in funneling hush money to the tranny hookers with whom Eddie Murphy had become embroiled in a sex scandal. I know you remember Murphy’s claim that he was merely offering a transvestite streetwalker (the late Atisone “Shalimar” Seiuli) a ride home instead of picking him/her up for a quickie. The New Times writers, Jack Cheevers and Mark Ebner, declare Barresi a “classic Tinseltown hustler.” I’m particularly fond of this descriptive sentence: “If Damon Runyon had lived in modern Hollywood rather than Depression-era New York, he might have written a short story about Paul Barresi.” That’s either an insult or a compliment (or both), depending on your point of view. Cheevers/Ebner touch only briefly on Barresi’s announcement in the National Enquirer (way back in 1990) over his alleged two-year “love affair” with John Travolta, and focus instead on his role in the Eddie Murphy scandal. It’s fascinating reading. I spoke to Barresi on the phone the week after the story hit the streets, and he wasn’t particularly thrilled with how he had been characterized. He feels slighted by Murphy’s legal counsel, Marty “Mad Dog” Singer (a celebrity-friendly attack dog of a lawyer), and thus was only too happy to reveal all to the New Times writers. Mr. Barresi would take on old Scratch himself if he felt he was treated disrespectfully, so no one should be surprised that Barresi’s spilling his guts. What is interesting is that story caused barely a ripple in the mainstream media, even with Murphy’s ubiquitous presence thanks to Shrek and Dr. Dolittle 2. Either people simply don’t care or they aren’t particularly surprised.
Soon after our June issue hit the streets, the following note arrived from Matt “Don’t call me Johnny” Sizemore: “I’d like to clarify something that may confuse readers and fans. Due to an error on the part of Regiment Productions, I was erroneously billed as ‘Johnny Sizemore’ in When Johnny Cums Marching Home. I had stated on my model release that I was to be billed as ‘Matt Sizemore.’ I want my coworkers, reviewers and fans to know that from the beginning I have been working under the name Matt Sizemore and, more importantly, have gone on to work for Titan Media, Catalina Video, All Worlds Video and Odyssey under this same name.” I reviewed When Johnny Cums Marching Home and it’s moderately entertaining stuff, although Mr. Sizemore is nicely paired with Stonie in the film’s centerpiece coupling. Stonie’s a young, adorably vigorous bottom with puppy-dog appeal. He’s currently shackled to a contract with Regiment, for whom he appears in a film or two a month. Many of them are directed by Mr. Barresi, and they’re neither good nor bad. But Stonie is worth an admiring look. Someone ought to ask about borrowing him for a higher-caliber video. Power bottoms like him don’t come around all that often.
Finally this month… model-turned-director Chad Donovan invited me to the set of The White Party Boiz, the first XXX flick from famed party promoter Jeffrey Sanker. As you might imagine, the flick is set at the mecca for buffed and plucked pretty boys. You’ve gotta wonder why Sanker hasn’t capitalized on the popularity of his circuit parties before now. My visit to the set was on the final day of shooting, and Mr. Donovan was a bit crumpled and worn from the long shoot. He perked up when the day’s featured models got down to business, which involved French power-bottom Michel Mattel taking on Jeremy Tucker and three newcumers: Tom Daniels (who could be Ken Ryker’s cousin), Corey Adams (who resembles the Oscar-nominated Before Night Falls actor Javier Bardem to a startling degree) and the sexually voracious spitfire Dante Fox. “Watch this,” Donovan whispered as I sat with him behind the monitor. Fox, whose penis was soft, crouched down behind Daniels and dove into the young man’s ass with vigor. Within moments, Fox was sprouting an erection so stiff it could’ve cut glass. “My God, I’ve never tasted an ass that sweet!” Fox exclaimed. “Whatever gets you hard, girl!” was Donovan’s reply. It’s more than I really needed to know, but there you have it: Tom Daniels has a sweet asshole. Between takes, to keep himself revved up, Fox greedily went to town on the somewhat shy Daniels, who complied every time without a word.
The funniest moment of the day came after Mr. Donovan and his crew (cameraman Ross Cannon and producer/second camera Jim Steel) filmed a complicated double penetration shot. Mattel ducked into the bathroom to refresh himself, then emerged a minute later, glanced around the room and breezily asked,“Who’s next?” The room fell apart in hysterics. Now that’s what I call a professional!
Faversham…
—J.C. Adams
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