Customer Reviews

Wonder Bread & Ecstasy: The Life and Death of Joey Stefano

5 star:		(7)
4 star:		(15)
3 star:		(9)
2 star:		(5)
1 star:		(4)

 

 

I give this book four stars, not because it's so well written (which it isn't), and not because it's so full of facts that I didn't know (which it isn't), but because it was a book that dealt with a person who trusted all the wrong people, made all the wrong choices, and in spite of it all, created an aura of success and absolute joy for his audiences.

Nick Iacona was probably one of the hardest working people in the industry, or maybe he was just the most over-used. I can't claim to have seen every film he was in, but every film I've seen made me appreciate him more. It seems unlikely that he could have been so productive, if he was as devastated by drugs and emotional problems as this book suggests.

Reading the words of people like Chi Chi "Larry" Larue, who were supposed to have been Nick's friends, made me even more aware of how treacherous business relationships can be. I don't believe much of what I read in general, and this book is full of obvious lies, but I guess that can be expected when the lies are told about someone who is no longer around to defend himself.

As I said, it's a story that needed to be told, but I don't think it will ever be told properly. Buy this book as a momento if you like, and take it's contents with a grain of salt. Nick Iacona is gone forever, and with him went the truth about Joey Stefano.

I haven't yet finished this one (I'm about halfway through), but I'm already haunted. While I don't mind admitting publicly that I'm addicted to porn, I will certainly be looking at the movies differently from now on, especially those starring poor Nick, or Joey as we've come to know him. What has struck me the most about the book is that it strays from the tabloid style that you might expect, considering the subject is a younger gay porn star who died of a drug overdose. The book also tries to avoid placing the blame for Joey's death simply on the industry that made him famous. That would have been the easy way out and perhaps would have sold Joey short. The book does give us a brief glimpse into the way the movies are made (behind the scenes) and the stars themselves, again forcing us to examine our own mindsets when watching our favorite stars frolicking on the screen.

While this is hard terrain to traverse, since we know the inevitable conclusion, it's a fascinating ride. I recommend it to anyone who has popped a quarter into a peep show booth and been mesmerized by Joey Stefano. Maybe, you'll be able to see him and his peers as more than just a set of genitalia (as I am now beginning to do)

A gut-wretching biography of a beautiful man who could never get a handle on his life. It tells us a good bit about the exploitive gay-porn industry in the unhappily meteoric career of Joey: quick fame, over-exposure, and sinking star. The destructive catastropes of drugs, AIDS, self-destructiveness all come home in the life of one of the hottest bottoms in the porn trade. The final third of the bio moves with an inevitability that is good, but sometimes pretty obviously worked. You won't forget this book.

Isherwood begins with the famous words of Dr. Samuel Johnson, "All excellence has a right to be recorded", and while this is solid enough justification for the biography, his execution of the task is far from excellent. This is not for lack of trying, it appears that I. has employed all of his talent and training as a journalist to their fullest degree. He has found those who knew Joey when he was still Nick from South Philly and has collected revealing statements about Stefano's own take on his life from rare interviews, usually from studio-backed skin mags and old issues of AVN. He fleshed these out with reminiscences from the auteurs who gave him his start (notably ChiChi LaRue, the corpulent granddiva of gay porn, and bisexual transsexual Karen Dior, who starred with Stefano in his first adult film), the stars whom Stefano worked with, old roommates and friends. These form the heart of I.'s writing, but his account lacks any sort of soul.

If there were a phrase which would best describe I.'s book it would be artificially compassionate. Rather than letting Joey's truly lamentable decline into depression and heavy substance abuse create genuine sympathy with the reader, I. never gets over the journalist's need to offer an interpretation, no matter how superficial or obvious. The title of the book comes from two staples of Stefano's existence, the peanut butter sandwiches made on fluffy white bread he ordered from the gay-owned grocery store near his apartment in W. Hollywood and the popular designer drug he became increasingly dependent upon towards the end of his short life. But instead of making us more sorry for the blue-collar kid who had a rough life, wound up with HIV dying in a vicious industry, it makes Stefano sound like the gay Elvis. This isn't compassionate, it's cloying.

In order to feel sorry for Stefano, we have to suffer along with him (indeed, this is the root meaning of compassion), but I. refuses us this, instead we are led along a duller and duller path of Joey's in-and-out drug rehabilitation sessions, cut with surprisingly lackluster accounts of his in-and-out film sessions. In all honesty, I purchased this book expecting to be slightly titillated (Joey appears suggestively unclothed on the cover, and a reviewer quoted on the cover suggested "This book may titillate you. . ."), but I. focuses almost maniacally on Stefano's career path to self-destruction than on his career. Thus I.'s ostensible purpose in this biographical expose is apparently to point out how the gay porn industry (pardon the pun) thrusts these boys to stardom and just as quickly passes them over for the next big. . .well, thing. But rather than viewing Stefano's own self-destructive habits as at least as contributing to the studios' gradual distancing themselves from him, I. seems to pin the blame squarely on the filmmakers for employing him less and less. This is true enough, but the evidence points to the fact that little Nick, Jr. was adept enough at hustling for the cash to support his habits well before he came to W. Hollywood.

Not to say that Stefano's tale is not heart-breaking and torturous, from all accounts he was a genuinely sweet guy who needed love and approval more than anything, and unfortunately wound up in a profession where these were at best short-lived. But, again, the journalist in I. wins out. Rather than letting the story speak for itself and letting us draw our own conclusions, he fiats rationales for Joey's behavior. His abusive father died when he was 15, and therefore his need for approval was driven by some universal unconscious need of gay men to please their fathers. Thanks, Freud, but sometimes a porn career is just a porn career. Not all of us have bad relationships with our fathers, and those of us who do live rather well-adjusted lives are frankly tired of the cliché of a universal gay male experience, one suspiciously patterned on back issues of Psychology Today (or is it old Pottery Barn catalogs?). Another amusing identifier of I.'s narrow West Coast worldview is the final sentence of the blurb on the rear cover, which tags Joey as coming from "the country's heartland." Yes, Philadelphia, breadbasket of the nation. I. also draws significance from the fact that Joey was born on New Year's Day, 1968, which he misidentifies as the "summer of love" (in fact it was 1967). Thus Joey becomes the porn superstar who shaped a generation, offering us a cultural alternative to those Reaganites who "were tuning up BMWs, turning on CNN, and dropping into the best restaurants." This certainly creates an interesting notion of what I. understands by the word "generation", but it is more telling of his penchant to let his well-developed gay male ironic sensibility (never let me be guilty of avoiding a generality when it suits my purpose!) determine his conclusions rather than let the facts speak for themselves.

At its best, I.'s book paints a stark portrait of a bleak life, one bereft of much joy other than the occasional acid tab or peanut butter sandwich. There are moments where the sheer pain of Stefano's existence comes through and we see the young man, without much to his name other than his attractiveness (indeed he was all too aware his greatest asset wasn't going to last forever), and who was facing the prospect of the end of his career and his likely death from AIDS with little to show for it other than a stack of videotapes and hollow memories. But I. peppers this truly compelling story with unwarranted dispensations of talk-show psychobabble and indictments of the industry which did this to Joey. But, in the final analysis, the ultimate responsibility for the life and death of Joey Stefano rests squarely on his own shoulders. If the sad career of Joey Stefano, as told by I. means anything, it is not only that it's lonely at the top, but it's also pretty lonely on the bottom, too.

I loved this book, but I will admit to being a Joey fan. I found the book to be not the best written thing out there, but the story was great and so were the lessons that it taught. I think more than a cautionary tale about porn, it is a warning about not loving yourself enough to do the things that are right for you. Here is a portrait of a man who had great looks, and little else to help him make it through life. But yet there was so much potential there! You wonder what happens to ex-porn stars that don't burn out like Joey did. Where do they go? That would be a great book right there!

Not to say that Charles Isherwood's style isn't a little heavy on the melodrama, but even without it, the tragic story of this 26-year old gayporn sex godlet is the stuff that movies are definitely made of nowadays. (One can almost hear the cel phones of Stephen Dorff, Billy Zane and Leonardo DiCaprio ringing with the turn of the final page.) For anyone who ever wondered what the flip side of "Boogie Nights" is like, here it is, warts and all.

Mr. Isherwood is surprisingly objective the way he chronicles both sides of Stefano's life and personality, and the friends, lovers, hangers-on and other players in his life who by turns helped in many cases to both nuture and destroy him, putting the dichotomies and hypocricies of the porn world fully on display, which in their own context, aren't much unlike those which we "normal" people face in the "real" world.

Entertaining and engaging, chilling and sobering, this not only serves to present a close-up view of the world of gay porn and its denizens, but offers up a cautionary fable for the '90's, to all those who have ever entertained starry-eyed notions of what it would be like to become part of that millieu.

in fact i don't really like the book, but there is something which is really make me feel sorry with this guy. that is the part when stefeno was asked to write down all his problems, and he simply wrote down: No job No money No self-esteem No confidence All I have is my look and my body and there's not working anymore i feel washed-up Drug problem Hate life HIV-positive! Very sad, isn't it. Now i understand how is a porn star feel behind the charm.

I've always liked watching Joey Stefano in videos, but I had no idea how sad his life was! The book chronicles his early life and then goes into how he got into porn. Reading the book, I felt a great deal of sympathy for Joey -- it seemed like every time he tried to get out of the dismal hell he was in, he'd get pulled right back in. Even though I knew how he ended up, I had been so hopeful that at one point he'd have at least a small amount of happiness. Anyone who likes Joey's films should read this book. Then watch the films again -- tell me that you won't forever see Joey in a different light.

i bought this book expecting a steamy expose of the gay porn industry. unfortunately, what i got was a boring and poorly written account of the life of a dim-wit loser. in all fairness to joey stefano, there might be a great story to be told about his life but this author is not the one to tell it. whatever entertainment value there is in this book is destroyed by his dime store psychology and less than enthralling insights into the gay male psyche. mr. isherwood seems to blame all of joey's problems on our homophobic society or the diminished job prospects for young people today, conveniently ignoring that fact that the joey stefano that his book portrays is a pathetic, drugged-out, whiny, sex-obsessed idiot who had lots of opportunities to pull himself up by his jockstrap and make something out of his life.

it seems ironic that mr. isherwood puts a lot of the blame for joey's death on his ruthless exploitation by the gay porn industry when this books seems to be just as much of an exploitation as any of his jerk-off videos were. from the naked pictures of joey on both the cover and inside illustrations to the frequent descriptions of joey's physical attributes, mr. isherwood's book seems to be guilty of the exact same thing that he is condemning...the exploitation of an emotional unstable but attractive young man in order to make a quick buck.

Charles Isherwood certainly doesn't have a dull subject on his hands, and this book is a decadent page-turner. Titillation is part of the reason, and so is camp. As one reviewer correctly points out, in its gravitas, this book reads like the biography of an accomplished artist or senator, and the serious lengthy discussion of Stefano as opening the "top"-dominated gay porn world to the possibilities of a superstar "bottom," drive the camp quotient up that much higher.

Most of us are both attracted to and repelled by pornography. Sex is a shortcut to everything, and the world of flesh and juices created in X-rated films is one most males and a few females are drawn to at certain times. As I found out in life, the unlikeliest people have collections of porn so ample they almost need the Dewey Decimal System to organize it. As Camille Paglia has said, "A day without pornography is like a day without sunshine."

I knew picking this book up that I'd be reading a tragic life. Joey's physical flaws were few (a flattened nose, a slight doughiness) and his physical attributes were many (a stunning Tom Cruise face and an arse that should be cast in platinum and displayed in the Prado) but psychologically this young man was a mess.

Author Isherwood is a good reporter and gathers most of the important facts about his subject's life. His psychological theses are on shakier ground. The most important thing to know about Nick Iacona/Joey Stefano was that he was an addictive personality. Addictive personalities are usually not confined to one addiction, because this personality type is really a mode of response to any pleasure, one which is compulsive and unrelenting.

When Nick/Joey wasn't doing porn films, he was going to orgiastic parties, and when these two allowed him any spare time, he was calling up sex lines, cruising parking lots, or soliciting other hustlers! Now this, my friends, is a sex addiction if any doubt lingers.

Ecsape through drugs, frightening and blissful, was another of Nick/Joey's obsessions, and everything from heroin to morphine to cocaine to ketamine found itself in his system. Spending money compulsively and completely rounded out Nick/Joey's trio of addictions. A well-paid erotic film star, he never had a dime to his name, and couldn't even save up for a used car.

With his good looks, Nick/Joey didn't lack for sugar daddies, and some of these transcended the role and became genuinely fatherly; alas, it was too late, and the porn star's problems were too weighty and too many. Lacking a human lover in his life, Nick/Joey courted death; his twin obsessions with sex and drugs dealt him a dual death sentence: HIV and an overdose.

People with addictive personalities are also quite productive, since their work often becomes an addiction as well. Nick/Joey made 17 erotic films, and became one of a small group of icons in gay pornography. This may seem a dubious accomplishment, but it's well out of the reach of most of us. "The privileges of beauty are enormous" as Jean Cocteau said, and green-eyed Joey Stefano was clearly beautiful. But he was the kind of guy who could win the lottery and run through the money in a year. Tortured soul, his problems were a spooky and endless chasm, and we end up agreeing with his biographer with a chill and a sigh that at least death brings peace.