Contact sheets

A personal account of a first foreign assignment in 1999 and how time, context and accountability can radically alter the way we read old work.

I was nervous, ambitious, and conscientious. I was doing my job. My first professional photography foreign assignment was about to plant me between writer AA Gill and infamous adult film star, Ron Jeremy.

One Friday afternoon in 1999 as I sipped a summer Cava in a north London pub, the Art Director at British GQ magazine called. Would I like to go to Los Angeles? Would I like to go tomorrow? Fergus Greer, the originally assigned photographer was reportedly stuck in Kosovo. I said yes. Without any cash in the bank or credit card, I phoned my dad and asked if I could borrow £500. He agreed and with no way of an immediate bank transfer, drove the 143 miles from my home town to deliver the wedge.

Arriving in LA, I had a vague idea where the assignment was but no exact address and booked into a motel. The receptionist asked how many hours I’d like the room, I said five days, she looked impressed. Turning on the radio after a fitful night's sleep, I discovered several people had been shot in the vicinity. Unnerved and excited by the assignment, I unfolded a piece of paper and dialled the phone number of the luxury establishment. “Hello, the Beverly Wilshire hotel, how may I help?” “Could you put me through to AA Gill please?” The sardonic, revered and sometimes feared writer had scripted a pornographic film and was in town to direct.

Striding onto the set of Hot House Tales, I introduced myself to Gill. He sat with an expression of amusement dressed in a light safari suit as an aspiring dandy might sit among his ayahs and bearers. The next few days were a baptism. The female star of the film was Houston. She had recently had sex with more men in one day than anyone else since records began. Houston was supposed to climax at 500 but 620 turned up on the day so she finished the shoot, an image of ‘choice’ that now reads very differently.

One scene I photographed involved a half-Mexican woman called Clarissa who was playing a Vietnamese girl. It was her second movie. Terrified of being recognised, she asked to wear a wig and chose one that exactly matched the colour and cut as her current style. Clarissa was being paid $200 a figure that, even then, felt slight for what was being asked. A scene with the then most famous male porn star in America, Ron Jeremy.

Ron was the first of Houston’s 620. I met the behemoth climbing stairs and introduced myself. He was short, sweaty, tubby and wearing grimy looking shorts and a t-shirt. He held a carrier bag with a change of clothes that looked no better than what he was wearing. Ron was amusing, seemed well liked and during rehearsal, it was obvious he could act.

I took my place alongside the twenty or so crew behind the camera and prepared to document the action, except there wasn’t. Clarissa was stiff, Ron wasn’t. Gill stepped in with precise words of encouragement and refinement. Ron took it seriously and talked about motivation. There was mutual respect. With the use of Viagra not yet normalised in the industry, those behind the camera took a break so Ron could focus on achieving ‘wood.’

From what I could make out, Clarissa’s character was delivering groceries from the local convenience store and was determined to seduce Ron’s character, who was in a wheelchair. It was an awkward moment when Ron toppled from the wheelchair, heaved himself across the floor and onto Clarissa. The scene was a disaster, cut short and Clarissa, while grateful for the income and opportunity, was unsure if she’d do it again.

I marvelled at the professionalism of the crew and athleticism of the cast. It wasn’t always an arousing environment. Most of the time I preferred to watch the action on a monitor. On set was kind and matriarchal. The actors honest and open.

The filming finished a day before my return flight. Gill gave me $100 so I could have some adventure on my final day. I spent it by the motel swimming pool chugging cans of Budweiser beer and reflecting on my first foreign assignment. I’d learnt new phrases and words, never to be embarrassed, and that on-screen continuity in porn films wasn’t a science. I saw the human body achieve positions I previously thought impossible. It made me laugh, wince and wary of what to wear on my feet. Occasionally it was humdrum.

I resolved my occupation was a privilege to fight for, not a right. I did my job as best I could. As morals and attitudes have rightly changed, the commission feels a lifetime ago.

On returning to Blighty, I showed the contact sheets of images to family and friends. Most were familiar with Ron Jeremy’s work. My pictures ran across 10 pages accompanying Gill’s article; ‘Double D Meets Double A’ in the November issue the same year.

Ron Jeremy, now 70, was charged with dozens of sexual offences, including rape, and had been held in custody in Los Angeles since 2020. In January 2023, a judge ruled that he was mentally unfit to stand trial after being diagnosed with severe neurocognitive decline, effectively freezing the case.

In November 2023, Jeremy was released from jail to a private residence under a court-appointed conservatorship, after medical facilities reportedly declined to house him. He is now confined to the property, monitored around the clock by caregivers and forbidden from leaving. His criminal trial will not proceed due to his health.

My images from the assignment remain on sale with my stock agency, raising unresolved questions about how work connected to disgraced public figures continues to circulate. The legal process may have ended without resolution, but issues of authorship, responsibility and circulation remain.