If the pages of this book are any indication there was little to John Holmes other than what met the eye: A great big dick. To many men, this man is something of a folk hero. I never quite understood the mystique (other than the fact that to some men there is something about having a penis better suited to a large barnyard animal that is likely to scare off considerably more women than it entices, is somehow admirable). After reading “Porn King: The Autobiography of John Holmes,” I’m convinced more than ever than Mr. Holmes was little more than a “prop with a pump” who lacked any genuine wit or intellect. However, the fact that he was a central figure in the era when the porn industry went from out-and-out sexual vice to the black sheep of America’s entertainment industry made word of an autobiography enticing. After having invested the time to read it there is little to say other than the book was a complete waste of time and not worth the paper it was printed on.

This book was trite, filled with cheap clich�s, and a sheer disappointment in all facets. The book does little beyond giving mere facts relevant to the “golden age of porn” can be found in any number of sources. Only those without any knowledge of the porn industry and its controversial history might learn some insights into what dark underbelly of America’s entertainment industry. And even then they are to come away with a limited understanding that is contrived. And, as with many exposes into the porn industry, the book tends to portray only the positive aspects of the industry that are few and totally ignores the darker aspects that are predominate. In addition to distortions there is nothing to be learned about the subject to those interested in learning something accurate about the history of American erotica. The back of the book states: “for all his fame and notoriety, Holmes remained an intensely private person and a mystery man. That is, until now.” The only insight that this reviewer discovered is that John Holmes was pretty, narcissistic and prone to gross hyperbole. Given the status of cult hero that has been tacked on to this fool it would have served him better if the “details” of his life were to have remained a mystery. Given the fact that most people like to have sex, makes the fact that this person did it on film is nothing special. So ultimately we have to evaluate the person in terms of personality and the life he led beyond that of getting off in front of a camera. If you’re a pretty uneventful person, who can do a little bit of acting, and some camera work it is irrelevant how many women you dorked. You’re pretty much just that: an uneventful person who has happened to have a lot of sex for a living. This taken with the fact that there are many facts conspicuously absent that would help us to leaving out essential information that help readers understand why Mr. Holmes was such a disagreeable character in the estimation of this reviewer.

He admits to having an out of control addiction to cocaine but what he doesn’t talk about is the career of petty theft that included everything from stealing peoples luggage at airports to pawning the entire contents of “friends” homes while they were out of town. The book leaves readers with the impression that John Holmes was pretty much a perfect person and was ticked off a lot of the time because of nothing he ever did, but because there were others who had nothing better to do but find ways to tick him off. Never does Mr. Holmes talk about how he would get a call from his coke dealer in the middle of a shoot and suddenly disappear for hours on end. Or the numerous times shooting a scene was delayed because Johnny Wadd was no where to be found only to turn up in a closet free-basing. Nor does he make much of an effort to refute his role in the infamous Laural Canyon murders. Despite the fact that his bloody hand prints were found at the scene and clearly implicated him in the brutal murder of at least one person. He wishes to have us believe that he merely stumbled into the crime scene after the slaughtering had ceased.

It is also worth noting that the usage of the word “autobiography” in the title is somewhat dubious. The book was compiled posthumously by Laurie Holmes and Fred E. Basten from various audio recordings John Holmes made in the final months of his life. I don’t believe that the writers wanted to help set the record straight or give insight into a man’s life as much as they wanted to make a fast buck. Given that so much about Mr. Holmes cannot be proven you would think that the authors would have had the foresight to play fast and loose with the facts and present a compelling, if not controversial tale that might spark intrigue. Given some creative thought, sticking to plain facts when depicting a business on the fringe of society so populated with unstable individuals, presents endless opportunities for compelling writing. In the hands of somebody with passion for the subject matter and the willingness to explore some of the larger questions concerning involvement in the industry could have only helped this sorry effort. Who, for example, could write a book about John Holmes and try not to find out what he thought about being mistaken for that kid who played Eddie on Leave it to Beaver (Ken Osmond). Or did Mr. Holmes have any feeling on being viewed as a consumable object in a business that coldly shrugs off people when there when they are no longer desired.