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The Girl
Next Door
Come
and listen to the tale of a girl named Stacy
An Oklahoma girl posed for a picture racy
Entered a contest called The Girl Next Door
Then Gallery magazine made the girl a whore…
High-priced…
Out of your league…
The
next thing you know Stacy's having sex for cash
Threw out her husband like so much trailer trash
Said "California ought to suit me fine,"
Got breast implants to be Stacy Valentine…
Sex in pools…
With movie stars…
Of course,
if the girl next door really looked like Stacy Valentine,
a lot more people would have an excuse to keep living in their
parents' basement. According to the documentary The Girl
Next Door, underneath Stacy Valentine (wait a minute -
got the mental picture - ahhhh. Now move on.) lies a real
woman, Stacy Baker, who only wants to be loved for who she
is. Cut to Stacy with her feet behind her ears. At no point
does she seem to realize that who she is is a porn star.
Stacy's
story starts simply. She grew up an only child, becoming a
housewife because "…that's what you do in Tulsa."
Initially she resisted posing nude, but her husband insisted
that it would turn him on if she got published. He was wrong.
Instead, we got turned on, he got jealous and Stacy got divorced.
Leaving Oklahoma behind, she quickly rose to the top of the
adult film industry.
Unlike
many other adult film actresses, Stacy denies any deep-seated
trauma motivating her career choice. Though there are hints
that her father was physically abusive ("he spanked out
of anger"), not even her remarried mother can offer up
anything specific. Instead, Stacy tells us from the beginning,
sex is just something she really, really does well. And though
director Christine Fugate shoots sex scenes with strategically
(and annoyingly) placed crewmembers blocking any money shots,
clearly Stacy is right. Porn provides her a strange validation,
countering her incredibly low self-esteem.
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Stacy
seems ambivalent about her career, knowing that it shocks
a lot of people. Her childhood friend speaks to the camera,
taken aback at how an excited Stacy called her to share the
experience of her first double penetration. The friend asks,
"How can you get behind that?" (Uh, you circle around,
spread those cheeks, and….) Stacy's mother gives what
support she can, showing up for awards ceremonies and the
like, but refusing to watch her films. (Her stepfather expresses
interest, but allows that it might seem incestuous.) All mom
wants is for Stacy to find someone to take care of her if
something happens, all any mother wants for her daughter,
really. But not everybody has a sex machine for a child.
Alternately
bubbling with excitement about her body and lamenting its
unreality, Stacy gives the camera access to all her various
surgeries in her quest to be the ultimate sex star. Her hips,
lips, and breasts get done several times with nauseating explicitness;
it's weird to see actual funbags on the surgery tray. After
seeing this, implants might lose their allure. Okay, just
kidding, but they can't help Stacy find true love.
It doesn't
help that she doesn't seem to interact with anyone outside
of the industry. And clearly, every man she knows really just
wants to nail her, on and off screen. (For the right price,
they can.) Early on, a series of stunt cocks beg the fey director
for a shot at giving Stacy a back door delivery. Some actors
jockey for more lines in a scene; these guys just live for
da booty.
For a
while Stacy manages a romance with an actor billed simply
as "Julian." They seem good for each other; both
project a sweet innocence that belies the sweaty monkey love
paying the bills. The subplot of their love provides much
of the film's suspense. She claims it's an issue of her not
trusting him, but Julian is allowed a lot of freedom. He can
have sex with whomever he wants; he just can't hold that person's
hand. For the record, guys, if you're ever offered that deal,
learn not to hold hands with other people. What it boils down
to is a question that faces a lot of couples: can the man
handle it when the woman is more successful than he is?
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More importantly,
can he handle a woman's unbridled ambition? Stacy claims to
want to retire, but a new brass ring keeps appearing for her.
And really, there is no evidence that she can do anything
else. The documentary stages a scene of Stacy updating her
website, but all that is actually shown is her typing the
correct URL. She expresses interest in becoming a make-up
artist, but at no point do we see her applying any make-up.
To go full circle, all Stacy really can do is have sex.
Refreshingly,
this documentary seems okay with that. With relatively few
clichés, the film portrays a woman who really could
be someone you know. She likes animals. She lives in a modest
house in the suburbs. And during the day she gets paid to
go at it like a weasel on video. It beats writing for a living.
Actually,
after seeing this you might find the adult film industry to
be akin to pro wrestling. People create alter egos that take
over their lives. They undergo surgery to allow them to continue
in the business. And often, they don't seem to know when to
leave the industry, staging retirements that don't stick (hello,
Terry Funk). Wouldn't you rather smell what the Valentine
has cooking?
I initially
reviewed this film in 2000 for Daily Radar. Since then, Stacy
did retire for a few years, before coming back in something
called Tits Ahoy. With the release this week of the teen sex
comedy with the same name (and a quick check of Amazon reveals
two other movies with that name as well), it's a safe bet
that this documentary will soon be available for your home
viewing pleasure. Make of it what you will.
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