At less than 50 minutes, this is not a documentary at all, but an excuse to sensationalize the pathetic life of John C. Holmes, a porn star who would have been an absolute nobody if he had not wielded an alleged (and sideshow freaky) 14-inch penis.
This excuse for 'investigative' reporting is released by Xenon Pictures, which specializes in sleazy flicks that have little, if any, redeemable value. Xenon doesn't disappoint by offering this twaddle, which doesn't tell us much more about Holmes than we didn't already knew. He was an out-of-control cocaine addict, a pathological liar, drug dealer, street pimp and prostitute (servicing both women AND men), prodigiously promiscuous womanizer, petty crook, police informant (he regularly squealed to the cops), consummate coward, and probably a murderer. In other words, he was a real sweetie-pie.
Holmes was such an inveterate liar that no one, not his wife, girlfriends or confidants, believed ANYTHING he said.
In 1981, when his career was waning because of debilitating drug abuse, he was implicated in the grisly murders of four people, but was released for lack of evidence. A few years later, he was diagnosed with HIV, and died of AIDS in 1988. The terrifying thing about Holmes is that he bragged about sleeping with roughly 14,000 women, which is undoubtedly just another whopping lie. Still, it is impossible to know how many he infected with the disease that killed him.
Nowhere on display in this 'expose' will you see Holmes's legendary penis, which is a little odd considering that much of the film is spent talking about it. There are no explicit sex scenes whatsoever, and, if you can believe it, most 'cuss' words are even (hilariously) bleeped. The slimy porn world becomes Disney family viewing. Because of this dumb censorship and the rampant lies that lunge from everywhere on the screen (even Holmes's manager is caught lying), the film takes a long swan dive into mediocrity.
The DVD extras are seriously hampered by interviewers who ask questions that are often inaudible. Result: we get answers to questions that we couldn't hear. It's hard to understand why the filmmakers didn't realize this. It's called quality control, but given Xenon's reputation, I'm not sure the word 'quality' is appropriate in any context.
