Heidi Fleiss: Hollywood Madam

Those who take a look at this hoping for a wild romp thru a world of sex, drugs, big money, celebrities, and California sun-baked sleaze are in for a little surprise. Yes, there is some of that, but mostly this is a mind-boggling tale of screwy relationships and endless back-stabbing. Heidi Fleiss, the daughter of a liberal doctor and a prostitute turned madame, is at the center of this story. Her prosecution made headlines in the early 1990s, and this movie attempts to understand her and her labyrinthine relationships with sleazy charmers like elderly Madame Alex and second-rate producer-director Ivan Nagy. Broomfield and his crew do a good job of trying to come to grips with this odd, and very L.A., cast of characters, many of whom seem unable to not perform when a camera is turned on them. Interesting secondary characters pop up, like a shadowy underworld character named Cookie; L.A. police chief Darryl Gates, who accepts a nice cash sum before his interview; crooked top detective Mike B. (can't think of his name right now); and porn stars Ron Jeremy and Tisa. At the end, it is still not clear who has done what to whom and why, but you do have some insight into the dark side of the sunny Southland.

Nick Broomfield often pokes his camera in places many would rather he not venture. The liars, and occasionally, people telling the truth, in his films are like those pilots having dogfights in old war movies. Who will shoot down who first?

My summary refers to the entertainment industry that always has and always will have an arm which reaches out for prostitutes' services. In the old days, rich men could buy sex and expect a certain discretion came along with the carnal for hire agreements. Now, any woman who claims she was Eldrick Woods' mistress or a hooker he dallied with is thrust into the spotlight by a tabloid juggernaut that needs constant angles on the latest scandal. Whether or not there is a scintilla of truth doesn't really stop the steamroller from flattening ethics in journalism to a ridiculous non standard of rumour and outright fabrication. Where are you when we need you, Walter Cronkite?

Broomfield interviews many here and most of them have their hand out, wanting money to speak. Heidi comes across as the most likable person you could meet in this sleazy crowd. The ultimate scum is her former boyfriend, Ivan, who delights in proving how he can manipulate her anytime he wants. If anyone should have gone to jail, it really should have been this obnoxious fool.

Prostitution is here to stay. Decriminalizing it and making sure the health of both workers and their clients are sound is much more important than some "crimes" which have been foolishly prosecuted by overzealous DAs and harshly sentenced in the US. The persecution of sex workers of legal age and other felonies, like non violent marijuana offences, are clogging up the courts and jails/prisons. Throw the book at those who force underage boys and girls into selling themselves and those who commit rape on the internet. Let the Heidis of the world peddle sex and their customers buy it. And pay taxes too!

As Bob Dylan once said, money doesn't talk, it swears - and never as coursely as in Tinseltown's movie and sex trades; the Heidi Fleiss scandal erupted, as if at the apex of a thrashing Venn diagram, where the two industries traded blows.

And money is the prime mouthpiece here: everyone - including former LA police chief Daryl Gates - wants cash up front. In making this documentary, Nick Broomfield becomes just another john, with an ever-ready wad of cash for answers.

In 1993, the director set off to interview Heidi. How did an apparently well-adjusted, middle-class teenager, the daughter of a Beverly Hills doctor, get sucked into such a life? However, during pre-production, Fleiss was convicted of pandering and sentenced to three years in prison, during which time she was also charged with money laundering and tax evasion. Broomfield was thus obliged to seek out anyone with connections to her, and Hollywood Madam chronicles his efforts between Fleiss's June 1993 arrest and her trial in May 1995.

Broomfield had visited this territory before with Chicken Ranch, in which he documented the daily lives of sex workers in a Texan whorehouse. But that film, candid as it is, looks positively prurient beside Hollywood Madam, which unspools like a sordid film noir, with its taut score, and roll call of pimps, porn stars, informants and corrupt cops. After viewing this you'll want to scrub yourself down with a wire brush and Dettol.

Initially, Broomfield lightly skirts the edge of his subject - looking up various individuals on the scandal's periphery. "I was wondering if you could put us in touch with Heidi Fleiss?" he asks a bemused prostitute. "What are you on about?" comes the retort. After this fruitless foreplay, he begins to penetrate the inner sanctum - uncovering an unholy trio of grotesques; TV director Ivan Nagy, Heidi's former boyfriend (and the man who possibly grassed her up); the foetid, bed-dwelling Madame Alex - once Heidi's mentor and the foremost brothel keeper in Hollywood until Fleiss spirited away her clientele; and Victoria Sellers, daughter of Peter and Britt Ekland, and Fleiss's former best friend, unfresh out of rehab.

Admittedly, there's much here that you could have easily gleaned from endless tabloid column inches and trashy talk shows. But Broomfield gives us more - the stuff TV could never show: such as Ivan Nagy's home video of Heidi, reluctantly stripping for him as he goads her on - "banter, fun and games", he smirks - and eliciting one of the film's more lurid exchanges, concerning the colour green.

Here too are graphic stories from the trade. Sellers recalls a client attempting to place a coat hanger inside himself(family planning advisers will be relieved to know the hanger was wearing a condom).

Gaby, another Fleiss callgirl relates how many clients - those well-heeled Arabs and Hollywood A-Listers, the anonymous names in Heidi's infamous 'Black Book' - simply wanted them to watch while they did drugs. "It's much better to have a meal with someone and an intellectual conversation", she adds hilariously.

Most agree that their gentlemen preferred blondes, and specifically "typical, Californian surfer girl-next-door types. You could be an acne-faced dog - as long as you were blonde".

Nobody has a good word to say about anybody. Madam Alex, says Nagy, is "pure evil - devastatingly evil". Heidi, says Sellers, is "a mean, ice-cold bitch". Meanwhile Nagy denies pimping Heidi to Madam Alex for $500. "Look around this room" he gestures at his original art collection. "Do I look like I need $500 dollars?" No... but what's with the bullet holes in his ceiling? And who is the mysterious Israeli known only as "Cookie"?

Everybody's telling different stories. Is anybody telling the truth? Or has truth become another commodity to be bought, sold and traded along with everyone else? Nagy's so slippery he could be melted down for lubricants and Madam Alex isn't saying zip - she died shortly after the film was completed. Answers suggest themselves, yet remain tantalisingly out of reach: was it the fault of her hippie liberal parents? Ivan Nagy's influence?

Yes, everybody's hiding something, including Broomfield, with his well-honed faux-naif persona - not to mention subjective editing of the documentary itself. Only Fleiss, after finally granting Broomfield an interview, seems halfway on the level, coming across as surprisingly down-to-earth, sharp, attractive and witty - if not entirely trustworthy. It's the one moment of grace. But for the most part, this film is akin to being stalked by evil, chuckling pimps while trapped in an ever replicating maze of funhouse mirrors.

It's hard not to enjoy Heidi Fleiss, a work clearly superior to rote television sensationalism. Never fear, sensationalism is present in abundance and obviously drives the movie. Broomfield hops from madam to druggie to porn-star with gleeful excess, intent on shocking and disgusting as much as possible within the confines of broadcast-quality material. However, he tends to show us a little more, material that run of the mill documentarians wouldn't show. We see, for example, LA Chief of Police Daryl Gates accepting a surprisingly large sum of money for his appearance in the film, apparently unconcerned that he's being filmed doing so. Before interviewing a former porn actress about her connections with Heidi, he establishes the fact that she's appearing to get some quick cash to fund her drug habit. Bloomfield's obvious mean-spirited approach to each and every character - with the blatant exception of the fetishized Fleiss - leaves no room for casual viewer identification. Broomfield himself constantly appears to add to the sense that none of these people, including the filmmaker, spends their time doing kind, humane things. The two people suggested as major influences on Fleiss's road to ruin would make an ideal harpie and Cyclops. Elderly Madam Alex, who died shortly after her scenes were shot, gossips rampantly for two visits but starts cursing Broomfield out when he refuses to pay for follow-up visits. Possibly not entirely evil Ivan Nagy, writer/director of a number of unimpressive features, does all he can to convince Broomfield's cameraman (when Broomfield's not having any of it) that he's just a good guy and could never have done all the things proven to be true about him. Victoria Sellers - Peter and Britt Ekland's daughter - grants Broomfield an interview right out of rehab, clearly at the end of her rope. Conceptually, this all would be difficult to absorb due to the daunting amount of pain all these people are going for, but Broomfield's nasty spirit finds a way to make it all fun. Always welcome porn star Ron Jeremy appears in a sleazy hotel room.

I've never "loved" anything that Nick Broomfield has done, but I certainly love him as a documentarian. He has a unique, and very obtrusive style of filmmaking that forces the viewer to follow his line of thinking. This, as one might surmise has advantages and disadvantages, and indeed the flaws in this otherwise fascinating documentary are mostly from his style.

On the other hand, it's a fitting style to use as he does his investigative reporting trying to get the inside scoop on the whole Heidi Fleiss affair, and just what exactly was going on between the cast of characters involved.

I haven't seen such a collection of manipulative, shady characters in one place in a very long time. It's particularly fun watching a former Madam and a former (or are they still together?) lover of Fleiss exchange insults and spin intricate lies about each other and their roles in her life.

Part of what allows this to come out is Broomfield's follow-up style. He interviews one person, then another, then often goes back to a previous interviewee to get their reaction to what someone else said. It's an inevitable, but still ingenious structure that helps to involve the viewer.

At the same time, there does come a point when all this lying becomes tiresome. But just when you think you've had enough, Broomfield finally scores an interview with Fleiss herself, which rather than clearing things up, only adds to the confusion. It's a wonderful scene, and true to form, things don't end there, as Broomfield once again returns to certain people to try and put the pieces together.

OVERALL SCORE: B