Reading a friend’s biography is a strange phenomenon. In her in-depth biography of feminist adult filmmaker (and former erotic performer) Candida Royalle, Jane Kamensky splays Royalle open wider than any hardcore endeavor ever did—including 1979’s (with its tagline “We deliver!!!”), Royalle’s favorite of her 40 plus X-rated pics, which she loved for its sheer zaniness. She even kept the costume—micro shorts and a skimpy, white tie-off top—which were found among her personal effects when she died after an extended bout with ovarian cancer.
I knew her as Candice. Candice Vadala. In private, porn people call each other by their real names.
I’m a former smut scribe myself, having written scores of scripts, essays and video reviews under the names “Ariel Hart,” “Pearl Chavez,” et al. In fact, I’m a footnote in Kamensky’s book, where she cites my 1991 article “Surviving the Sex-Vid Explosion.” But I like to think that I was a bit more than a footnote in Royalle’s life; I was her friend.
We met in the early 1990s. Candice was gracious enough to grant me interviews when I was working on a piece. When I split with my first husband, a rage-filled, failed drummer, like a protective big sister, Candice confided in me, “I’m glad it’s over.
We all felt so sorry for you.” She knew too well the volatile musician’s temperament. “My dad was a drummer,” she told me wistfully.
Professionally, Candice was deeply committed to making lovingly-crafte.
