Pammy and Tommy's Honeymoon Video

Cynics, clear the room. Bitter divorcies, grim singles, tired marriage partners, you'd better get lost too. The ultimate love bomb is here, and it's in the form of a grainy home video snatched from the bedroom table of two of our most talked-about tabloid celebrities: Playboy playmate/"Home Improvement"/"Baywatch" star Pamela Anderson and her husband, Tommy Lee, the G-string wearing drummer for the heavy metal band Mvtley Cr|e.

What am I doing with the extremely private recorded nuptial moments of America's most leered-at couple? Well, I'm only one of thousands of people who are receiving a dubbed copy as a Christmas present, in my case from some Los Angeles producer I barely know who is busy using his VCR bank to make endless copies of "Pammy and Tommy" for his favorite clients and friends.

You may have heard that the Lees were suing the Internet Entertainment Group to prevent the company from posting the stolen video online (the couple have since agreed to drop their suit). If so, then you probably know that the heavily gossiped highlights of the tape are a) Tommy's penis size (huge) and b) Pamela's blow-job technique (also impressive).

But I found this tape to be endearing and remarkable for all sorts of reasons beyond the hyped blow job. The hard-core segments make up only a few minutes of a video that begins just before the Lees' wedding in Mexico and picks up as the camcorder gets randomly turned off and on throughout their honeymoon.

This is the first time I've ever seen a tape depicting a real-life couple when they're newly in love, crazy in lust and honestly don't know each other that well. Whenever Pam and Tommy can't think of anything to say, they call out, "Babe ... Babe, I love you!" and the end of their exclamations go up, up, up like a question mark.

Pamela can't wait to start a family, and she interrupts Tommy at random, saying, "Baby, when are you going to get me preg'os?"

Many people will say that this is the most banal, adolescent dialogue they've ever heard, but when was the last time they, like Tommy and Pam, screeched over to the shoulder of the freeway to have sex in their car? Like I said, this is a tape for people with big goo-goo eyes and wet pants -- just having wet pants isn't enough.

Another not-so-minor revelation is Pamela's masterful use of the camera and her lusty, proprietary view of her husband's penis. She's always shying away from him when he's got the lens, covering her breasts or hiding her broken nails. But give her the camcorder and Pamela, as her husband puts it, rips. She wants his hard-on in her viewfinder, and when she captures it there, she talks about how it's all hers, for the rest of her life. I have never seen a porn movie where a woman objectifies (and I do mean this in the best way) and rhapsodizes about a man's cock in this fashion. It's not because Pamela's an unusual woman, but because heterosexual women, as a rule, have not gone public with their own voyeurism. Maybe now some more randy young wives will speak up!

To continue the stereotype-busting momentum, Pamela demands that Tommy pull out of her while they're fucking (yes, she shoots that, too) and come on camera so she can see it. Right after he ejaculates, his normally arrogant rocker face just crumbles like a little boy's, and he cries! When have you ever seen a porn star, or any screen heartthrob, sob after orgasm? I practically burst into tears myself, I was so surprised.

Our starring couple are both very young, newly rich and, in the only witty undercurrent of the tape, extremely conscious of their working-class roots. At one point they get out their notes for a cookbook they're writing, which includes a recipe for "Don't-Forget-Where-You-Came-From Salad." Pam keeps looking up from their yacht deck in the middle of million-dollar Nowheresville and asking, "Where are we?" in a voice that lets you know she can't believe they've arrived. When they take their vows with minister and witnesses on the beach (the longest part of the tape, by the way) there's a genuine tenderness as they swear to stick by each other for richer or for poorer.

I'm telling ya, Pammy and Tommy are re-writing the Hollywood Book of Romance: women on top with camcorders, men crying after orgasm, lovebirds rolling joints and writing recipes, screw the production values, let's make love! Mr. and Mrs. Lee may have lost their privacy in the process, but they've given every starry-eyed newlywed a reason to pour on the baby talk.