For Pamela Anderson, fame came in increments. First as a model for the Canadian beer brand Labatt Blue. Then in the pages of Playboy magazine. “Baywatch” was the project that brought her to life in three dimensions, even if the show’s producers treated her character as yet more scenery — there to be looked at — and that’s how audiences responded in turn. The consumption of her image soured and turned gleefully cruel when a sexually intimate home video of her and then-husband Tommy Lee was stolen from their home. The tape transformed their private moments into a public bootleg cash machine — and without their consent. Anderson looks back on all of it in the Netflix documentary “Pamela, a Love Story,” which functions as a corrective to the Hulu limited series “Pam & Tommy,” which came out a year ago.
Anderson had no involvement in the Hulu show, by her own choice. She would have preferred it hadn’t been made at all. Why dredge up one of the ugliest periods in her life? Who does it serve? Hint: Those who stood to gain financially.
Many people not named Anderson and Lee made several millions from that tape. Thirty years after the fact, the Hulu project ensured an entirely new group of people not named Anderson and Lee would again profit from this saga. That includes the show’s creators, as well as stars Lily James and Sebastian Stan in the title roles.
If something about that feels off, the Netflix documentary is an opportunity for Anderson to sort through some of these feelings on her own terms. (Her oldest son, Brandon Thomas Lee, is a producer on the film.)
The interviews take place at her home in Vancouver Island. She’s returned to the small town of her childhood “which is triggering and crazy,” she says, “coming home to this nutty place where my childhood happened.”
The rocky beaches and grassy fields look idyllic. A dog is frequently by her side. But her memories are more complicated. Her mom worked as a server at a pancake house. Her father was a “poker player, con man, chimney sweep” and also a “notorious bad boy.” Her parents would fight and reconcile in a never-ending cycle.
Her childhood was disrupted by sexual abuse, first at the hands of a babysitter and later by an older man. She learned to dissociate. “When those traumatic moments happened, I would just leave my body and float away and I’d make my own little world.” She doesn’t talk about what kind of life or career she envisioned in her future. Maybe she didn’t know herself. “I just thought: I have to get off the island.” When Playboy came along, it was her ticket out. But also: “Now I was going to take the power of my own sexuality and take my power back.”
Too often celebrity documentaries are an exercise in image management, or artless compilations of archival footage spliced with recent interviews. Anderson’s documentary, from director Ryan White (whose credits also include 2019′s “Ask Dr. Ruth”), avoids many of these pitfalls. I was surprised by how much I liked it, largely because White creates an intimacy with Anderson that gives the illusion of stripping back the artifice.
I say illusion because interviews, by their nature, are staged, purposeful conversations. There’s a level of performance going on, perhaps more so when the subject has been in the public eye for so long.
But White does some interesting things to undercut that cynicism. There’s an informality, with the camera up close. Gone is the heavy makeup that defined Anderson’s look for so long. At 55, there are hints in her offhand asides that suggest she doesn’t feel as confident about her body as she once did. She wears loose clothing in colors like off-white and sand — call it beachy cottage core — and she has the ultrathin eyebrows of someone who lived through the intense plucking of the ‘90s and colors her own hair with products she buys at the drugstore. It’s unclear if she has close friendships with women. If so, they remain tucked away and undiscussed. Her golden retriever gazes at her longingly and she seems content in these moments. You don’t get the sense someone is nervously hovering just off camera ready to step in for a quick touch-up.
These are all intentional decisions — Anderson and White are presenting her in a specific way — but it never feels like a put-on.
You also notice the absences. Anderson doesn’t talk about whether she felt pressured to maintain a certain body image, even after her pregnancies. How was she able to avoid this notorious pitfall of Hollywood?
She is also a person of contradictions: A survivor of sexual abuse herself, she has said in previous interviews that she thinks the #MeToo movement went too far. She also struck up a friendship with Julian Assange, who has been accused of rape. People are complicated and make all kinds of rationalizations that make sense to them. But the documentary doesn’t ask her to grapple with these cognitive dissonances. It’s a missed opportunity — not to get the goods on her, but to learn more about how Anderson has constructed her worldview.
Because so much else comes through with clarity. She’s funny and a bit lonely. Self-aware and self-deprecating. Smart and bright and interesting. It’s worth asking if the fame machine couldn’t, or wouldn’t, make room for a career where these qualities could be put to sly use.
For too long she sought out men who embodied the flattest stereotypes of masculinity. The relationships didn’t last. (I forgot she was once married to Kid Rock; or as she calls him, Bob.) More than once she marries someone because “why not?” She wants a deep and real connection, but that doesn’t always sync up with “why not?”
The now-infamous videotape would alter her life forever. The law should have been on her side, but a persistent misogyny clouded those efforts. She remembers looking at an assemblage of male lawyers and wondering: “Why do these grown men hate me so much?” It’s an astute observation, about the entitlement — the rage — that fuels exploitation.
There are other videotapes from that time that she’s kept stored away. She watches them again for the first time here. She and Lee were besotted in the beginning. “Hearing the tone in my voice, I was happy.” But later she admits: “I romanticize the past, so now that we’re talking about it a little bit, I can remember some things that were really big red flags — but if I didn’t think about it too much, I would think our relationship was perfect.”
Lee was often jealous of phantoms that didn’t exist. The tape only complicated that dynamic and he would ultimately turn violent one night while she was holding their infant son. A six-month jail sentence followed. He wanted to stay together. Anderson refused. “I just took my kids and was like, no. It wasn’t a gray area for me. You can’t do that.” She still has affection for Lee — it’s wrapped up in a wish for what might have been — but she describes their life post-divorce as “a very long 18 years of co-parenting.”
The tape branded her with a digital scarlet letter in a way that Lee simply wasn’t. It affected her opportunities going forward. “I had to kind of make a career from the pieces that were left.” The aftermath affected her two sons and I’m glad the film addresses this, even briefly. Brandon talks about being a young child and thinking “everyone had this dirty little secret about my family.” In school, if anyone brought up his mom, “I was quick to fight.”
Almost 30 years later, her anxiety about the tape becomes a present-day reality once again thanks to the Hulu series. She declines to watch, but her son tells her about the first few episodes and you can see her panic rising. She had blocked out so much as a defense mechanism. “And now that it’s all coming back up again, I feel sick … I feel like I’ve been punched. I don’t feel good right now.”
Anderson doesn’t dwell in her anger, so I’ll do that for her. Hollywood likes nothing more than to pat itself on the back when it deserves nothing of the sort. Anderson’s story is part of the public record; producers don’t need her permission. But whose story is “Pam & Tommy” really interested in telling?
Seth Rogen developed the series and he also stars as Rand Gauthier, the man who stole the tape and was never held legally accountable. The character is a sad sack whose motives are given a lot of consideration. He ultimately feels terrible about his actions and is contrite by the end. That’s a departure from the real Gauthier, who told Rolling Stone in 2014 that he “likes the fact that he contributed this small token to the world and he’s always enjoyed watching the tape itself.” The show’s creators claim their intentions were sincere and hoped the series could “perhaps find a little recompense for Anderson.” It’s a hollow sentiment.
The documentary humanizes her experience — and the vapor trails that never seem to fully burn off — in ways a scripted prestige project never could.
Anderson says she received no money for the tape’s distribution. That was her call. It felt too gross, too morally compromised. Do you regret not monetizing it, White asks her. No — and she could have used the money, too. “I’m not that person when it comes to money. I just want my credit card to work and I want to be able to get my nails done.” This is a very down-to-earth sentiment — and then later you see a full-size shipping container on her property that is filled to the brim with her shoe collection. Now, Pamela.
The shoes come out because she’s packing for an extended trip to New York. She’s starring in “Chicago” on Broadway, an eight-week run as Roxie Hart. I was struck by how committed she is during rehearsals. It’s a reminder that Anderson’s fame precedes the social media era of influencers who get by with neither talent nor charisma. She has the stuff. And by the time she takes the stage, you’re rooting for her — and she’s good. Really good. She doesn’t have a powerhouse voice, but in the clips we see, it’s clear she understands the inner life, the pain and the humor, of a vamp like Roxie Hart.
And she imbues the quiet opening bars of “Nowadays” — “It’s good, isn’t it? Grand, isn’t it? Great, isn’t it? Swell, isn’t it?” — with a mournful feeling that I found unexpected and moving. It’s a high point to end the documentary on, but also one that’s well-earned.
So much of “Pamela, a Love Story” is about a woman searching for love from men who saw her as a person to be obtained — and then controlled. The best love story might just be the one she develops with herself.
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'PAMELA, A LOVE STORY'
3.5 stars (out of 4)
Rating: TV-MA
Running time: 1:52
How to watch: Netflix
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