The great Jeanna Fine died, dejected and obscured and the world does not and will not fucking know what a treasure she was and is and will forever be. Perhaps many good things are best hidden from you peasants, so as to protect them, Jeanna being one of the finest ones. It’s the tik fucking tok and the net fucking flix, for you plebs.

Such is the way of this world that not even the specific date of her death is logged; stated merely as October 2025. When I was studying at the Royal Academy of Dramatic fucking Art in London, I always secretly had a photo of her hiding in my notebook; god for-fucking-bid those rada cunts should ever clock it; not enough pearls in the world, to clutch. I discovered Jeanna at 17, soon after I had run away from home to London in the early 90s. While exploring the little crummy porno stores in the tiny, damp, jack the reaper streets of the red light part of Soho. (I, a total virgin until 23 y/o, mortified and flusterred red, even entering such a store). A beginners’ top selection of her many films would include, Hothouse Rose 1&2 (1991), Brandy and Alexander (1991), Party Doll A Go- Go! 1&2 (1991) and, absofuckinlutely, Velvet (1995) — imperatively watched in tandem with the companion documentary on the making of that film, called Rated X: A Journey Through Porn by Dag Yngvesson, a wonderfully made, fly on the wall, fantastic piece. Dag zeroed in on Jeanna and observed her with his camera with such kindness and respect. Many, if not all of these peak era films of hers were shot on 35mm or 16mm, by the godddamnfucking way, had fully rounded characters, original stories, great photography, good sound, proper sets and costumes, and music scores written for them. Exemplary examples of a wholly legitimage genre of cinema forever maligned by christian pedos and christian DL fags; pornography. She was a brilliant actress and performer, untrained and intuitive, the best in the history of the genre, in my opinion.

What I saw in Jeanna and what Jeanna excuded gave me courage, the freedom that comes from realising that magic can be made under any circumstance, to not be afraid to get my hands dirty, to see my vulnerable body as a gateway to more honest work. When she was given the material and a semi capable director (which she staunchly preferred) she was mesmerising; when she had no material and a loser director (quicky gonzo shite) she would still invent things out of nothing and shape it into a consistent, captivating performance and character, with humor, irreverence and humanity.

I will be dedicating my new project to her. As I had included her first in the list of “thanks” in the playbill section of the very first play I directed, The Annunciation of Cassandra, the theme of which was a fervent encouragement to follow your nature, wherever that leads, whatever the consequence, as that being the only way to honor the gift of life; being true to your nature.

Anyway, she’s dead at only 62 and I BLAME YOU.
YOU made her feel less than.*
Which eventually made her retreat and be unkind to herself.

Louise Brooks was dealt with in the same dissmisive way which almost destroyed her; she stuck around long enough to be re-discovered, nurtured back to life and brought back into the light and celebrated. Who knows if Jeanna would have had the same luck in today’s demented, cruel world. I will forever speak of her.

Goodbye, Angelique.

*Although you peasants truly do not deserve it, I will nevertheless bless you with a rare audio interview of Jeanna’s, part of a music album track by a band called Self Defence Family: part 1 + part 2.