Mickey,
This isn’t charity. This isn’t a GoFundMe. This isn’t strangers buying a piece of your pride because they loved Barfly or cried at The Wrestler.
This is work.
SCREW wants to offer you $50,000 to appear in a SCREW-produced adult film.
Not a stunt. Not a punchline. A performance.
You’ve already crossed this border before. 9½ Weeks wasn’t polite cinema. John Gray wasn’t safe, sanitized, or trying to be liked. That film didn’t ask permission, and neither did you. It leaned into hunger, power, tension, and risk. Porn just never bothered pretending it was something else.
SCREW has always lived in that same alleyway. The one where art, sex, bruises, and bad decisions shake hands.
This wouldn’t be some sad cameo or wink-at-the-camera nonsense. Think closer to Bruiser Stone energy than Hollywood nostalgia. Older. Harder. A man who’s lived long enough to stop apologizing for it. Shot deliberately. Lit honestly. No jokes at your expense. No irony shielding the moment.
You don’t need to perform youth. You don’t need to perform redemption. You just show up as Mickey Rourke. Face, voice, scars, gravity intact.
You get paid upfront. No fans, no donations, no humiliation. No strangers buying the illusion of helping. You work. You leave with cash, credit, and control over how it’s presented. End of story.
You don’t want pity. Good. Neither do we. SCREW doesn’t rescue people. We collaborate with them.
You’re a Schenectady guy. So is Phil Italiano. Same cold winters. Same instinct to swing back instead of folding. This isn’t Hollywood circling the wagons. This is one survivor recognizing another across the room.
Storms pass. Rent gets paid. Careers reboot in strange, honest places. Sometimes the move that saves you is the one everyone else is afraid to suggest.
SCREW isn’t afraid.
Fifty thousand dollars. One film. No begging. No embarrassment. Just work.
Call us.
—SM
