Precondom.
Most people's expectations of a porno film begin and end with whether or not the guys are hot and the dick are big. Porn is dispensable product, so there's no reason to invest integrity, right? Actually, pornography could be a viable and vital form of expression, as important to the humanities as traditional cinema or novel writing, and at times it is. . . or at least, it has been.
Falconhead is one of a handful of films that seriously and artistically attempt to bring grandeur, beauty, and complexity to the blue movie. It's a wonder this film is not as hallowed as Fred Halsted's L.A. Plays Itself because it is as intense and thought-provoking. Using a mirror as primary inspiration, director Michael Zen draws from a deep well of symbol and myth to bring back an electrifying erotic experience.
Falconhead features a fearsome bird-headed man with magical powers, a possibly nefarious shaman/landlord, stunningly photographed solo sequences, deliciously ambiguous sexual violence, and lots of ooey, gooey cum eating. A film like this, however dripping with artifice, is a rare treat, and every lover of erotica should see it at least once.
Like something out of a Greek tragedy (or Clash of the Titans), a naked man lies spread-eagled on his stomach on the center of a ceremonial plaza. The Falconhead appears out of nowhere, clad in black robes that look oddly medieval, and presents an ornately framed mirror to the prostrate man, pushing his face into it with his shiny black boots. Text flashes, “He gazed into the mirror and was consumed by it”.
And then a tall, bearded redhead, Adrian Wade (who looks a bit like Al Parker), gazes into the mirror. He is bathed in smoky red light; his moist body almost glows. Wade sensually rubs his body as the camera captures beads of sweat in lickable close-up. He pumps his hearty hog with his fist in front of a pink light—each stroke an important part of some mystical ritual. A hung fantasy hunk materializes before Wade, takes his dick into his mouth, and ever so lovingly sucks forth Wade's juices. The mystery man drinks down every teaspoon of jizz.
Next, lean, mustachioed Anthony Lee (he looks like an Anthony) carries the mirror to his home. His portly warlock of a landlord confronts him with an accusation of theft and a curt request for the rent. Once inside, safe from Satan's minion in the form of a property owner, Lee squats in front of the mirror kneading his humongous schlong. He tears at his clothes, ripping a white tank top to shreds, and spanks his own ass. He sprays a round of viscose glop onto the mirror and laps it up. Lee's fantasy man appears at this point to kiss his semen-encrusted mustache and take him from behind.
Elsewhere, later, Joe Dietrich, a cut and sculpted blonde, browses an antique shop. He chooses the mirror (THE MIRROR) from a smarmy queen of a proprietor. He takes it home and is immediately compelled to strip down, smoke a joint, and strap on a cock ring. He poses, flexes, and feels his taut body. Rich Johnson, a most husky and furry hottie in a black leather hood joins Dietrich. Johnson likes Dietrich's low-hangers, kisses his cock head, and tongues his ass—a deep, satisfying rim job if there ever were one. And then, in probably the film's hottest image, Johnson lies on his back and spreads his tree trunk thighs; his greasy pink hole, so perfectly tight and framed by faun-colored fur, pulses for some penetration.
The final man to find the mirror, Vince Perilli, does not fare as well as the other men. . . his story ends with a twist. I must stop here, in order to preserve the “leaves you pondering” finale for potential viewers. Falconhead will please your mind as well as your body. Then again, that might be the very issue with which the movie grapples. . .
Attached at the end of this film is a short by C. Michael McCullough called Tattoo, an artsy montage of extreme tattooing and piercing.
Starring Vince Perilli, Buddha Jon, Sabato Fiorello, Joe Dietrich, Anthony Lee and Adrian Wade.
Directed by Michael Zen.
DVD features include Jump to Your Favorite Scenes; DVD-ROM Compatible; No Regional Coding for World Wide Playback.
A Bijou Classic on DVD. |
On Sale Now!
