Some Semi-Enlightened Enthusiasm for Pat Rocco

Even though his filmography includes over 35 titles, filmmaker and activist Pat Rocco often gets a short shrift as a pioneer in gay adult film. At best, he’s treated as a footnote, film historians giving him a brief nod as they rush ahead to discuss Wakefield Poole’s Boys in the Sand or Fred Halsted’s L.A. Plays Itself. I don’t recall hearing about him until a few years ago, when I learned of his existence on the Ask Any Buddy podcast. Once upon a time, Rocco had a fan base so devoted to his work that it spawned a performing arts collective, the Society of Pat Rocco Enlightened Enthusiasts (SPREE), yet as of this writing, Rocco doesn’t even have a Wikipedia page, though he is name-checked in Wikipedia’s gay pornography entry.

Pat Rocco introduces himself to gay porn stars Spencer Reed (left) and
 Jasper St. John ahead of the 2010 GAYVN Awards.

Rocco may not get his due, but he’s not entirely forgotten. Two movies, the 2021 documentary PAT ROCCO DARED and the 2024 Blu-ray of Rocco’s 1974 film DRIFTER, provide an ideal introduction to the director’s work and his legacy.

The title of director Morris Chapdelaine and Bob Christie’s documentary is a riff on the title of Rocco’s 1969 film Pat Rocco Dares, though I really wish Chapdelaine and Christie had titled the doc Cock Danglers, which is how gay activist and writer Jim Kepner labeled Rocco’s work. Rest assured, however, that you will see plenty of dangling cocks throughout the documentary.

Some of the cocks, like this one featured in Rocco’s
descriptively titled Reclining Cowboy, aren’t so dangly.

Rocco died in 2018 at age 84, but queer filmmaker and one-time star of Dante’s Cove Charlie David (who’s got a Wikipedia page, BTW) was fortunate to spend a few days with Rocco and his camera-shy partner David Ghee in 2017 at their memento-packed home in Hawaii. Though his health was failing, Rocco, dressed in a requisite Hawaiian shirt and a toupee that just doesn’t want to stay glued to his head, is more than happy to let Chapdelaine, Christie and narrator David into his home to talk about his past. Rocco is less interested in discussing his present. When David asks Rocco about recent health problems (a heart attack, three strokes, failing vision), the director gently shuts down this line of questioning. “Oh, I don’t want to go into all of that. Let’s just talk about the good things.”

Filmmaker Charlie David (left) with Pat Rocco (right) and his partner
David Ghee (center) in 2017.

Talking about “the good things” means the documentary primarily focuses on Rocco’s films—the one’s he admits to making, at least. Pat Rocco Dared quickly gets through the filmmaker's biography: Brooklyn born Pasquale Vincent Serrapica, later raised in Los Angeles, initially pursued a singing career, performing on radio shows and musicals in the 1950s under the stage name Pat Rocco, and even spent three years performing on The Tennessee Earnie Ford Show. Rocco, who says he realized he was gay as early as 12 or 13 years old, is described as out during this time, though it’s clear there’s a distinction between being out and being open. Rocco talks of his first sexual experience as a teenager being with an older man giving him a ride, and that he had a boyfriend in high school, confessing to David that this documentary might be the first time he’s ever discussed either of these things.

It was in the late 1960s, when he answered an ad for a still photographer, that Rocco made the move into filmmaking. “I took along an 8mm movie camera with me, and I’d shoot a little 8mm film when I shot the stills,” Rocco says. He soon started a mail order business selling short films like Boy on the Run, which was made “just to use up film and use this guy who had one particular attribute that I knew the audience would like.”

The “particular attribute” featured in Boy on the Run, which Rocco
described as “fun nonsense—with a big dong.”

Rocco in the arms of Rev. Troy Perry in the 1970s.

Metropolitan Community Church founder Rev. Troy Perry recounts his first time seeing one of Rocco’s films in 1969. “It was the first time I’d ever seen frontal nudes. People [said to] me years later, ‘Oh, he made pornography.’ I said he never did. He made erotic movies under his name. Always, love was involved…. Even the bedroom scenes weren’t anything I couldn’t show my mother.” Rev. Perry’s mom was a lot more chill than mine was. 

Rocco’s brand of erotica, which has more in common with nudie cuties of the early 1960s, albeit a little more sexual and gay, seems rather quaint at a time when we have porn categories for CBT, gaping and fisting, but the director did dare to take artistic chances. In one of his movies (“A Breath of Love,” featured in Pat Rocco Dares), performer Brian Reynolds dances naked across an L.A. freeway, a stunt so outrageous that Rocco was asked to re-stage it for a local TV news station. Another movie, Discovery, a sweet story about two clean-cut young men who meet and fall for each other while at Disneyland, was filmed on location, most assuredly without permission. (“I broke every rule in the place,” Rocco says.) Though the nude scenes were filmed in the woods of Los Angeles’ Griffith Park, this distinction was not enough to keep Disney off Rocco’s ass, the company also pissed that Rocco scored his film with Disney’s music (unlicensed, of course).

Ballet down the freeway: Brian Reynolds makes the morning a whole lot
more interesting for commuters in 1969.

“What eventually happened is they [Disney] didn’t want a bigger thing made out of it by giving great big publicity on this film,” Rocco explains. “So, they say, ‘You take that film out of circulation, never let it be seen again. You’re also banned for life from Disneyland.’” This documentary is likely the only time scenes from Discovery have been seen since the movie was made in 1969, though David makes a point of informing viewers that different music had to be used in the documentary to avoid getting slapped with a lawsuit from Disney.

In the Pat Rocco tradition: The Game (1970), a
 film made by members of SPREE.

The documentary only mentions SPREE in passing. Rocco said he merely gave his blessing to the fan who dreamt up the organization, un-named in the documentary; Dick Winters according to another source. While Rocco downplays his involvement in the group, alternate accounts and online scans of SPREE’s newsletters suggest the group did not operate entirely independent of Rocco during its 10 years of existence.

Rocco didn’t restrict his filmmaking to romantic, nudity-filled fantasies. He used his platform for activism as well, documenting protests, police raids and other events affecting L.A.’s gay community. His 1970 film, Signs of Protest, covers a protest that erupted in front of the West Hollywood restaurant Barney’s Beanery, infamous for its sign “Fagots [sic]–Stay Out!” displayed behind the bar (bigots never proofread). Rocco, acting as news reporter, interviews people participating in the protest (including author Joseph Hansen, a.k.a. James Colton) and patrons in the restaurant, even getting a comment from Barney’s daughter, who doesn’t seem to understand what the fuss is all about. The sign wasn’t taken down permanently until 1984, and then only when activists and the city council stormed the restaurant and removed it themselves.

Rocco documented the LAPD raid of a gay nightclub in his
film Meat Market Arrest (1970). From left: Nude dancer
Bob Philpot, attorney Walter Culpepper and Pat Rocco.

Rocco also filmed L.A.’s first gay Pride parade. “That really set us apart from New York,” Perry says. “New York’s was a march. Ours (Los Angeles’s) was a parade.” Rocco took an even more active role in the mid-1970s when he became president of the Christopher Street West Association, organizing the L.A. Pride parade and adding a carnival as part of the celebration.

An ‘Honest Look’ at a 35-Year-Old Hustler

Rocco didn’t direct many feature length films. Pat Rocco Dared highlights 1977’s Silent No More, about a man’s struggles to get his homophobic father to accept his homosexuality and his boyfriend, but it isn’t even included on the IMDb pages for either Rocco or the movie’s star Michael Kearns and forget finding a copy on Blu-ray. It’s like the movie is locked away with Discovery, with only the few scenes featured in Pat Rocco Dared seeing the light of day. Luckily, one of Rocco’s other feature-length efforts, Drifter (a.k.a. Two-Way Drift), was resurrected on Blu-ray.

Drift sparkles like a teen vampire.

Shot for $50,000 in 1969 but not released until 1974 by porn studio Jaguar Productions after it was rejected by the major studios and indie outfits like American International (I’d love to see the reactions on the executives’ faces when the movie was screened), Drifter is Rocco’s take on Midnight Cowboy. The story centers on a bisexual hustler going by—what else?—Drift who, as played by Joed Adair, is at once a naïve dreamer, a cynical pro and/or a hapless victim of circumstance. It just depends on the scene. In the opening scene, however, Drift is shown to be kind of rapey as he tries to force himself onto Steve (David Russell, who may be wearing a wig), a young man who picked up Drift hitchhiking in Arizona. (An alternate read of this scene, and the one I think was intended, is Drift trying to initiate sex only to be violently rejected by a horrified Steve).

Gino (Joseph Caruso) has a proposition.

So, it’s back on the road for Drift, who, after a bite to eat at Roy & Lorene’s Diner, hitches a ride with Gino (Joseph Caruso, a.k.a. porn director Gorton Hall). Gino is more than happy to give Drift a lift to Los Angeles, provided the lanky hitchhiker understands it’s not a free ride. Drift spends the night at a motel with the portly Gino without protest or enthusiasm. As filmed, however, it looks like the two men literally just sleep together. Maybe the guys got the sex out of the way off camera earlier?

Once dropped off in L.A., Drift goes from one encounter to the next. Drifting, if you will. After a brief detour into an adult bookstore, Drift is chatted up by Wagner (Dean Shah-kee), who sort of resembles the late Julian MacMahon during his Charmed era. Wagner doesn’t waste time offering Drift a place to stay, at least for tonight. Wagner has a roommate but assures Drift it’s not a problem. The roommate works nights, while Wagner remains scarce during the day. Though Wagner is an upgrade from Gino—physically, at least—Drift is surprisingly reluctant to whore himself out for shelter. Then again, Drift’s resistance might have nothing to do with Wagner and more to do with the fact that Wagner’s apartment is a depressing shithole.

“C’mon Drift, join me. It’s more fun when there’s two.”: Drift about to
make his rent payment. Notice Dean Shah-kee’s shadow on the left.

Drift meets Wagner's roommate,
Klamath (Bambi Allen).

Other encounters include meeting Wagner’s roommate; having a meeting with Maxine (Ann Collins), a bitchy “agent” Drift was referred to by Gino; and meeting Karen (Inga-Marie Pinson), a pretty, young German woman he first encounters while on his way to Maxine’s office. They meet again at the bus stop and then spend the rest of the day together, planning to get together again after Karen is free from a mysterious work obligation.

Throughout the movie there are flashbacks to Drift’s past with Steven, scenes that further confuse the nature of their relationship. The character of Steven obviously has a crush on Drift yet is also totally oblivious to Drift’s sexual signals. I’m usually slow on the uptake, but if one of my friends got naked and initiated a tickle fight, I think I would suspect he had something other than platonic rough housing in mind. The intention may have been to portray Steven is a sheltered and inexperienced, but he often just comes across as having a mental disability.

Not what it looks like.

Perhaps Drift’s most startling encounter—and the movie’s most cringeworthy scene—is with Dana (Gerald Strickland, who would be right at home in a John Waters movie), on a date that was arranged by Maxine. “Do you find me…attractive?” Dana asks in a gravelly purr, not realizing that this isn’t a question you should ask if you’re not prepared for a negative answer. (“You’re OK,” Drift replies tactfully.)

And then Dana changes clothes.

Drift’s response: “What the hell?”

As squirm-inducing as Strickland’s performance is, it’s ultimately heartbreaking when Dana reveals he plans to undergo gender reassignment surgery for reasons that seem only partially rooted in gender dysphoria. In an unsettling close-up, Dana laments: “In my world—the gay world—when you reach 50, love is not so easy to find. You’re pretty much washed up. Through those young years, when so many are willing to give, I kept myself hidden. I never let anyone know me. Well, I’ve stopped hiding now. So, come on Drift, help me say good-by as a man and make me feel like a woman.”

Who is Drift’s sex show partner? You
 get one guess.

The job that sends Drift over the edge, however, is near the movie’s end, when Gino hires him as entertainment for an all-male party. My first thought was Drift was being set-up as a bottom for a gangbang, but Gino had something more refined in mind: a live sex show. Drift is resigned to the job, until he sees his performance partner. It turns out Drift is more than just kind of rapey, after all.

I’ll admit I went into this one expecting to have a lot of fun at its expense, surprised to discover that Drifter was not so easy to ridicule. While it shares many similarities to The Light from the Second Story Window (also released by Jaguar), such as a cast of SPREE members and clumsily trying to milk pathos from its lurid story about a sex worker, Drifter is significantly less ridiculous. Rocco’s movie is rough around the edges, hindered by its low-low budget and a cast who, by and large, have calibrated their performances for the stage instead of the big screen, but the director’s technical and storytelling proficiency make Drifter almost seem like a real movie.

Heterosexual mating rituals: Drift and Karen (Inga-Marie Pinson)
 have fun in the park.

Drifter’s biggest weakness is its star and writer, Joed Adair. Adair’s script, written under the name Edward Middleton, based on his (unpublished) novel, might be Oscar-worthy in comparison to David Allen’s Second Story Window, but it’s just as self-serious, with an over-reliance on melodramatic—and often self-pitying—monologues to sell us on the plight of its characters. As an actor, Adair isn’t bad, he’s just miscast as a character whom we’re supposed to believe is under 35. I couldn’t accept Drift as a young innocent reluctantly selling his body when Adair looks like he should be rattling off a menu of sexual services and prices to potential tricks, reminding them that cash is required up front.

The Parts Pat Rocco Dared Left Out

The cover for Kino Cult’s
 Blu-ray release of Drifter.

Making the Drifter Blu-ray an even greater value are its bonus features, which include four of Rocco’s “cock danglers,” the Adair-starring A Matter of Life among them. Those wanting to learn more about Rocco will appreciate the commentary track from film historian Finley Freibert, dry though it may be. While Pat Rocco Dared is a pleasant introduction to Rocco’s life and work, it’s too beholden to the narrative Rocco wants to tell (Rocco also produced the documentary), so it’s less a documentary and more a celebration of Pat Rocco. Among the parts Pat Rocco Dared leaves out:

• Before Rocco began taking photos and filming naked men, he ran a theater in Moorpark, Calif. Joed Adair was one of his employees at this time and the two men became close friends (possibly more), collaborating on theater productions. The two men ultimately had a falling out, though they later made up and made Drifter.

• Rocco later owned a coffeehouse/head shop called Bizarre Bazaar that also showed campy old movies like Johnny Guitar. The fact that Rocco didn’t bother licensing the movies he showed ultimately landed him in hot water, contributing to the closure of Bizarre Bazaar.

• Though Pat Rocco Dared leaves viewers with the impression that Pat Rocco never directed hardcore porn, he most certainly did. Under the name Brad Kingston, Rocco directed several movies for gay porn studio Jaguar Productions, including A Deep Compassion and A Dream of Body. He reportedly directed the sex scenes in The Light from the Second Story Window as well. Freibert explains these movies attracted the attention of law enforcement, and that Rocco’s home was raided several times because of them. He and his business partners were charged with conspiracy to commit oral copulation and sodomy (the charges were later dropped). Rocco, not wanting to draw any more police or FBI attention, later downplayed his hardcore work.

Some random facts about Drifter and its cast:

• Joed Adair was born in Oklahoma and raised in Texas, where he showed promise as an actor and dancer. In addition to Drifter, he wrote scripts for the shorts A Matter of Life and Autumn Nocturne and the feature Someone. He died in 2001.

• In addition to his part in Drifter, Dean Shah-kee, who also went by the name Dean Chambers, worked as a crew member on Rocco’s movies. His resume includes stints as a model, a dance instructor and a cashier at a gay porn theater.

• Like Shah-kee, Gerald Strickland was in the porn peddling business, working as a cashier for Woody’s Adult Books, owned by Jaguar Films co-founder Woody Daniel (the store is featured in Drifter). He was later second in command at Jaguar. Strickland died the same year Drifter was released.

Product placement.

• SPREE member Bambi Allen, who plays Klamath, was also in Pat Rocco Dared. She had small parts in numerous grindhouse movies, including The Fabulous Bastard from Chicago, Terror at Orgy Castle and Hell’s Bloody Devils. She died of cancer before Drifter was released.

• Drifter was supposed to be Jaguar Films’ crossover into the mainstream (?), but the film, which barely counts as softcore, was only shown at gay porn theaters alongside decidedly hardcore movies like Fred Halsted’s Sextool. Gay porn theaters are not typically a gateway to mainstream success and consequently Drifter was a box office failure.

Double Takes: ‘Taekwondo’ (2016) ★★ / ‘Horseplay’ (2022) ★★

Argentinian director Marco Berger
takes his time developing a central
relationship in Taekwondo.

You won’t have to wait long to see naked men in Taekwondo and Horseplay, two very similar movies from Argentinian writer-director Marco Berger. A penis is shown within the first 10 minutes of Taekwondo; within the first 12 of Horseplay. You’ll have to wait considerably longer for a story to present itself.

Both movies are about a group a young, clothing-averse men who spend their school vacation at a friend’s house. All the men are straight. Or are they? Though the movies share the same synopsis, they are not identical. For starters, in Taekwondo Berger’s camera frequently lingers on his cast’s crotches while the director is more into showcasing the asses of his Horseplay cast, particularly the one attached to actor Bruno Giganti (in fairness, Giganti’s ass is almost reason alone to watch Horseplay).

But there are other differences. In Taekwondo, the men are younger (very late teens-very early twenties), slightly less rowdy and a little more likeable. They’re staying at the one-time health spa owned by the family of their host, Fer (Lucas Papa). The place is kind of shabby, but it’s got plenty of room and no parental supervision. Joining the group of mutual friends is one outsider, Germán (Gabriel Epstein), Fer’s friend from his Taekwondo class. Germán is shy, a bit bookish (he’s shown reading Catcher in the Rye and Patrick Suskind’s Perfume) and very cute in a barely legal sort of way. He’s also gay, though he’s only out to his weed dealer, who is also gay. Germán has a crush on Fer (short for Fernando) and thinks Fer might feel the same about him—if Fer is gay, that is. It’ll take Germán and the audience the film’s entire runtime to find out.

A story takes even longer to develop in
Marco Berger's 2022 follow-up Horseplay
(a.k.a. Los Agitadores)

Six years later, Berger made Horseplay, in which a group of men in their mid-twenties—almost all of whom are assholes—spend their Christmas break at the more luxurious villa belonging to Artur’s (Iván Masliah) family. This gathering is a lot raunchier, with the guys graphically talking about their sexual exploits, pranking each other, and taking photos of each other in lewd poses. Poli (Franco de la Puente) is the lone gay guy, uncomfortable amongst all this toxic masculinity. Another guy at the villa, Andy (Agustín Machta) knows Poli’s secret, and while he doesn’t identify as gay he’s super horny and not opposed to using Poli’s available orifices to get off. But Andy makes clear he could never be in a relationship with a man. He’d much rather join Nico (Giganti and his scene-stealing ass) for a three-way with woman they met online.

Taekwondo is gentler and ultimately more romantic (and for me, more enjoyable), while Horseplay has a much darker, almost nihilistic tone that nevertheless leaves you unprepared for its shocking ending. I didn’t hate either movie, but both tested my patience. Berger’s slow, elliptical storytelling can work well when he’s focusing on two or three characters, as he did in the far superior film The Blonde One (starring one of Taekwondo’s actors, Gaston Re), but it’s not as easy to appreciate when he’s seemingly unfocused on 10-15. You’ll spend much of Taekwondo’s and Horseplay’s respective runtimes watching guys sleeping (in their skivvies or in the nude), swimming, trimming their toenails, getting high, eating, playing video games, reading, taking showers, sitting on the toilet, watching videos on their phones, and just sitting around shooting the shit, before a narrative—or at least a point—ever presents itself. If that sounds kind of dull, that’s because it is, but at least you’ll have plenty of nice scenery to look at as the two movies slowly approach their respective climaxes.

Short Takes: ‘Only Good Things’ (2025) ★★★

Is it enigmatic, or just pretentious? More
importantly, does either matter when you
get to see Liev Carlos and Lucas
Drummond naked?

It’s difficult to praise the work of Brazilian writer-director Daniel Nolasco without getting defensive. I liked his 2020 feature Dry Wind (a.k.a. Vento Seco), digging Nolasco’s 1970s-Joe Gage-meets-1980s-neon-noir aesthetic and how he presents gay desire like a 1980s queer teen-ager who just got his hands on a copy of Honcho. However, the explicitness of the movie—and I’m talking about the uncut version I wished I’d purchased when the DVD was still in print, not the edited version streaming on Prime and Dekkoo—makes it easy for cinema snobs (not The Cinema Snob) to dismiss Nolasco as just a high class pornographer, as if that’s a bad thing.

Nolasco’s 2025 film Only Good Things (a.k.a. Apenas Coisas Boas) has many of the elements of Dry Wind: vivid photography, attractive actors with an exhibitionist streak, and trans actress Renata Cavalho, albeit in a significantly smaller role. However, Nolasco’s narrative is less direct this time out, which makes it harder to embrace. I liked it upon reflection, but I can see it pissing off many viewers. My three-star rating is generous.

Only Good Things opens in 1984, when Marcelo (curly-haired cutie Liev Carlos) crashes his motorcycle while riding through the Brazilian countryside, the cause of the accident as odd as it is startling. He’s discovered by a passing rancher, Antônio (Lucas Drummond, really selling that ’stache), who takes the unconscious biker back to his rustic farmhouse to tend to his injuries, as well as admire his cock and taste his blood (how Saltburn!). Later, when Marcelo is still impaired enough to require assistance undressing for a shower but healed enough to get horny, it’s Antônio’s cock that gets admired. And tasted (no money shot, though).

A romance develops, though Antônio is wary, certain Marcelo will leave him at any moment. “There’s nothing here for you,” he reminds Marcelo repeatedly, almost daring him to go. But what threatens this relationship isn’t Marcelo possibly growing bored with farm life but by Antônio’s homophobic father stepping up his intimidation tactics in an attempt to force his son to sell his land, the escalation leading to tragedy.

Though the first half of the movie moves slowly, with a little too much time devoted to capturing Antônio’s routine (milking cows, herding cattle, making cheese), I was very much invested in his story. Then there’s a time jump to present day. Antônio, now played by Fernando Libonati, is in his sixties, living in a São Paulo high rise and seemingly inhabiting a completely different film. The switch is jarring, and it initially turned me against the movie, never mind that the second half also features some full-frontal nudity from Igor Leoni, as Antônio’s assistant Eduardo. But the more I thought about it the more I realized that Antônio is an unreliable narrator. That realization led to a kinder view of the movie. Still, I prefer the movie’s first half, even if it is belied by its second. 

Short Takes: ‘Latin Blood: The Ballad of Ney Matogrosso’ (2025) ★★ ½

Watching Latin Blood: The Ballad of Ney Matogrosso (a.k.a. Homem com H) wasn’t the first time I wondered about the logistics of filming R-rated rim jobs (that would be when I watched the HBO series Looking), but it was the first time I was prompted to do some online research on the subject. And now I know that yes, there are modesty garments that cover actors’ buttholes, dashing any notions I had that Jesuíta Barbosa (as Ney Matogrosso) and Bruno Montaleone (as Marco, the tragic lover) were staring directly into each other’s naked assholes when filming their sex scene.

Sorry, I really shouldn’t begin a review obsessing about the particulars of filming simulated sex, but it was top of mind when I finished watching Latin Blood. The movie is not about actors tossing salad, however. It’s a biopic about queer Brazilian singer Ney Matogrosso, known as much for his outrageous costuming and androgynous appearance as for his voice.

That Matogrosso (né Ney de Souza Pereira) rose to such heights is a testament his determination as much as his talent, given that his father, portrayed in the film by Rômulo Braga, was a harsh, borderline abusive, disciplinarian who seemed determined to break the young Ney’s will at every turn. Then again, proving our parents wrong can be a powerful motivator. After brief stints in the military and performing in a Brasilia college choral group (and having an affair with an older man), Matogrosso moves to Rio de Janeiro in the late 1960s, where he ultimately joins the rock group Secos & Molhados (Dry Ones & Wet Ones), becoming its art director as well as its lead singer. The band is an immediate hit, yet while it owes much of its success to Matogrosso’s stage presence, the film suggests the Secos & Molhados’ founding members—both straight—wanted him to tone it down. Instead, Matogrosso goes solo, to even greater success.

Director Esmir Filho, who co-wrote the script with Laura Malin, has crafted an entertaining film, featuring some superb performances, especially from Barbosa, and a few questionable wigs. It’s not a very impactful film, however. The problem with biopics that go from cradle to grave—or cradle to present day, in this case—is they tend to play like highlight reels. Latin Blood rapidly cycles through Matogrosso’s life, from 1949 to present, barely allowing the audience time to get its bearings before jumping to the next decade, only slowing down for the 1970s. Characters appear with little introduction—perhaps, in the case of Cazuza (Jullio Reyes), because the filmmakers believe none is needed. But if you’re unfamiliar with Brazilian musicians of the ’70s and ’80s, you’ll think he’s just one of Matogrosso’s fuck buddies, until it’s revealed in another time jump that he was a famous singer in his own right, and an AIDS casualty a scene after that. There is no time for tears, however. Latin Blood quickly hops to another moment in Matogrosso’s life as it races to a finale concert by the real, present-day Matogrosso.

You may get more out of Latin Blood if you’re already a fan of Matogrosso’s music. If not, at least appreciate that, despite often playing out like a Wikipedia page with sex, nudity and a soundtrack album, it’s not some Bohemian Rhapsody PG-13 bullshit.

What if ‘Hellraiser’ was Gay(er) and DTF?

Are men with giant bird heads scary? Moreover, are they hot?

Kinda? (Photo from BJ’s Gay Porno-Crazed Ramblings)

Those are but two of the questions you’ll ask yourself while watching the late Michael Zen’s 1976 gay porn horror film FALCONHEAD and its mid-1980s sequel, FALCONHEAD II: THE MANEATERS. Both films are considered classics of the gay porn genre, even likened to Clive Barker’s Hellraiser, writer-director Zen telling dark erotic stories—often abstractly—through dreamy imagery, effective, if unlicensed, music, lots of smoke, and, of course, lots of cum-drenched sex scenes.

However, while both movies are classics, they aren’t exactly scary.

Though both movies have their moments.

What the Falconhead movies lack in genuine scares is made up for with mood, which is decidedly unsettling, somewhat creepy, often disorienting and just a wee bit pretentious. The first Falconhead is the more cryptic of the two films, with a barely-there storyline that waits a good thirty minutes to present itself. More immediate is the movie’s theme, narcissism, making it perfect for the age of social media.

Vince Perilli’s good side.

The titular Falconhead—a tall imposing man with, yes, a falcon head—descends a long outdoor staircase (UCLA’s Janss Steps in fact) to where a naked Vince Perilli waits, spread-eagle and ass-up. After Perilli licks the Falconhead’s leather boots, he is presented with a mirror. Suddenly, Perilli is licking and caressing his own reflection. A title card appears onscreen, reading: “He gazed into a mirror and was consumed by it.” Falconhead’s storytelling may be surreal, but its messaging isn’t subtle.

From there, we are dropped into a scene featuring one of the mirror’s earlier victims, a bearded man with a slim athletic build (“a slim athletic build” pretty much describes everyone who has a sexual role in the film). This is Adrian Wade, who was a member of the leather drag group the Cycle Sluts. His furry body is oiled and glistens in a red light. When I listened to the podcast Ask Any Buddy for background on the Falconhead films (and you can too), one of the hosts brought up that the combo of the oil and red light made it appear as if Wade was covered in blood. I guess, if you want to go there. I did not. Besides, there was more than enough bloodletting for me in the sequel (don’t worry, we’ll get to it soon enough).

Anyway, back to Wade pleasuring himself. Much of the scene is in extreme closeup, making it difficult to tell what part of his body Wade is rubbing.

Though some parts are less ambiguous than others.

A second well-hung man enters the frame; the scene is shot in such a way as to render him practically anonymous. Smoke further helps obscure his identity (Zen loves his smoke machines). There’s no mistaking what the guys are doing, however, as they kiss, the camera so close to their mouths that the scene almost becomes an endoscopy, and stroke each other, until Wade’s partner kneels to blow him. At the scene’s juicy conclusion, they kiss. The mystery man disappears, and Wade is left staring at his own bearded visage.

Next, we’re in the woods, where a heavy-set hippie dude in a black caftan is doing some sort of Wiccan shit. Suddenly his face fills the screen, and it’s one of the movie’s few jump scares. This hippie warlock who does his eyeliner with a Sharpie is Buddha Jon (a.k.a. John Parker, Brigid Berlin’s ex-husband), and what’s got him turning to the camera so startingly is his tenant, Anthony Lee (whom I think was Wade’s partner in the previous scene). Lee, tromping through the woods looking like he’s returning from a night at the Outcast, is carrying the mirror. In one of the movie’s two scenes with dialog, B.J. asks Anthony—his character name is Cat, but I’ll stick with the performer’s name—about the rent he’s owed, then asks about the mirror, accusing him of stealing it from “some trick.”

Lee ignores B.J. and retreats to his apartment. Staring at his own reflection, he fishes his cock out of a conveniently located hole in his jeans, then thinks better of it and stuffs it back in his pants, figuring it will be easier to just finish unbuttoning his fly. His stroke session becomes more intense, Lee ripping up his wifebeater and swallowing his own fist.

Gulp.

Mark David’s hot pants.

His hand isn’t all Lee swallows, as we soon see after he spews his copious load all over the mirror. It’s a moment that could easily be featured in this particular cumpilation [the whole goddamn post is NSFW, so you do the math regarding the links]. The scene segues into Lee’s post-nut fantasy (um, aren’t the fantasies before and during a stroke sesh?) A blond dude appears, his dick dangling out of a pair of crotchless leather shorts. Per Ask Any Buddy, it’s Mark David (a.k.a. Mike Daniels), one of the few members of this cast of one ’n’ dones to have a had a career in gay porn, albeit a short one. It’s at this point the movie moves beyond beating off and blowjobs to feature some rimming and fucking. The scene concludes with Lee, naked and asleep, his head resting on the mirror, while Buddha Jon looks through the window.

Next, fluffy-haired blond Joe Deitrich, wearing aviator sunglasses and black muscle tee, steps into an antiques store to browse. Deitrich is immediately drawn to the mirrors on display. Deitrich inquires about a mirror behind the counter—the mirror—and is told it’s $85. When he says he’ll take it, the manager (artist Sabato Fiorello) hands it to him. “It’s yours,” he says with a knowing smile (I think it’s given to him free of charge, but the movie doesn’t clarify).

Mise en schlong.

Back at his ‘70s AF apartment, complete with mirrored walls and shaggy orange bedspread, a naked and glistening Deitrich snaps on a cock ring in preparation for some self-gratification (all the guys in this movie take their masturbation very seriously). However, Deitrich isn’t so serious that he can’t enjoy a joint with his wank. It’s at this point that another pair of hands slide up around his torso. The hands belong to a beefy stud wearing a leather hood, not credited but according to Ask Any Buddy it’s Glenn Robinson, also in Wakefield Poole’s Take One. It’s a pretty hot scene, with one of the more artfully shot rim jobs you’re likely to see in gay porn (as opposed to, I don’t know, the MCU).

The Falconhead gets some head.

The Falconhead and Vince Perilli reappear in the film’s last act. After artist Perilli, tellingly sketching falcons, finds the mirror in the woods (though I think it’s clear at this point that the mirror finds those who deserve it), he takes it home and—you guessed it—starts jacking off in front of it. In fact, he seems to be performing for the mirror. Just as he’s recovering from his orgasm, Perilli is seized by the Falconhead. This is where the movie goes in more of a BDSM direction, with Perilli’s arms suddenly bound behind his back by leather cuffs than chains. Perilli sucks the Falconhead’s dick, which is covered with a black condom. It’s an unexpected twist, given this movie pre-dates safe sex by a decade. Perilli gradually works the condom off the falcon cock. I wondered if he’d actually swallowed it, but then the Falconhead sticks his gloved hand into Perilli’s mouth and retrieves the rubber, which he then stretches over his hand, breaking it, then rubbing it all over Perilli’s face.

Just when it looks like Perilli is going to get fucked by the Falconhead, he finds himself atop black sheets, in a black room. In the room are Deitrich, wearing nothing but a metal-studded belt with matching cuffs, and Lee, with only a leather collar around his neck. They pounce on Perilli like tigers thrown a slab of raw meat. Perilli seems into it at first—I can certainly think of worse fates than getting my ass eaten by Lee while Deitrich feeds me his cock—but then the sex becomes rough; Lee and Deitrich become violent. Perilli’s pleasure means nothing. He’s there to be used. Worse, there’s no escape. He, like them, is now trapped in the mirror.

Doomed to be fucked by Joe Deitrich for an eternity.

While Perilli presses his face against the mirror’s glass, there are some shots of Buddha Jon laughing maniacally and shaking burning smudge sticks, and Sabato Fiorelli gazing mysteriously into a fishbowl, suggesting the two men are behind the fate of the men trapped in the mirror. This kind of makes sense. B.J. and Sabato would likely be rejected by men like Lee, Deitrich and Perilli, and would therefore want to see them punished by their own narcissism. People punished for their narcissism—this is a fantasy!

According to the hosts of the Ask Any Buddy podcast, Elizabeth Purchell and Tyler Thomas, Falconhead is considered the Hellraiser of gay porn, which I hadn’t heard before, but I can see the connection. The puzzle box functions the same as the mirror, after all, though being trapped in a mirror to have rough sex for eternity doesn’t quite have the same stakes as being ripped apart by Cenobites—or forced to watch Hellraiser: Relevations.

Falconhead and his pet.

Making the Most of a Backyard Pool, a Smoke Machine and Saran Wrap

After directing a couple of porn movies for the heterosexuals (Reflections; The Filthy Rich), Zen returned to the Falconhead myth, releasing Falconhead II: The Maneaters in 1984. Though just as dreamlike (and pretentious) as the original, the sequel has something of a plot.

Manimal after dark.

Derek (bleached blond Rick Taylor) dreams of the Falconhead, now in the muscle bear form of Paul Barresi (girl, there are stories…), and showing more skin because of that fact. The Falconhead is in what at first appears to be a lush tropical garden but is more than likely the landscaped surroundings of someone’s backyard pool. After appearing to roar as falcons do (I write “appearing to” because the soundtrack is largely electronic music and narration), the Falconhead pulls his dick out and jacks off. This backyard is that nice.

The end of the dream is cut in such a way that it appears the Falconhead’s load lands on Derek, but then as Derek rubs it onto his chest lather appears. He is in the shower. In V.O., he talks of being haunted by the dream, though he’s clearly very turned on by it. Let’s just say his privates are thoroughly lathered during this shower. Still, he’d rather get off to memories of a recent tryst in “the mountains” (but the same backyard pool setting as the Falconhead dream). I get it. It’s like when you click on a porno video that has acts/themes you’re not comfortable responding to (I can’t be into stepdad-stepson piss play, can I?) and jump to something more familiar. Derek just isn’t cool with being aroused by falcon/muscle bear hybrids.

Paul Baressi has a proposition for Rick Taylor.

As Derek is rinsing off his splooge a man decked out in full leather gear (also Baressi) enters his home, careful to take the phone off the hook as he approaches the bathroom. This sequence is quite effective actually, and one of the few moments in either of the Falconhead films that feels like a conventional horror movie. Derek, however, seems more annoyed than threatened (“Who the fuck are you?” he asks in a distinctly British accent). The leather man ignores his protests, informing Derek in a slow, gruff whisper, that he is perfect (i.e., a total narcissist) for the assignment, which is to find the Falconhead and “rescue” the leather man’s slave. All Derek has to do is enter the mirror and resist the temptations he finds there. Derek agrees, but only after the leather man promises to set him up “for the rest of [his] goddamned life.” As for the identity of the leather man’s “boy,” Derek is only told that he’ll know him when he sees him.

Sabato Fiorelli (right) wonders what the hell is that
on Rick Taylor’s head.

The leather man disappears and suddenly Derek is at a costume party, wearing some sort of horse headdress constructed of leather and chains. This is like Hellraiser, albeit one of its lesser sequels. It is here that he’s presented with various temptations, the first being two young men with “identical” cocks. “Now they can masturbate and be fucked at the same time by the same cock,” explains a narrator, who just might be Derek. These two men are Paul Monroe and, sporting a ’stache and tattoos, Brad Mason, and their scene together is quite intense. I was also surprised to see it features an instance of a performer spitting in another’s mouth (Monroe into Mason’s, specifically), which I thought was more of a 1990s thing—especially in the videos by TitanMedia.com—as sort of a safe sex workaround to guys taking loads in the mouth. To be clear, Falconhead II was made just ahead of gay porn incorporating safer sex precautions, so the spitting here is just to spice things up.

Rose-y Palmer

But Monroe and Mason’s scene is merely a warm-up. Derek still must find the mirror, which he discovers in a bedroom that’s surprisingly free of any horny party guests. It is the same mirror from the original film, and when he dons the leather man’s glove that has been left in front of it, he is transported into the “hall of mirrors”—so, mirrors within a mirror. The first mirror he gazes into is presented by Sabato Fiorelli, the only performer from the previous film, dressed as a white-faced nun. Derek gazes into a white room inhabited by straight performer Blake Palmer, back when he was young and cute, dressed in a loose white shirt and tight white pants. Palmer gradually strips while posing with a rose. As he does so, a narrator recites a piece about the “rape of humiliation,” which includes this passage: “I dreamed a Nazi tried to rape me in an alley, but I bit his tongue and the blood dripped swastikas.” Palmer ultimately jerks off with the rose, piercing his bottle-shaped dick with its thorns and using the blood as lube. Um, no thank you.

Derek next encounters a middle-aged drag queen in a wedding dress. The queen bride presents a mirror that shows a master-slave scenario. Steve Collins, dressed much as he was in Gayracula, sans cape, summons his servant, who appears wearing a mask/headdress and little else, proffering a tray with an apéritif. Collins removes the servant’s mask to reveal we’re getting a second and welcome appearance by Brad Mason. Mason immediately drops to his knees. Here Zen uses a Vangelis track, the jaunty electronica working especially well when Collins fucks Mason, almost in time to the music.

“Nothing saves like Saran Wrap®.”

The master then becomes the slave. Mason strips Collins, then wraps him in Saran Wrap (“I must be wrapped as a package to make my body conform”). Though I found the plastic wrap business a little silly, the two performers make it hot. After Mason gets off (and helps himself to a taste) he dresses in Collins’ discarded tux. When he rings the bell for the servant, Collins appears, wearing the same mask/headdress that Mason wore at the scene’s beginning.

Paul Monroe goes down on a motorcycle.

We’re not done with Mason yet, or Paul Monroe, as they both return for the penultimate sex scene, which involves Monroe jerking off on a motorcycle while recalling a grungy encounter with Mason. I’m all for another helping of Mason and Monroe, but I’ve seldom seen the sex-with-a-motorcycle motif not look dumb. Fortunately, Zen focuses more on Monroe than the bike, but Monroe still incorporates the bike into his jack-off session. Then again, I drive a Kia Soul, so what do I know about being sexually aroused by vehicles.

Having successfully resisted the temptations along the way (easy to do when only one of the garishly costumed drag queens offered), Derek is granted access into the Falconhead’s smoky garden lair, the same backyard with the tropical landscaping seen earlier. The Falconhead hands Derek a sword, which makes the leather man’s trussed-up slave appear, somehow. Naturally, Derek can’t resist the temptation of the leather man’s “boy.” The slave is played by Danny Combs, who’s got a sweet ass and big dick, so it’s understandable why Derek would want him for himself. This doesn’t sit well with the leather man, however: “You…mother…fucking…bastard. He’s mine. Mine!” The leather man vows revenge, teasing a third movie that never happened.

As is its custom, Bijou features
photos from a completely
 different movie on its DVD
 cover for Falconhead.

Comparing the two movies, the quality is about equal, though according to the hosts of Ask Any Buddy Falconhead II is the more popular movie, probably because it does have more of a narrative. While I thought Falconhead II was good overall, with Zen making the most of a backyard pool, a smoke machine and Saran Wrap, I prefer the aesthetics and the cast of the first film. Not only that, but I also found the action of the first Falconhead to be hotter. I might’ve gotten into the second film a bit more if Zen had cast someone other than Rick Taylor as the lead narcissist. I just didn’t find Taylor that compelling. Worse, he looks like a former frustrating co-worker, and once I made that comparison in my head, I could never see Taylor as sexy, even when he had Combs’ dick buried in his ass. I could’ve done without the bloody rose J/O scene as well.

If you want to check out Falconhead II, be aware that the versions available on adult streaming sites are severely edited, removing the Saran Wrap scene and the final scene, though it looks like “the rose scene” is mostly left intact, at least it is on GayHotMovies.com. Fortunately, there are full 80-minute versions floating around, you just need to know where to look, like here. The first Falconhead appears to be uncut, and can viewed on PinkLabel.tv, GayHotMovies.com and BijouWorld.com. Just remember if you watch either film: “Ejaculation is the final denial of death.”

Whaaa?