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Conquest
Rating: 2 Stars
No technical credits provided. Starring George Vidanov, Robert Balint, Victor Antoni, Joe Calderon, Franco Corsini, Jose Ganatti, Adam Gosett, Petr Halasz, Istvan Hogyes, Nikolas Kiss, Joszef Kovacs, Krisztian Laszlo, Mihal Laszlo, Fernando Lizalde, Jason Lucian, Marko Pacyna, Attila Pagonyi, Akos Schiff, Stefan Stano, Krisztian Szabo, John Valko, and Janos Volt.
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Nestled in his peach-curtained bedroom, Hungarian muscle hunk Robert Balint leafs through an illustrated book about the conquerors of yore. Aroused by an account of the bacchanalian revels Caesar's troops purportedly held to celebrate their entry into Gaul in 49 B.C. (though the accompanying picture shows Crusaders in 12th-century chain mail), he settles back and starts to fantasize. In Balint's vision of an ancient Gallic stud party, guests wear outfits mixing caftans, Prisoner of Zenda military tunics, Ottoman pantaloons, tricorn hats, and occasional squashed-looking turbans. It's as if the cast was permitted to raid the costume shop of some provincial Eastern European opera troupe whose repertory alternates L'Italiana in Algeri with Aďda.

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The scene is full of Kristen Bjorn-meets-Busby Berkeley potential, but nothing much happens. While guests munch Roman legion snack food, sip from funny goblets, lick their fingers, moisten their lips, and make goo-goo eyes at one another, male dancers flounce through some sort of crotch-irritation ballet. Then a fire-eater performs. Then nearly everybody leaves. Finally, two guys in red nighties invite Balint, who enters his own reverie in 18th-century fancy-dress regalia, back to their place for hookah-smoking and a choppy three-way, during which a fog machine makes a cameo appearance.

The remaining four sex scenes, all of which unfold in Balint's dream world, include a pair of parallel twosomes, two men masturbating while they spy on three men having sex, a semicircular five-man circle jerk, and a disjointed seven-man orgy. The cast is attractive. There are hot vignettes-- Marko Pacyna licking his own semen off Nikolas Kiss's cock, John Valko and Adam Gosett taking turns fucking Janos Volt-- but the sex is stiltedly orchestrated, undermined by jump cuts, and upstaged by the sumptuously tacky decor. The unnamed director of this Falcon International misfire seems to have been channeling the late Hungarian porn impresario Steve Cadro, whose connoisseurship of male bodies was marred by a weakness for dress-up kitsch.