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Branded
Rating: 3 Stars
Produced by John Rutherford. Directed by Kris Weston. Written by Matt Corbett. Videography by Todd Montgomery and Max Phillips. Edited by Delta Productions. Music by E.M. Diaz. Starring Jeremy Penn, Robert Balint, Roland Dane, Lindon Hawk, Cameron Fox, Jason Tyler, Justin Dragon, Carlos Morales, Jacob Hall, Vince Ditonno, Andy Hunter, Ivan Andros, Josh Weston, and Brian McClaine.
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In this steamy piece of lunacy, Falcon very literally becomes a brand name. At poolside, Carlos Morales happens to notice a scar in the shape of the Falcon studios logo on Cameron Fox's left biceps. "It's called the Mark of the Falcon," Fox explains. "The brand means I'm part of an elite order, an order of men." When Morales asks about membership, Fox leads him indoors, yanks off his Speedos and shoves them in his mouth, fucks the living daylights out of him, then takes his picture. Meanwhile, after a tempestuous three-way with his boss (preppy newcomer Brian McClaine) and Falcon-branded fish-tank maintenance man (that's right) Justin Dragon, perky office worker Ivan Andros asks Dragon about his scar, and expresses interest in his organization.

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Morales and Andros are rounded up and taken to a warehouse where, dressed in black jockstraps, they're presented to the Falcon elite. After tall, pale Jeremy Penn, who presides, has finished blathering about "ecstasy few men will ever know," the two prospective members-- only one of whom, for reasons unknown, can be accepted-- must prove themselves worthy of the Falcon brand. First they're expected to suck Penn's cock. Next they're required to get shtupped with segmented latex whatnots. Then they're made to join in a group-sex free-for-all few viewers would find it a challenge to endure. Finally Morales, the chosen one, is branded and expropriated as a plaything by Penn and underling Robert Balint.

The 12-man orgy sequence is extremely hot, although it's unfocused, and its role in evaluating Falcon aspirants' worthiness is hard to decipher. Because both candidates participate with equal zest, the choice of Morales over Andros, who's roughly ejected into the parking lot, seems whimsical. (And you may wonder why, since everybody else is branded on his left arm, Morales is branded on his right buttock.) Someone should convince director Kris Weston and scenarist Matt Corbett that the heat of a porn sequence doesn't excuse it from making sense, and that coherence can be sexy.