Pioneering gay porn company Jaguar Productions saw an unlikely albeit brief resurrection at the dawn of the new millennium, cut short by the untimely death of founding father Brian King a/k/a "Barry Knight" in 2005. In the early '70s, explicit sex still qualified as a novelty on cinema screens and only a handful of films bothered to venture beyond. By extension, gay sexual activity contained in-built shock value of being considered an outright perversion so the queer side of what was a budding industry cared even less about adding anything extra, Jaguar being the exception to the rule with superior production values (as a respected real world photographer, King had extensive background in TV commercials) and at least the semblance of storyline. Often way more than that, as was the case with fellow founder Gorton Hall's A GHOST OF A CHANCE, an adult adaptation of Noel Coward's BLITHE SPIRIT, and his heartfelt labor of love THE EXPERIMENT. Contrary to their straight brethren, gay purveyors tend are devoted almost exclusively to a single kind of performer and could as a result be accused of coming up with the creativity-quenching concept of niche marketing prevalent since the video era. Jaguar's gimmick was youngsters in their late teens and early twenties, slenderly built, a type nowadays most commonly referred to as "twinks". A slightly beefier variation on the form, Chicago native Joe Landon proved the perfect figure head to spear their belated relaunch, the showcase JOE'S BIG ADVENTURE testing his sea legs prior to taking the deep end plunge with THE APPRENTICE.
Tossed out of the house for being gay, small town boy Joe makes his way to Hollywood, trawling the Boulevard in search of sustenance until spotted by hardened hustler Connor (Scott Matthews) who's talking on the phone and throws down the key to his apartment. Turns out Connor's recruiting a possible replacement for fellow upper echelon escort and unrequited love of his life Victor (Chris Rock) who's watching the audition via closed circuit camera but finds his efforts thwarted when Joe covers the camera with his shirt, the audacity of which making him an instant shoo-in for the job. Tossing off the movie's best line, Victor replies to Joe's inquiry whether he's a whore with : "Whores make hundreds, I make thousands." Getting a bit long in the tooth for this line of work, Victor yearns to pass on his wisdom to an eager young buck, not counting on the possibility that he might fall in love after a lifetime of play for pay, nor that the feeling could ever be mutual.
Before we get to the hearts and roses of the expected though pleasing love conquers all conclusion, Victor patiently instructs Joe in the ways of the whore, realizing one's full sexual potential, making clients feel special, yadda yadda. Such hollow philosophies could have grown quickly tiresome if it weren't for the compelling chemistry and competent thesping of both Rock and Landon whose last act liaison audiences should look forward to. Joe's shower solo with a twist, Victor kissing and caressing him from behind as he beats off, makes for a nice touch. Practicing what he has previously preached, Rock's hot enough to peel paint in a delectable demonstration for Joe's further education and benefit with trick Marco Antonio, himself the director of Falcon International's more than serviceable HEAVEN SENT. So far, so good. The story has been shaping up nicely to this point with subtly shaded characters made flesh by appealing performers clearly chuffed at the chance to actually act for a change, the frequently cast in wall to wall fornication fests Matthews a surprise standout as the hooker with a closely guarded heart of gold. And then they go and spoil it all, as the song goes, not so much by saying "I love you" - not for another couple of reels anyway - but by abruptly digressing from the main narrative and therefore descending into well-worn formula.
As part of his training, Joe has to come up with a sexy story so he imagines a couple seated at a nearby table at the Stonewall coffee shop as a Spanish matador (Alex Carrington, shown to much greater advantage in Joe Gage's superb TULSA COUNTY LINE) and a clumsy fawning reporter (perpetually pouting Tony Cummings whose best work by far occurred in Bebe Rosada's excellent CRYSTAL TUNNEL) respectively for a ho-hum encounter which only feels like unnecessary padding, to add insult to injury preceded by a poor quality stretch of bullfight stock footage. Even worse is Joe's first assignment where he backs out of the deal by avowing his emotions, leaving Connor to pick up the slack with twin tricks Steve O'Donnell (way more interesting in Jerry Douglas's outstanding FAMILY VALUES) and Joey Stevens (from Adam Hart's vanity project DEEP DESIRES), leading to an ill-advised breach of the fourth wall by having the performers look and leer straight into the camera which might work in gonzo but not in a plot-driven feature. Thankfully, story regains its footing for that all-important final heart to heart confrontation leading to the expectedly explosive alignment of its two radiant stars that's heart-tuggingly romantic as well as sexually scalding.
Production's pretty much as you would expect from present day penis-centric porn with crystal clear photography by the pseudonymous "Per Lui" ("For Him" in Italian) a far cry from King's own artistically hazy compositions from three decades before. Contenders for the title of the industry's best kept secret, Rock Hard provide yet another polished soundtrack, effortlessly shifting styles to suit the mood, even including a couple of decent original songs. They got started scoring early Andrew Blake movies like both NIGHT TRIPS installments before switching to the dark side of adult, the place where the sun doesn't shine, in keeping with gay core's inevitably colon centric nature, for several of that industry's increasingly rare attempts at good old-fashioned filmmaking artistry like Jerry Douglas and John Rutherford's two part epic BUCKLEROOS.
Tossed out of the house for being gay, small town boy Joe makes his way to Hollywood, trawling the Boulevard in search of sustenance until spotted by hardened hustler Connor (Scott Matthews) who's talking on the phone and throws down the key to his apartment. Turns out Connor's recruiting a possible replacement for fellow upper echelon escort and unrequited love of his life Victor (Chris Rock) who's watching the audition via closed circuit camera but finds his efforts thwarted when Joe covers the camera with his shirt, the audacity of which making him an instant shoo-in for the job. Tossing off the movie's best line, Victor replies to Joe's inquiry whether he's a whore with : "Whores make hundreds, I make thousands." Getting a bit long in the tooth for this line of work, Victor yearns to pass on his wisdom to an eager young buck, not counting on the possibility that he might fall in love after a lifetime of play for pay, nor that the feeling could ever be mutual.
Before we get to the hearts and roses of the expected though pleasing love conquers all conclusion, Victor patiently instructs Joe in the ways of the whore, realizing one's full sexual potential, making clients feel special, yadda yadda. Such hollow philosophies could have grown quickly tiresome if it weren't for the compelling chemistry and competent thesping of both Rock and Landon whose last act liaison audiences should look forward to. Joe's shower solo with a twist, Victor kissing and caressing him from behind as he beats off, makes for a nice touch. Practicing what he has previously preached, Rock's hot enough to peel paint in a delectable demonstration for Joe's further education and benefit with trick Marco Antonio, himself the director of Falcon International's more than serviceable HEAVEN SENT. So far, so good. The story has been shaping up nicely to this point with subtly shaded characters made flesh by appealing performers clearly chuffed at the chance to actually act for a change, the frequently cast in wall to wall fornication fests Matthews a surprise standout as the hooker with a closely guarded heart of gold. And then they go and spoil it all, as the song goes, not so much by saying "I love you" - not for another couple of reels anyway - but by abruptly digressing from the main narrative and therefore descending into well-worn formula.
As part of his training, Joe has to come up with a sexy story so he imagines a couple seated at a nearby table at the Stonewall coffee shop as a Spanish matador (Alex Carrington, shown to much greater advantage in Joe Gage's superb TULSA COUNTY LINE) and a clumsy fawning reporter (perpetually pouting Tony Cummings whose best work by far occurred in Bebe Rosada's excellent CRYSTAL TUNNEL) respectively for a ho-hum encounter which only feels like unnecessary padding, to add insult to injury preceded by a poor quality stretch of bullfight stock footage. Even worse is Joe's first assignment where he backs out of the deal by avowing his emotions, leaving Connor to pick up the slack with twin tricks Steve O'Donnell (way more interesting in Jerry Douglas's outstanding FAMILY VALUES) and Joey Stevens (from Adam Hart's vanity project DEEP DESIRES), leading to an ill-advised breach of the fourth wall by having the performers look and leer straight into the camera which might work in gonzo but not in a plot-driven feature. Thankfully, story regains its footing for that all-important final heart to heart confrontation leading to the expectedly explosive alignment of its two radiant stars that's heart-tuggingly romantic as well as sexually scalding.
Production's pretty much as you would expect from present day penis-centric porn with crystal clear photography by the pseudonymous "Per Lui" ("For Him" in Italian) a far cry from King's own artistically hazy compositions from three decades before. Contenders for the title of the industry's best kept secret, Rock Hard provide yet another polished soundtrack, effortlessly shifting styles to suit the mood, even including a couple of decent original songs. They got started scoring early Andrew Blake movies like both NIGHT TRIPS installments before switching to the dark side of adult, the place where the sun doesn't shine, in keeping with gay core's inevitably colon centric nature, for several of that industry's increasingly rare attempts at good old-fashioned filmmaking artistry like Jerry Douglas and John Rutherford's two part epic BUCKLEROOS.