A faux copper-foil box cover sets itself apart from the crowd.
These days, the only difference we can tell between Pure Max and Max World is the lack of travelogue footage. Although Max still persists with contrived scenarios (such as Desire Moore playing a roller skating, lollipop-sucking bobbysoxer "who just moved in the house down the block"), he's long since given up any pretense of mutual satisfaction occurring during these encounters. Catalina, too, puts in her requisite appearance as lesbian instigator.
While habitual viewers may not give an amoeba shit if Max's youthful menagerie actually get their cookies off, AVN does - and from behind this desk the female-as-meat-reservoir angle is getting pretty damned redundant. Regardless, diehard fans will not be disappointed with the way he plies forceful oral copulation to each teary-eyed, mascara-smeared, saliva-gushing conclusion. Nor will they find the title lacking in [dispassionate] reaming action.
Rough-hewn as his performances may be, the energy is dissipated by Max's reliance on stationary, zoom-oriented coverage. Compared to cutting-edge guerilla shooters who fearlessly position their lenses on the front lines, Max's battle plan is hopelessly obsolete.
In other words, it's business as usual down on the Hardcore porn farm; as reflected in our rating.