Balls of Fury Review

Have you ever wondered what would happen if you let a stoned teenage boy write a script while kicking back at the local recreation center? If you have, Balls of Fury is for you.

Some idiot screws up playing ping pong and becomes a has-been. The FBI needs him to do a secret mission and he has to return to the world of ping pong. There are old Asian guy teachers, hot Asian chicks who can kick ass, and blow darts.

The first fifteen minutes of this movie were promising. Dan Fogler who plays Randy Dakota, the ping pong wash out, actually can do sincere emotion. There were chuckles, terrible situations and ridiculousness. The premise is a stupid one, but a funny stupid one. I tried not to, but I laughed during the first few minutes.

Then, with all the strength the director Ben Grant, his team of writers and actors can muster, the movie implodes. It is like another writer picked up where the first one left off. The movie is riddled with butt and gay jokes. They stick things up their butts, they walk around with things up their butts, they are visited by gay courtesans, and it never ends. Director Ben Grant and writers Thomas Lennon and Ben Garant should get off the crack pipe, go to narcotics anonymous and go back to writer's school. Only after treatment and graduation would the writers be allowed to grace my eyes with their cinematic drivel again.

Following the lame comedy formula, the movie has its very own, terribly awkward, unchoreographed scene where Dan Fogler flairs about in an attempt to dance. He thrusts his hips in attempts at sexualiztion and pheromone release but in fact committed de-facto castration. What is so hysterical about watching someone who can't dance wiggle about wildly that it must be a staple of every film in this genre? It just makes me want to give him personal dance lessons so I don't have to take off his limbs to prevent any rogue thrustage.

Christopher Walken is just as shameful as the writers. I bet his close friends are avoiding his phone calls so they don't have to answer the dreaded question; "Did you like Balls of Fury." Hopefully Walken is saving the money he made off Balls of Fury to buy all the copies of this movie so there is absolutely no evidence of his poor judgment.

The rampant and shameless product placement makes me want to go and shoplift all of their products from the store, write them a nasty letter about the coming fire that will rain in sheets on their corporate headquarters and the homes of the CEO, then send the shoplifted items with the letter to the headquarters and CEO's. After I send the letter, I'll wait a week or two, depending on the headquarters location, and then I'll start to combust the sky over their corporate capital. The explosion would be more fantastic than any action movie would have to offer and we would be rid of their galling, caustic products. It would also stand as an example to Hollywood, to corporate America and to all those people who buy products on product placement.

If my husband hadn't showered for two weeks, did yoga in a sauna for eight hours a day, each day, rolled around in dog crap, bathed in vomit and tea-bagged an entire men's soccer team's feet, his balls would be more attractive than Balls of Fury.