By Brandon Nolta

It’s hard to put into words just how stupid BALLS OF FURY truly is. From all appearances, this movie probably sprung into being after the creators smoked a bale of weed and overdosed on chop-socky flicks, up to and including ENTER THE DRAGON. If Uma hadn’t already stolen the yellow suit for KILL BILL, it probably would have shown up here. I would guess the pitch to the studio must have also involved getting baked.

This isn’t necessarily a bad thing. There is a place in any film lover’s heart for gloriously idiotic films, especially when made by smart people who are gleefully aware how insane their material is. BALLS OF FURY definitely falls into this category; the fact that a good chunk of the creative team is involved with RENO 911 should give you a rough idea where the humor is pitched.

Still, if you’re going to go this route, you need to really have the courage of your convictions and go for broke. The real problem with BALLS OF FURY is that it’s too tame. Whether this is a side effect of the studio wanting to keep the golden PG-13 or just that half the script was illegible when the writers sobered up, it’s tough to say. My guess is it’s mostly the writers’ fault, as many of the supposed one-liners seemed a little pale, but given the pucker factor of most Hollywood studios anymore, I wouldn’t bet against the “rewrite by committee” option.

However, I’ll give BALLS OF FURY this much: I bet it would be fantastic in a packed theater (the showing I went to was virtually empty) or stoned out of your gourd. In fact, I recommend heartily that if you see this film, get hammered before you go (I wish I had). Weed, whites or wine, whatever your intoxicant of choice is, just load up before you take your seat, and you’ll have a fantastic time. Better yet, go with a bunch of people who are also intoxicated, and get ready to laugh until you foul yourself. Buy your designated driver a ticket to another flick so he or she doesn’t get a contact high.


Anyway, the plot goes … ah, who the hell cares? It’s got a world-class athlete turned failed fat guy seeking redemption (Dan Fogler), a hot Chinese-American love interest (Maggie Q), a blind old goat (James Hong, who appears to be having some fun), a nutjob FBI agent (George Lopez, not having so much fun), and Christopher Walken. It doesn’t really matter who Walken plays, it’s Walken. He’s nuttier than squirrel poop, at the same level of WTF as he was in MOUSETRAP, and almost as funny as Hong. He even does karaoke to Def Leppard. Oh, and there’s some ping-pong too.


There are a few other familiar faces—like Robert Patrick, a long way from his T-1000 years but still hanging in there like a pro—and one or two interesting twists on the clichés that have been passed down from this movie’s forebears (at one point, the hero is talked into accepting the favors of a sex slave, only to find that they’re all men), but essentially, you know what you’re going to get if you’ve seen the trailer. And that’s what it comes down to: if you’ve seen the trailer and are interested in seeing the movie, you’re in the target zone for this flick. Go and have a good time, whether it involves getting into the right mood or getting out of your right mind. If the trailer didn’t flip your switch, the movie definitely won’t. Save your brain cells and see something else, unless seeing fat guys get punched in the crotch really makes your day.