Balls of Fury
That official: Christopher Walken joined Cuba Gooding Jr., in Hollywood purgatory for the Oscar winners, which would make any scenario that comes across their desks agents (or land in recycling dumpster), no matter how puerile or flat - embarrassing. Case in point: Balls terrible fury, one of the main aspirants for the summer in the worst comedy, which gives Walken another opportunity to layer his eccentric tired shtick, as the villain in Robert Ben Garant, in the lame snoozer into a farce, set in the cutthroat world of ping - Pong. A dud even lowering standards for slapstick, gross-from the comedy, Balls of Fury is a new low for Walken, and to say something, given that its recent credits include such duds as Envy (2004), The Stepford Wives (2004), and Kangaroo Jack (2003).
Sulfate aside, Walken whether to grant only a few funny moments in this misbegotten movie “written” by Thomas Lennon and Garant, who had earlier caused Reno 911!: Miami on us this year. Dressed as garish cross between Elvis Presley and Fu Manchu, Walken plays Feng, a ping-pong love criminal mastermind wanted by FBI Agent Rodriguez (George Lopez), a desk jockey trying to make a name in the Bureau.
To do so, Rodriguez reluctant to seek assistance disgraced ping-pong champion Randy Dayton (Dan Fogler), which never recovered from the loss of his humiliation at the 1988 Summer Olympics in strutting German player Karl Wolfschtagg (Lennon). While Randy is not competed in those years, he gets his groove back, thanks to the grueling training regime blind ping-pong master, Wong (James Hong). Feng called in tropical secret underground lair to play ping-pong tournament, Randy is faced with the world’s best players, including his old nemesis Karl, as he tries to foil evil Feng in the plans.
Alums in the State of the MTV sketch with humor, Guarantor, Lennon seemed to have neither the time nor comic ingenuity feature film support. Balls of Fury lurches from one broad, ineptly stage set piece to another, as he limps to a loud and spectacularly unfunny ending. The filmmakers strive for the lowest common denominator with crude regularity, but they do not throw on the screen that we have not seen before-or executed with much more finesse. Watching the actors struggle to perform CPR on the comedy equivalent of balls in anger, you feel sympathy for them (except Walken, who need to resign his persona wackjob now).
And no one spectator generates more sympathy than lissome Maggie Q, as filed incredibly Fogler love interest. With all due respect to Vogler, a Tony Award winner in his first feature film lead, it is dispiriting to see beauty as ready as K forced to play the love scenes with Vogler in the charm-free, corpulent beast (or hairy smurf, to be precise). It deserves much better, as do moviegoers misfortune to see balls in anger.
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