SHITBALLS!!

In this astonishingly powerful abstract film, composed entirely of seemingly random cinematic images set next to one another in way that is both profoundly moving and intensely thought-provoking, Steve Unckles has created what can only be deemed a SUPER-MASTERPIECE, a masterpiece as superior to a regular masterpiece as superman is superior to a regular human. My most singular experience as a lifetime lover and critic of film occurred halfway through last nights screening of SHITBALLS!!, when I watched a young and nameless boy carrying a garbage bag full of eels trip and fall over a steep hill. He tumbled down, down, down the grassy hill, and just as he slammed nuts-first into a lamp pole the camera angle flew to the sky, and when it came back down a karate master with a magic uzi fought off a dozen robot insect attackers in a mud pit in the slums of what looked like Oslo. Mud splashes the camera, only to be wiped off a second later by everyone's favorite Transylvannian slut Elvira (Cassandra Peterson), hosting a ghoulish cooking show with a helpful infant orphan ghost sidekick and drinking heavily from a bottle of cooking oil. Her character's utterly believable exclamations of misery and her apparently unscripted descent into a seven minute crying/whining session in which she speaks candidly about the loss of her virginity (to Tom Jones, no less) lends credence to her recent legal claim against Mr. Unckles, in which she states she was unaware she was being filmed at the time.

Reporters often get passes to free screening of new movies, and Unckles' "SHITBALLS!!" was no exception. This makes economic sense, as the publicity generated for a film by a review far outweighs the meagre cost a of movie ticket. However, in this case I am mailing a check for full ticket price to Steve Unckles. For a film of this magnitude, of this enduring strength, the handsome writer/director must be compensated. Both with our money, and with our thanks.

See Shitballs today.