Staring right into the camera, aged director and sole actor Begeeman, a surprisingly accurate lookalike for Kevin Rudd invites you to take part in his culinary delights – that is to say, cumming all over a pane of glass and ingesting the contents. While the title does accurately convey the content, it still finds room to be misleading in spite of its brevity; ‘ball juice’ implies something a little rarer, a little more out of access for the average participant. I was hoping for some innovation in the field. Ball grease, perhaps. The workings of an older man straining out the last of the Charlie’s, his tired arms unable to complete jobs his younger self wouldn’t have even thought about.
But once again, we are faced with the unoriginality of cinema in the 2010s – this is just simple semen, with no sense of delight or wonder whatsoever. There is no subtlety, no prologue, no invitation of suspense for what supposed to be a tale of a man discovering the finer foods. We arrive immediately at the moment, and so does he – tits out, gut out, with no sense of gravity for what he is supposed to be achieving.
And yet, in his final moments, he does show a flicker of depth under it all; when he orders the cum around like an egg white in a pan, you can’t help but find a man bitter at the typicality of it all. Only when he silently yells wild-eyed into the camera, like Keith Flynt in any Prodigy video, do we find a man who is perhaps angrier than he lets on.
Finally, something.
