Star Dan Fogler’s role as disgraced former Ping-Pong prodigy Randy Daytona doesn’t give him much to do beside act insecure and whack a lot of balls.

Rogue Pictures

It must be difficult to spoof both sports films and kung-fu action and still be a one-joke movie. But they pull it off in Balls of Fury.

It’s primarily a goof on the Bruce Lee classic Enter the Dragon, with some martial arts business but, mostly, table tennis.

Or, as the Chinese say, Ping-Pong. That’s a joke from the movie.

Most of ’em are at about that level.

The film stars Dan Fogler, the latest and least of this summer’s chubberific leading dweebs. He’s not a bad actor; Fogler won a Tony for his work in The 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee, a play whose very title will forever prevent me from checking it out. But his role here as disgraced former Ping-Pong prodigy Randy Daytona doesn’t give Fogler much to do beside act insecure and whack a lot of balls.

The Reno 911/Pacifier/Night at the Museum guys who wrote Fury, Thomas Lennon and director Robert Ben Garant, do give Fogler a nicely played scene with a male concubine (Diedrich Bader).

But since it’s the 17,000th sequence we’ve seen this year that doesn’t know whether to be gay-friendly or homophobic, it just kind of cancels itself out.

Back story is, as a kid, Randy barely lost the ’88 Seoul Olympics to cartoon German creep Karl Wolfschtagg (Lennon).

This resulted in international humiliation and Randy’s dad getting killed by triad bookies. Many years later, incompetent Fed Rodriguez (an uncharacteristically unfunny George Lopez) ropes adult loser Randy into getting back in shape so he’ll be invited to the underground Ping-Pong tournament sponsored by Feng, the mysterious criminal mastermind who had the elder Daytona whacked.

At this point, some humor finally gets under way. Despite some horrific ethnic humor directed his way, James Hong is often a scream as the blind Ping-Pong master (!) who gets clod/grasshopper Randy’s game back up. Maggie Q does spunky, unlikely love-interest duty, and while it’s not much of a part, she wears very little in it.

Aisha Tyler emphasizes the assets, too, and actually strikes a few funny and menacing poses as a blowgun-wielding henchwoman.

And when, at his heavily guarded jungle compound and competition arena, Feng’s identity is finally revealed. … Aw hell, even if you don’t already know it’s Christopher Walken, why else would you go to this mediocre comedy if you couldn’t count on watching him in a silly hairdo and silk robes, putting a unique, eccentric spin on every villainous line and move?

Walken’s worth the price of admission, pretty much if not quite entirely, alone.