There is a moment early in Kevin Smith's Tusk during which the millennial hellspawn podcaster/prey played by Justin Long admires a tubular fossil, and is informed by Michael Parks' wheelchair-bound, Canadian psycho that he is holding the penis bone of a walrus. This launches the old man into a story about his glorious life with a walrus during WWII, setting up the bizarre, one-sentence idea that is this wretched film's only selling point: a man who gets turned into a walrus. It seemed fairly certain that the penis bone would come back into play at some point, and that the playground provocateur Smith might actually get to some disturbing places. Alas, it was just another of the pointless, punchline-less penis jokes that Smith, in lieu of the ability to shape scenes, proudly claims as his cinematic legacy. Like most of Smith's films, Tusk is all dick and no balls.