#ShakespearShitstorm is an unfiltered explosion of absurdity, a film that refuses to play by anyone’s rules, not even its own. Directed and co-written by Lloyd Kaufman, the founder of Troma Entertainment, this outrageous adaptation of The Tempest blends Shakespearean farce with a torrent of toilet humor, social commentary, and political mockery. It’s equal parts carnival sideshow and angry protest song, dripping in fake blood and bile but strangely committed to its own warped moral compass.
The story roughly follows the bones of Shakespeare’s play. Kaufman plays Prospero Duke, a disgraced scientist betrayed by his power-hungry sister and a corrupt pharmaceutical empire. Banished from polite society, he hides away with his daughter Miranda and plots revenge. Years later, when a ship full of his enemies crosses his path, he conjures a storm — or in this case, a wave of drug-induced diarrhea, that leaves them stranded in his bizarre kingdom. The survivors stumble into a world of grotesque experiments, strange musical numbers, and endless reminders that morality and madness are never too far apart.
The plot is only a loose structure; what really drives the movie is its chaos. Kaufman’s direction leans into pure excess, every frame overstuffed with manic energy, bodily fluids, and self-aware jokes. The pacing is intentionally erratic, dialogue scenes explode into slapstick violence, musical sequences appear out of nowhere, and characters break into rants about everything from internet culture to corporate greed. This is not a film interested in coherence. It is, instead, a wild collage of vulgarity and satire stitched together by the director’s unmistakable anarchic voice.
That voice, however, has sharpened with age. While #ShakespearShitstorm delivers the crude gags and gore that Troma fans expect, there’s also a certain melancholy beneath the noise. Kaufman, now decades into his career, seems to be channeling not just rebellion but exhaustion, a sense that the world has grown even more absurd than his movies. The film skewers pharmaceutical greed, social media outrage, and cancel culture, but it also mocks itself for trying to make sense of any of it. The result is both hilarious and despairing, a rant from an artist who knows the system is broken but can only scream through satire.
The performances fit the chaos perfectly. Kaufman plays both Prospero and his villainous sister Antoinette with manic theatricality, alternating between high Shakespearean delivery and cartoonish vulgarity. His dual performance gives the movie its emotional center, absurd as it is. Kate McGarrigle, as Miranda, brings an earnest sweetness to the madness, grounding scenes that might otherwise collapse under their own lunacy. The rest of the ensemble, a blend of veteran Troma performers and new faces, dive headfirst into the insanity, never winking too much, never pretending that this is anything other than gleeful trash. Their commitment makes the film work, or at least keeps it from spinning completely out of control.
Visually, the film looks like it was designed by a theater troupe on a sugar high. Sets are crammed with neon lights, cheap props, and visual gags that would feel at home in a midnight screening. The effects are proudly handmade, rubber monsters, bad green screens, and gallons of fake waste products. It’s ugly in a deliberate, celebratory way. The amateurish aesthetic becomes part of the humor; it’s a middle finger to polished studio filmmaking. Kaufman has always believed that imperfection is authenticity, and this movie doubles down on that philosophy.
The film’s humor, predictably, is divisive. It thrives on the gross-out, poop jokes, drug jokes, sex jokes, anything that can make an audience squirm. Yet beneath the vulgarity, there’s often a surprising intelligence. Many jokes are aimed at hypocrisy, the moral grandstanding of social media, the corruption of corporate leadership, the hollowness of “wokeness” as a brand. At its best, the film resembles an unhinged political cartoon come to life. At its worst, it feels like it’s shouting too loudly to hear its own punchlines. Still, even the failures are fascinating; Kaufman would rather miss the mark spectacularly than play it safe.
Music is another chaotic ingredient. The songs range from intentionally bad Broadway parodies to punk rock tirades, and while none of them are particularly catchy, they amplify the movie’s delirium. Characters sing about addiction, science, and bodily functions with the same conviction that Shakespeare’s characters once reserved for love and betrayal. It’s as if the Bard’s poetry has been flushed through the internet age, crass, fragmented, but still weirdly passionate.
What makes #ShakespearShitstorm stand out from typical shock comedies is its strange sincerity. Beneath the slime and profanity, Kaufman clearly believes in something, maybe in art as resistance, or in laughter as survival. His film argues, in its own profane way, that the world is already a circus of corruption and exploitation. If everything is absurd, then perhaps only absurd art can tell the truth. It’s a philosophy that has defined Troma since the 1970s, and here it feels both triumphant and tragic, as if Kaufman knows he’s the last man shouting in a world that stopped listening.
The satire isn’t subtle, and the tone can be exhausting. But the film’s commitment to chaos becomes its own kind of coherence. Like The Tempest, it’s about control, about a man using spectacle to shape his world and exact revenge. The difference is that Kaufman’s magic is cinema itself: a cheap, noisy, disgusting spectacle that still manages to feel defiant. When Prospero rages against the forces that destroyed his career, it’s hard not to hear Kaufman raging against the corporate machine that swallowed independent film. It’s personal, even when it’s ridiculous.
In the end, #ShakespearShitstorm is not a film to enjoy so much as one to survive. It’s a challenge, a dare, a joke that goes on too long but somehow stays funny because it refuses to stop. It’s equal parts trash art and protest manifesto. Those looking for subtlety or refinement will likely find it unbearable. Those who can tune into its lunatic frequency may find something oddly cathartic, a reminder that rebellion, however messy, still has a place in cinema.
The 4K release of #ShakespearShitstorm comes loaded with an avalanche of bonus content that perfectly captures Troma’s manic, DIY spirit. Lloyd Kaufman himself kicks things off with an irreverent and heartfelt introduction, setting the tone for what might be the studio’s wildest production yet. The producers and cast commentaries are a delight for fans of Troma, production struggles, and behind-the-scenes humor that reveal just how much madness and love went into the film’s creation.
The crown jewel, however, is the full-length behind-the-scenes documentary, an unfiltered look at the filmmaking chaos that only Troma could deliver. Add to that Tromalbania, a travelogue of the crew’s Balkan adventures, and a collection of original songs from the movie, and this 4K edition becomes more than a re-release; it’s a full-blown celebration of Troma’s gleefully anarchic legacy.
Love it or hate it, #ShakespearShitstorm is undeniably alive. It’s what happens when a filmmaker with nothing left to prove decides to burn the stage down anyway and somehow, in all that fire and filth, finds something that still resembles joy.
#ShakespearShitstorm will be available to own on 10/21, and you can save 33% off the retail price when you order from MVD
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