This is the stuff cult classics are made of, the kind of film that's so offbeat, unexpected, kitschy and contentedly niche-inhabiting that you can't help but wonder how a major studio ever gave it the green light. Paul Reubens lives and breathes this role, (literally - he's credited for the role of Pee-Wee as "himself") and he couldn't have asked for a better partner than the similarly quirky, fringe-dwelling director Tim Burton (in his first major picture).

Reubens is genuinely larger-than-life in this loose collection of vignettes and skits, and the whole mess is tied together with all the care and subtlety of a spaceship made of duct tape and cardboard. Even when he's not making a direct footprint on the screen, Pee-Wee's influence is positively oozing out of each frame, coating everything from the scenery to the wardrobe to the manic, impulsive style of shooting. It's a perfect interpretation of the character's famous stage show, an ideal introduction for the unfamiliar masses, and a natural launchpad to super-stardom.

I'll grant that it's not for everyone, but for those of us with an appreciation for drag queens, John Waters, the B-52's and sixties housewife chic, it's a direct hit. It's that rare crossroads where unbridled mayhem, conscience-free good times and hysterical laughter collide in a loud, twisted, dirty ball of pandemonium. I think it's safe to say this will never be replicated, and I'm both overjoyed and deflated to realize it.