The story of Troy Duffy is some fascinating stuff, a man who was screwed over not only by Hollywood but by himself, only to rise from the ashes like a drunken Bostonian phoenix. He is a man who, when you think about it, has no business being a filmmaker. Yet he made a film, really a shell of what he intended it to be, only to be left with nothing. Soon he developed a devoted cult following and was able to muster enough support for a second movie. These films? The Boondock Saints, and Boondock Saints II: All Saints Day.
However, the most compelling film associated with Troy Duffy is not one he directed, but a documentary of which he is the subject. Overnight chronicles Duffy’s fall in the late 90’s from Hollywood “it” boy to reject. Not unlike the fictional Mark Zuckerberg of this year’s The Social Network, his rise came at breakneck speed and in the process he lost all his friends and supporters. He was given an unbelievable opportunity by Hollywood to make a feature film, produce an album and become one of the most influential figures the town had ever seen. Duffy was not grateful for the chance, but felt entitled to everything he was given, and no one around him disputed him, and when they did start to pull away he would have none of it. Overnight gives us a man who is so focused on his goal he puts on blinders. He was convinced that he could keep digging himself a hole because eventually he would come out the other side.
Duffy and his band, The Brood, moved to Los Angeles in the 90’s to pursue a career in music. While working at a bar, Duffy began writing the screenplay for The Boondock Saints. It came out of his absolute abhorrence for the status quo. As such his secret desire for vigilantism became the screenplay that would make him the figure (using the term lightly) he is today.
If there’s one person that you’d want to read your screenplay in the 90’s, it was Harvey Weinstein, who then owned Miramax. If he produced your screenplay, it would have been shocking if you WEREN’T nominated for an Oscar or two. Clearly Weinstein saw something special in the screenplay, which I can understand. On the page it likely came off as a meditation on morality and vigilantism disguised as an ultraviolent comic book tale. Sadly, that ultimately was not the movie that was made, but more on that later.
Following the $300,000 purchase of the screenplay, Duffy was given a $15 million budget to direct the film, and The Brood would make the soundtrack. He spent his nights drinking with major Hollywood stars such as Mark Wahlberg, John Goodman, Jeff Goldblum and Patrick Swayze. There’s even several minutes in Overnight where Duffy is seen chatting with Wahlberg, who calls his script “unbelievable” and is supposedly interested in taking a lead role in Boondock Saints.
That all, of course, went down the toilet relatively quickly. Duffy proved an incurably abrasive egomaniac. As such a rift began to form between himself, the studio, his supporters and his bandmates. A lot of this, I feel, was caused by what I would like to call “LeBron James Syndrome”: he spent so much of his time being surrounded by people who told him how great he was that he developed a very shallow, egocentric view of the world around him. Because of this when negativity began to surface for the first time Duffy ignored it and remained convinced that he was going to take over the world. Instead Miramax ran for the hills and Duffy had to settle for Franchise pictures, and a budget that was half the size of what he was supposed to work with.
On the other hand, Duffy’s drive throughout is admirable. He never gives up, no matter how much trouble he gets himself into. When he finally is onset filming The Boondock Saints, there is an unapologetic glee to his demeanor. He’s finally making a movie! No matter how much went wrong beforehand, he’s making his movie and he seems to have a distinct vision for where it’s going. This is something actor Ron Jeremy agrees with when interviewed for a film. However, most of his directors were instructing him in more… adult matters.
There is undoubtedly a certain amount of inspired energy to Boondock Saints, and a distinct mark that it was, in fact, a man’s specific vision. That said, I have many problems with Duffy’s execution. I think that, just as he was given half the budget he planned on, he only made about half the film it could have been. There’s a great film here, but the one Duffy made is not it.
In case you don’t know the plot, Sean Patrick Flanery and Norman Reedus play the MacManus brothers, two Bostonian brothers who decide to fight against injustice and crime in their beloved city, Irish accents and all. Along the way they are joined in their bloody quest by Rocco (David Della Rocco), and FBI Agent Smecker (Willem Dafoe) is on their trail the whole way.
My problems lie with where the film’s heart is at. While Duffy throws in some “civilian” confessionals at the end to suddenly call the morality of the affair into question, if one watches the film there can be no doubt that this absolutely advocates vigilantism. The movie uses slow motion sequences of violence to glorify the murders, which would be fine if there was any sense of excitement to the proceedings. Obviously, to some, these scenes are thrilling, but for me somewhere between the violence, the blaring heavy metal music, the total lack of gunshot sound effects or screams of the victims, and me there is a disconnect. Duffy wants so badly to make a film in the vein of Scorsese or Tarantino, but it is apparent he learned mostly the wrong lessons. In the world of those films, most of the violence happens quickly and brutally, and that adds shock to any laughter that may occur. Duffy chooses to glorify every bullet impact as he lays waste to the scum of the Boston underworld. The best films are willing to scrutinize their heroes while having sympathy for them, but here the filmmaker is content with them being cool. Sometimes you don’t need to go beyond the title: Tarantino has seen his characters as “Dogs” or “Basterds”. To Duffy, the MacManus brothers are “Saints”. That said, Boondock Saints is a great title, and I’ll never take that away from him.
While those are my numerous reservations, I must admit that there are several moments I enjoyed myself during the film. This is due in no small part to the work of the brilliant Willem Dafoe, whose performance is so gloriously over-the-top that the movie seems tame by comparison. Whenever Dafoe appears onscreen he is able to pull the movie up to his level of ferocity. One sequence in particular is great, and actually shows what Duffy is capable of as a stylist: Dafoe takes us through one of the MacManus brother’s slaughters while he stands alongside the whole time. This is one of the few times Duffy’s excesses work, communicating the inner desires of Dafoe’s character to stand beside the brothers in their quest.
There’s some other stuff to like here, the dialogue can range from genuinely clever to complete Tarantino wannabe, but I mostly appreciate the absolute passion it is made with. Yes, it’s trash, but Duffy is a man who knows what he wants. The editing may be amateurish, the sequencing awkward, but in a way that adds to the charm. Too often, though, the film falls victim to the hollowness of its core, and by proxy its maker.
I realize I will gain no street cred by writing this. My roommate in the room just next door to me is a devoted fan of The Boondock Saints, giant poster and all. In fact, many males my age find the universe of the Saints fascinating and have connected with the film on one level or another, and this I understand. Not every 19-year-old college boy is a pretentious film blogger like me who can kill three hours at a time watching Magnolia. The fact is most people wish for their movies to give them slightly simpler pleasures than I do. I’m afraid I just don’t go out there with the crowd on this one. I reluctantly sit in my ivory tower for this one.
What I am not nearly as apologetic about, however, is my absolute belief that the sequel: The Boondock Saints II: Money Never Sleeps, no wait, All Saints Day is an absolute piece of crap. Somehow in the ten-plus years between the first and the second Duffy regressed as a technical filmmaker, and any of the stylistic choices that were strange and intriguing at first become endlessly awkward and grating.
Also, no Willem Dafoe. His absence from the main storyline here proves just how much of an asset he was the first time out. Gone is his manic energy, and as such the performances of most of the law enforcers (particularly Julie Benz, who has a good TV career going) come off as having the personality of a bookcase.
Duffy hits many of the same notes as the first, but without any of the originality. The absolute passion that went into the first is gone here, despite the admittedly impressive cinematography by Miroslaw Baszak. Duffy doesn’t utilize the beauty, but instead edits the film so awfully that I feel as if I’m being taken through an art gallery in a bumper car next to the loudest drunken frat boy on the planet.
Also, any debate as to where the original’s head was at as far as the issue of vigilantism is put to rest here. The Saints are worshipped by many and more so by Duffy. There’s even a dream sequence in which the late “Rocco” character from the first returns and preaches to the choir about being manly and hiding your emotions and killing the bad men and whatnot. (By the way, that dream sequence is terribly put together and acted, but that’s another thing.)
Let us not forget the nonstop assault of homophobic remarks in this film, which start early and never end. If you accuse any character of being gay you might as well have just castrated them right there. Most of the more insulting dialogue in the first, for one reason or another, at least felt like it was being said by the characters. Now it’s so incessant that it’s obvious these are Duffy’s opinions. While the first film’s wit was a bit more amusing, here it comes off as dumb and sophomoric. I have not read the screenplays of either film, but I can see how the original must have looked promising to Miramax at first. This second screenplay, to me at least, is dumb and forced. The genuine anger Duffy put into the first film is gone and replaced by an empty void of pointlessness. Where the first ranged from enjoyably kooky to just kooky-kooky, the sequel just kind of settles for half-hearted kookiness.
For one reason or another I have neglected to mention the wrongheaded use of religious iconography in both films, and therein lay my problems with Duffy’s morality. Neither the Catholic Church nor the very idea of faith is used very well. This is why Duffy should have questioned what the MacManus brothers were doing the whole time, and not just during the credits. He never calls into question the flimsy notion that their endless slaughters are justified by their faith in God. Again, there could have been a great movie about two brothers who murder in the name of God… if only the entire movie was more ambiguous. The fact is Duffy loves his protagonists too much, an admiration he finally fully gives into in the sequel.
The tone of All Saints Day changes from scene to scene, at times resembling a bad screwball comedy; other times an ultraviolent macho fantasy. Pick a side, Duffy. The first utilized comic relief to occasionally entertaining ends, but some of the choices he makes here are mystifying. There was one sequence I mildly enjoyed, as their new sidekick played by Clifton Collins Jr. decides over a catchphrase, but the payoff isn’t quite there. So goes the film.
All Saints Day makes the original seem better in retrospect, and it is part of what fueled me to give the first an extra half star over my original plan. None of this changes the fact that Overnight is a captivating documentary, showing us a man so willingly jumping over the edge. I may not be a huge fan of the films Duffy has made, but his story is a portrait of the Hollywood dream going off the rails.
I’d imagine Duffy is doing reasonably well for himself now. After the original only played on 5 screens for a week, garnering merely $30,000 in box office grosses, it was dumped on video and DVD, presumably to die. Then a funny thing happened. It was released exclusively to Blockbuster (which, at one point, was a good business decision) and after endless word of mouth The Boondock Saints became a cult sensation, particularly among teenagers. While it has remained a huge hit on DVD, Duffy has not seen a cent of the profits due to a bad contract.
After 10 years Duffy was finally able to make the sequel, and while it only grossed about $10 million, it more than made back the $8 million budget. Duffy has likely made some good money off of that, and he has hinted at a third Saints film. Despite the negative opinions of ivory tower-dwellers like myself, there will always be Boondock Saints fans, particularly among my generation. It has tapped into something in the pubescent male psyche which I cannot dispute. Duffy may be an egomaniac who is not particularly skilled at putting a film together, but he has created characters that will long stand stand as faces of American cult cinema. For better or for worse.
The Boondock Saints: 
The Boondock Saints II: All Saints Day: 
Overnight: 
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