Troy Duffy

Troy Duffy

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The Boondock Saints Review


OK
Already an insanely overrated cult classic, The Boondock Saints has Irish (and super-religious) brothers (Sean Patrick Flanery and Norman Reedus) taking Boston by storm as vigilantes ridding the town of evildoers. Meanwhile, a gay FBI agent (Willem Dafoe, who steals the show completely) is hot on the trail, while the boys also get hunted by kooky crime lord (Billy Connolly).

Stylish and fun in a cheeseball sort of way (think Tarantino without the retro hipness), these Saints are amusing enough -- until the endless gunplay, blood-splattering, and monotonous SCREAMING MATCHES wear you down. I'd had enough within 45 minutes, but you'll have to make it through 110... and then there's the sequel that's on the way.

Continue reading: The Boondock Saints Review

The Boondock Saints Review


OK
Already a cult classic, The Boondock Saints has Irish (and super-religious) brothers (Sean Patrick Flanery and Norman Reedus) taking Boston by storm as vigilantes ridding the town of evildoers. Meanwhile, a gay FBI agent (Willem Dafoe, who steals the show completely) is hot on the trail, while the boys also get hunted by kooky crime lord (Billy Connolly).

Continue reading: The Boondock Saints Review

Overnight Review


Good
Call it an artifact of the go-go '90s, the last vestige of the overnight success syndrome that plagued that time period - where everybody seemed to think that if they could hit that one thing, be it a website, movie idea, or whatnot, then they could retire young - or simply another documentary about how horrendously wrong things can go, Overnight is good fun for anybody who enjoys watching massive egos self-destruct. Here, the massive ego in question is Troy Duffy, a Bostonian with more energy and chutzpah than common sense who moved out to La-La-Land in 1994 with ideas about trying to make it in show business. Troy worked as a bartender at a West Hollywood dive called J. Sloan's while he worked on his screenplay and practiced with his band, The Brood, which also included his brother Taylor. By 1996, when the film begins, Troy has somehow managed to get signed with the William Morris Agency and finesse a deal with Harvey Weinstein, whereby he would direct his own script for Miramax. It was a stunning piece of instant indie film folklore, given the gala treatment everywhere from The Hollywood Reporter to USA Today, who gave the impression that Troy could be the next Kevin Smith. Harvey even offered to buy J. Sloan's and run it with Troy as part of the deal. Since you've likely never heard of the guy, and this isn't a Christopher Guest production, it's pretty obvious that things went drastically wrong. Fortunately, a couple of Troy's cohorts, Mark Brian Smith and Tony Montana, were there to film it, even though they thought they would be chronicling the rise of a great new talent.

For a time, Troy's script, called The Boondock Saints, was a pretty hot property, and so early on we see everyone from John Goodman to Mark Wahlberg holding court with Troy. He's got a preliminary budget of $15 million dollars, stars nipping at his heels, and all his buddies working alongside him (having given themselves the hubristic moniker "The Syndicate"), so it's not a shock that the guy gets a swelled head. But it's also not hard to see how Troy was able to piss off so many people in so short a time, because as impressed as everyone else is with his Horatio Alger-esque rise to fame, he is triply impressed with it. From behind a wall of cigarette smoke, Troy pontificates endlessly to anybody in the room with him about his sheer awesomeness and how everybody in the Hollywood establishment - being as he views himself as the hard-knock-life, blue-collar kid busting into their rarified world - is supposedly so floored by his abilities and successes.

Continue reading: Overnight Review

Overnight Review


OK

Like watching a train wreck in slow motion while an ignorant, arrogant engineer shovels more coal onto the fire, "Overnight" is a cautionary tale about the fickle nature of showbiz in which the victim is his own worst enemy. A documentary following the rapidly self-destructing, stalled-rocket career of Troy Duffy, a Boston bartender/bouncer who on a fluke landed a sweetheart writing-directing deal with Miramax Films in 1997, the film would be painful to watch if its subject weren't such an insufferable lunkheaded egomaniac.

The kind of boastful, booze-pounding tough guy who might get in bar fights for fun, Duffy sold Miramax's Harvey Weinstein on his vigilante-with-a-heart script called "The Boondock Saints," and was paid $300,000 up front. Then he was given a $15 million budget for the movie, on which he would have casting approval and final cut -- two creative controls Miramax rarely grants even to established cinematic geniuses. But as his friends film every moment for what Duffy clearly thinks will be a rise-to-glory making-of about his film and the illustrious career to come, this flash-in-the-pan refuses all advice and begins alienating powerful Hollywood players, burning bridges left and right.

Within weeks, no one at Miramax will take his calls. Over the next three years, Duffy clings desperately to his inflated sense of self-importance. "We have a deep cesspool of creativity here," insists the badly-in-need-of-a-dictionary wannabe filmmaker, whose self-proclaimed talent and vision are quite simply never on display. As for Miramax, "they're gonna pay dearly for saying no to us," Duffy barks, habitually swearing up a storm.

Continue reading: Overnight Review

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