The Boondock Saints is the crappy debut movie that Troy Duffy cranked out in his one-in-a-million shot at the Hollywood dream. Don't ever waste your time watching that train wreck, but be sure to look up the little documentary, Overnight, of the crash that chronicles the egomaniac director's roller coaster ride of getting sucked up by fame and shat out the other end.
This guy totally deserves it. What a d*ckhead. He was a Boston bartender who wrote a script that somehow wound up in the hands of Harvey Weinstein (Miramax head). Troy ultimately gets a deal from Harvey that includes an option on the script, directing the film, an ownership position in a hipster Hollywood bar for him and his homies plus the potential for his band to get a deal with Dreamworks Records and the movie soundtrack. Good for him, right? He even rubs elbows with Matt Damon among others, but what happens is, Troy rubs everyone the wrong way and can't even see it. Troy's even having a documentary produced to capture his genius and his inevitable rocket to stardom. NOT.
Instead, this f*ck is showing up to movie studio and agent meetings with his "trucker hipster" look with overalls and chain-smoking and pointing fingers and telling everyone how it's gonna be. Chugging whiskey and getting sh*tfaced on power. Looking at his brother and the rest of his entourage and giving them credit when he's cheer leading and building morale yet pulling the rug out and telling them they have no one but him to thank when the times get tough. And boy do they. Thank God.
