Appropriately straggling in after Saint Patrick’s Day is the news that a Boondock Saints sequel, All Saints Day has been greenlit by Sony Pictures Studios and shall commence filming this summer. Director Troy Duffy has already posted a YouTube announcement to this effect. Now, I have mixed feelings about this, which sort of reflects my feelings about the original Boondock Saints film. Some parts are really strong, and others . . . could suck the chrome off a motorcycle exhaust pipe. One major strength was found in the portrayals of Norman Reedus (slurp) and Sean Patrick Flanery (double slurp) as the Irish-American, vigilante fraternal twins. The scriptwriting was fairly sharp and definitely had its moments where even its banality was rather amusing:

Rocco: Fucking… What the fuck. Who the fuck fucked this fucking… How did you two fucking fucks…
[shouts]
Rocco: fuck!
Connor: Well, that certainly illustrates the diversity of the word.

In addition, Willem Dafoe shouting, “There was a firefight!” during the Armageddon scene . . . well, that was interesting too. Too bad that Dafoe is not interested in reprising his role as Paul Smecker, the flamboyant investigator. Maybe the deleted “Ma Calls From Ireland” (NSFW) scene will make an appearance. One thing is for certain — Ron Jeremy’s character won’t be back from the dead, which must be a good omen of some sort. Still, Troy Duffy himself is something of a misfiring synapse, and whenever that fact is brought up, his rabid fanboys spin into oblivion. Seriously though, the guy pissed off Harvey Weinstein, which is reportedly very difficult to do.

In the mid-1990s, Troy Duffy, a bartender and screenwriter, had been rhapsodized over as the next Quentin Tarantino. In fact, Harvey Weinstein loved Duffy’s script so much that he offered him the opportunity to direct on a $15 million budget and even kicked in the money to take Duffy’s bar off his hands. Further, Duffy’s little garage band had been signed for the soundtrack. Within a year, Duffy had been dropped from all deals related to Boondock Saints and became extremely paranoid; he “[T]ook his guns, changed his phone number, moved out of his apartment, and went into semi-seclusion, claiming the Miramax Mafia” was “out to get him.” As for the relegation of Boondock Saints to a very limited run (one weekend in five theatres), Duffy says it wasn’t his fault: “It wasn’t clashing with Hollywood executives, it was Columbine.” Right.

Certainly, with thousands of cult fans who have unconditionally worshipped Duffy for a decade now, it’s easy to wonder whether the guy has a firm grasp on reality. Geeks of Doom raises substantial doubt whether “Duffy has learned his lessons.” Those who know him best would probably wonder the same thing. A few of Duffy’s good buddies shot a documentary, Overnight, that detailed Duffy’s period as the toast of Miramax, which is followed by an almost unprecedentedly quick fall to the center of cinematic hell. The documentary also follows Duffy’s struggle to find a new production company and the 32-day filming process of the actual film. The Chicago Reader wrote that Overnight “portrays Duffy as a sort of indie-film Caliban, ranting about the treachery of the movie business and raving about the vastness of his talent.” That sounds about right.