(Credit: Rottentomatoes.com)
Directors:
Tony Montana and Mark Brian Smith.
They say history is written by the winners. And when there are no winners to be found, those with the least lost in the end can find enough strength to carve out what happened. The problem in that is that you have to trust what they say, and when they’ve already lost something, no matter the enormity of said loss, you’re bound to find at least some remnants of bitterness, which makes the history come off as questionable. Overnight, a documentary depicting the rise and fall of filmmaker and musician Troy Duffy faces this very problem. It happens to be made by two men who were along for his abrupt ride to fame. They take an active role in the film, and are just two of the many victims Duffy lashes out against during a continuous curse-ridden rampage that encompasses the films entirety.
The mid ’90s was a very different landscape for independent cinema in which video store clerks and comic book geeks who had no prior film experience save for super 8 films and shorts were gaining the praise of critics, sweeping the festival circuits, and most importantly raking in large amounts of money for the studios willing to take a risk on up and coming untested talent.
Leading the forefront of this movement was Harvey Weinstein, whose studio Mirimax had found profits in making independent films marketable to the masses. After turning Smith and Tarrantino into household names, he takes someone even lower on the ladder and uses his golden touch. That person in question is Troy Duffy, a Boston native who represents to Harvey an image of average America. Harvey gives him a million dollar movie contract for his script, The Boondock Saints, sets Duffy’s band, The Brood, up with a record contract any musician would kill for, and promises to buy him the local bar Duffy hangs out at. With the world dangling from a string in front of him, Duffy does what most people would do in his situation; he snatches his opportunity and awaits the inevitable success. That’s the “rise” part of the film. And then it all goes downhill for Duffy and crew from there.
The $20million budget Mirimax promised for starts shrinking faster than Rick Moranis (his career or Honey, I Shrunk the Kids character, your choice). He finds that many of the stars he’s trying to cast in his film aren’t calling back. He feels odd at suit and tie type parties when he shows up in his standard t-shirt and jeans. He begins to realize the enormity of the Hollywood machine, but still acts as if he’s a mastermind ventriloquist and not one of it’s many puppets. He yells at the very talent agents that are fighting for him, constantly harasses his own bandmate brother, and constantly disagrees with renown musician Jeff Baxter, whose assigned to produce The Broods’ debut album.
Then the worst thing happens when Mirimax altogether pulls out of the project. There is no signifying moment in the film to explain why this happens, although there is enough evidence in Duffy’s behavior for one to draw their own conclusions. Duffy eventually completes his film through another studio which only plays at a few theaters across the country (but goes on to be a cult video classic) and The Brood release their album and sell less than 700 copies.
Through all the turmoil, one thing remains constant which is that Duffy is an absolute abomination to everyone around him. Directors Mark Brian Smith and Tony Montana were a part of Duffy’s inner circle before his big Mirimax deal, and served as The Brood’s band managers. They decided to start shooting Duffy once the deal was made, probably knowing that with Duffy’s temperament, there’d be something spectacular to capture on film. Though Duffy personally screws the two out of making money, they stay loyal to him. He tells them they don’t deserve a cent and that he owes nothing to them, and yet they don’t budge. They wanted to stay till the bitter end, and capture Duffy in all his volatile splendor.
This is an underdog story with no distinguishable good guys. Weinstein is deplorable for exploiting his ability to make and break lives on a whim and Duffy is a total scumbag to everyone around him. And none of the people that surround Duffy come off as “good guys”. It’s hard to feel sorry for them or even pity them, since they allow themselves to be pushed around for so long. Duffy doesn’t get the comeuppance someone as bullying as he deserves, but instead tapers off slowly into obscurity.
This film certainly isn’t for everyone. At least a mild interest in film making and the Hollywood political machine is a requirement to even understand or appreciate this film. It also helps if you’ve seen Boondock Saints, as Duffy’s erratic behavior and scruffy demeanor completely explain why that film was so violent and sophomoric. One minute of hearing Duffy go off on an innocent talent agent for no logical reason it’s no wonder the man is incapable of making an intelligent sequential film as opposed to the over-stylized bloodfest it was.
