Reviewed By The Ultimate Dancing Machine
Posted 06/21/04 15:17:30

"How not to succeed in Hollywood"
4 stars (Worth A Look)

In the film industry they call it "going Hollywood," that moment when fame and fortune travel to a rising star's head, resulting in massive ego inflation. It happened to beefy 20-something bartender Troy Duffy back in 1997, when Harvey Weinstein bought his script THE BOONDOCK SAINTS for a six-figure sum. But that wasn't all. Harvey was gonna let him direct the movie, though Troy had no filmmaking experience. Troy's band would record the soundtrack. Heck, Harvey even bought up the bar Troy worked for and gave it to him.

Newspapers and TV stations across the land carried the story of the poor Boston kid who made good. Troy Duffy was set to become a multimedia sensation, the next QT.

Several years later THE BOONDOCK SAINTS was dumped on video; the soundtrack album sold exactly 690 copies nationwide; and Troy Duffy was virtually back in nowheresville. And a documentary crew, hired to record his ascent to Hollywood royalty, was on the scene as his career crashed and burned all over L.A.

OVERNIGHT is a wickedly entertaining documentary for those who like to indulge in schadenfreude. There are two ways to interpret this film: Either Troy Duffy is the victim of selective editing, or he really is a drunken, pompous asshole. Let’s just say one of those possibilities seems much more likely than the other. He comes across like a younger, stupider Russell Crowe, minus the occasional charm and humor. Barely into pre-production on his film, Troy freely passes judgment on all manner of Hollywood vets, all of whom actually have, you know, real movie credits. Jerry Bruckheimer? No-talent bum. Ethan Hawke? Ditto. Meanwhile, he keeps reminding his bandmates that they’d be nobodies without him—they owe everything they have (nothing, at this point) to him. This seems to be a recurring theme of the life of Troy Duffy, one of those guys who always insists on taking all of the credit and none of the blame.

Problem was, not everyone was charmed by the endlessly pontificating Troy Duffy. To understate considerably. In fact, Duffy’s attitude was pissing off damn near everybody. Weinstein dropped the project, and nobody else was interested in the beast that escaped from the Miramax laboratory. By the time THE BOONDOCK SAINTS got made and found a distributor—barely (it played in five theatres)—nobody cared anymore.

If you believe OVERNIGHT, Troy Duffy is a man who simply cannot get a clue. As his fortunes decline, he bitches out his buddies and blames everyone but himself; soon he’s reduced to staring into the camera and calling Harvey Weinstein a “big fat cocksucker.” Now that’s what you call burning your bridges.

Good luck with that BOONDOCK SAINTS sequel, Troy. If you need help, try calling Joe Eszterhas, Michael Ovitz, and whoever directed ANACONDA.

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