1997. Miramax, scooping up Oscars and looking for the next big thing, seemingly found it in a small bar in West Hollywood, J. Sloan's. Pouring and knocking back drinks there is Troy Duffy, a blue-collar joe from back East who came out to LA to knock doors down in the music and film industry.
And does he ever- his simultaneous ascension in film and music are the stuff of the latest legend; Miramax and New Line have a bidding war over the rights to his 'Pulp Fiction with soul' Irish vigilante story, THE BOONDOCK SAINTS.
Miramax's Harvey Weinstein looks to seal the deal with a monstrous payday, giving Duffy his first shot at directing, hiring his band to do the soundtrack, and even planning to buy the bar they work in for them to seal the deal. We can't believe his good fortune, nor can we believe what happens as Duffy starts throwing weight around he hasn't earned yet and burning bridges the moment he begins to cross them.
Mark Brian Smith and Tony Montana's documentary OVERNIGHT is the chronicle of Troy's rise and fall, taking his working-class Rat Pack (dubbed The Brood Syndicate) with him. The group consisted of Duffy, his brother Taylor and the rest of the band, and several others (including the documentarians). Duffy has energy, cajones, attitude and drive to spare and the filmmakers were there from day one to capture whatever he threw their way.
And there's apparently a lot of it, beginning with vows of shared riches and boasts of complete Hollywood domination, chased with enough booze to knock a mountain off its barstool. Eventually the only thing getting thrown are constant insults, threats, and promises which go up in smoke as Miramax puts the film into turnaround and stops taking Duffy's calls.
Troy strings the exasperated band members along as well as the filmmakers, who end up getting shut out of profits and hanging on endlessly for what they hope will be the pot of gold they've been told is just around the corner. The film eventually goes into production through indie financiers on a fraction of the original budget, making a boisterous premiere at Cannes only to be ignored by studio buyers. Eventually it gets a token release and is dumped to DVD. The band finally gets their deal and puts their first album out there..and manages to sell less than 1000 copies, quickly vanishing.
You know that feeling when you're stuck in a room during a biting argument and you freeze and just let it sink in? Overnight puts you in this spotlight often but is never less than fascinating. Though the film's incredibly well-structured and involving, and generates the requisite watching-a-car-wreck thrill, you'd be rooting for ANYONE'S downfall after screening select footage of them being a complete asshole for 80 minutes. I'm sure it isn't a complete smear job, but it's a bit too insular to be objective..the filmmakers are obviously not friends with this guy anymore; but given what we are shown on screen it's hard to come away on Duffy's side.
Who knows with these things what gets taken out to support a directorial agenda, but taken on its own, it's riveting to watch, and Duffy isn't doing himself any favors with scenes of tearing his new agents a new one on the phone, reneging on his financial promises to the filmmakers as they're losing their apartments, and putting down Boston film students who call him on his sour take on what's happened to him.
The final moments are squirm-inducing as we see how everyone ends up, particularly footage of the worn-down band members now living their dreams of manual labor, catering, supermarket checkout, etc.
It's not quite the rags to riches to rags story one goes in expecting, particularly if you're familiar with all of the outcome-Boondock Saints has grown a huge cult following since its release, which isn't mentioned-though Duffy has yet to work since then. Still it's a knockout cautionary tale, and a hell of a lesson in the benefits of occasional humility. And above all, if Harvey Weinstein hands you the keys to the kingdom, don't call him unprintable names on camera.
And does he ever- his simultaneous ascension in film and music are the stuff of the latest legend; Miramax and New Line have a bidding war over the rights to his 'Pulp Fiction with soul' Irish vigilante story, THE BOONDOCK SAINTS.
Miramax's Harvey Weinstein looks to seal the deal with a monstrous payday, giving Duffy his first shot at directing, hiring his band to do the soundtrack, and even planning to buy the bar they work in for them to seal the deal. We can't believe his good fortune, nor can we believe what happens as Duffy starts throwing weight around he hasn't earned yet and burning bridges the moment he begins to cross them.
Mark Brian Smith and Tony Montana's documentary OVERNIGHT is the chronicle of Troy's rise and fall, taking his working-class Rat Pack (dubbed The Brood Syndicate) with him. The group consisted of Duffy, his brother Taylor and the rest of the band, and several others (including the documentarians). Duffy has energy, cajones, attitude and drive to spare and the filmmakers were there from day one to capture whatever he threw their way.
And there's apparently a lot of it, beginning with vows of shared riches and boasts of complete Hollywood domination, chased with enough booze to knock a mountain off its barstool. Eventually the only thing getting thrown are constant insults, threats, and promises which go up in smoke as Miramax puts the film into turnaround and stops taking Duffy's calls.
Troy strings the exasperated band members along as well as the filmmakers, who end up getting shut out of profits and hanging on endlessly for what they hope will be the pot of gold they've been told is just around the corner. The film eventually goes into production through indie financiers on a fraction of the original budget, making a boisterous premiere at Cannes only to be ignored by studio buyers. Eventually it gets a token release and is dumped to DVD. The band finally gets their deal and puts their first album out there..and manages to sell less than 1000 copies, quickly vanishing.
You know that feeling when you're stuck in a room during a biting argument and you freeze and just let it sink in? Overnight puts you in this spotlight often but is never less than fascinating. Though the film's incredibly well-structured and involving, and generates the requisite watching-a-car-wreck thrill, you'd be rooting for ANYONE'S downfall after screening select footage of them being a complete asshole for 80 minutes. I'm sure it isn't a complete smear job, but it's a bit too insular to be objective..the filmmakers are obviously not friends with this guy anymore; but given what we are shown on screen it's hard to come away on Duffy's side.
Who knows with these things what gets taken out to support a directorial agenda, but taken on its own, it's riveting to watch, and Duffy isn't doing himself any favors with scenes of tearing his new agents a new one on the phone, reneging on his financial promises to the filmmakers as they're losing their apartments, and putting down Boston film students who call him on his sour take on what's happened to him.
The final moments are squirm-inducing as we see how everyone ends up, particularly footage of the worn-down band members now living their dreams of manual labor, catering, supermarket checkout, etc.
It's not quite the rags to riches to rags story one goes in expecting, particularly if you're familiar with all of the outcome-Boondock Saints has grown a huge cult following since its release, which isn't mentioned-though Duffy has yet to work since then. Still it's a knockout cautionary tale, and a hell of a lesson in the benefits of occasional humility. And above all, if Harvey Weinstein hands you the keys to the kingdom, don't call him unprintable names on camera.