
By “those kind of movies” I mean those films that are pseudo-smart and pseudo-deep, presenting paper-thin messages as an excuse for rampant style and gratuitous everything: sex, violence and the like. Films like Lucky Number Slevin, Running Scared, Smokin Aces and many more. It’s style over substance through and through, but the filmmakers wouldn’t have you know it, because they do not know it themselves. These are all passionate films made by passionate artists, much like those modern artists who mess up a bed and are proud to call it art or stream a 30-second film reel continuously while obstructing the viewfinder with objects (like a tree branch or something) to distort and abstract the cellulite on display. It’s kitsch and style and pretension personified, and the thought process behind goes as far as the art itself, no matter how deep the passion.
Which brings us back to The Boondocks Saints, which, for this moment in media, serves as the kingpin of those kinds of movies. As a matter of fact, it’s been the kingpin of those kinds of movies for some time. Since the infamous box office failure of both the film and the filmmaker (one Troy Duffy), Saints has gathered a cult following worthy of its own religion (which is ironic when you consider the skewed Catholic plot elements, but I digress).
The film itself is a fun-to-watch, poorly shot, decently written, haphazardly directed little action thing that offers its art in only one color: blood red. There’s nothing deep about the tale of two Irish “brudders” presumably called by God to murder all the criminals of Boston, jumping off a line a priest utters in the opening scene of the film, that the worst kind of evil is “the indifference of good men.”
These men are certainly not indifferent. And neither are they good. They are murderers and they murder brutally, creatively and passionately which, in a way, is a metaphor for the way Duffy handles his own material on screen. His cuts are incoherent and his lines heavy-handed (full of “fucks” and “cunts” and gay jokes and stereotypes, no matter how clever they’re delivered) and the timeline of his beloved story jumps from past to present and back.
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