The Boondock Saints II: All Saints Day (R)
Chapel Hills 15, Kimball's Peak Three, Tinseltown
If I didn't know better, I'd have guessed from the title alone that The Boondock Saints II: All Saints Day was meant to be some sort of attempt at parody. I mean, really: All Saints Day? It's like one of those horror movies that attempts to shoehorn a mass killing into a random holiday not generally known for mayhem.
And then, the first few minutes of the film don't do much to allay the suspicion that this is all a big joke. Our dubious heroes, Connor and Murphy MacManus (Sean Patrick Flanery and Norman Reedus) are hiding out from the killing spree they went on in Boston 10 years ago in The Boondock Saints by — snort — working as shepherds in rural Ireland and cultivating some of the most hilariously awful hair in the history of cinema. I kept expecting one of them to grumble something, in a Monty Python Michael Palin hermit voice, to usher us into an opening credits sequence animated by Terry Gilliam. Though just grumbling in their terrible Irish accents is funny enough.
But no, it gets even better. The lads learn that someone back in Boston has killed a priest and made it look like they did it, so vengeance has to be theirs ... again. They chop off the hair and engage in some of the most hilariously gratuitous nudity ever filmed as they shower off the dirt of Ireland.
All the while, Billy Connolly, as their father/vicious hitman, plays a demented hobbit who spouts some of the most nonsensical faux philosophical bullshit ever committed to film, such as, "Peace, they say, is the enemy of memory," which I bet writer-director Troy Duffy assembled using a box of magnetic poetry.
Now, mind you, this is all in the first 10 minutes of the film. There's still another hour and 50 minutes to go.
Alas, however, after the brothers get mixed up in a fight club on the way home to Boston — they travel, all subterfuge-like, on a cargo ship, where they meet poor Clifton Collins Jr., who is here forced to play the "comic" Mexican sidekick Romeo — all humor comes to an abrupt and violent end. What follows is an orgy of sexualized violence that's both riotously awful and simultaneously vile with no point except to give itself something to jerk off to. Best/worst moment: One of the endless gun battles the MacManuses get themselves into is replayed in slow motion, in case you lost your boner over it too quickly and need some fluffing.
Duffy's script cannot wait to regale you with jokes about excrement and prison rape, and with fantasies about bloodshed and "righteous" violence (because as long as a killer carries rosary beads and believes he's doing God's work, it's all good, apparently). You see, this is what being a real man is all about. Real men eat red meat. Real men joke about rape. Real men don't talk about their feelings, they express their emotion via guns. That's not my interpretation of what Duffy is saying: He actually says it.
Here's all I have to say (in my horrible Irish accent): "It's a foickin' piece of shite."