The Saints Don't Come Marching In

OK, so I am asking for forgiveness beforehand for any spelling or grammer errors that I might make in this entry due to the fact that I am a bt tipsy. The reason for my tipsiness being that I have just watched, nay, survived watching "Boondock Saints II: All Saints Day." Even now as I see the title in courier font before me I cannot help but close my eyes and shake my head.

Every year on St. Patrick's Day, it has become a tradition to eat a hearty meal accompanied by potatoes paired with green beer and on eof the greatest movies every made... "The Boondock Saints." my nephew and I look forward to it the way most kids look forward to opening presents on Christmas morning. Tis year was no different, except that while I was purcahsing our dinner items at the store I got a wild hair up my ass and decided to rent "The Hurt Locker" (fucking awesome film!) in case we wanted to watch it afterwards. Lo and behold, this movie made its way into my eyesight and I decided "what the hell."

Have you ever had one of those moments? The moment where something v ery embarassing happens to somoene you know and you cannot help but actually feel emabarrassed for them? Well, I have. In fact, I felt that all throughout this film....

Guilt is weellling up inside of me now as I type this entry. Guilt for the director and writer of this film, this cult classic, this brilliant first film known simply as "Boondock Saints" that should have been left as a single piece of art. Someone should have stood up in his cofnerence room and shouted "Leave well enough alone!" Or even "If it aint' broke...." Any of those cliches would have worked splendidly and probably have gotten the point across just fine.

Anyone not familiar with Troy Duffy's first brilliant film should make themselves familiar with it and anyone who has seen it and been blessed enough not to watch the second bastardization of it should, you guessed it, leave well enough alone.

Within ten minutes of the movie, my nephew and I had ecvhanged the familiar "What the fuck?" look until I mad eth eexecutive decision that before we started drinking, we were going to need a lot more liqour if we were going to get through the rest of the film. Once we were well stocked and ready to watch the rest of the movie it still failed to get any better looking.

I cannot even begin to tell you everything that was wrong with the sequel, nor would I be able to seeing as how I can barely keep my eyes open right now. It is no wonder that this film barely made it into two theaters across the nation, and even so, it should not have made it into one. the acting was overdone, the script was, how shall I put this... unfunny and desperate and i still cannot figure out if the saints themselves were weraing too miuch makeup or if they went under the knife and under bad lighting. I hope againts hope that they just had a bad makeuup artist. If so, Mr Duffy, call me. I can do a much better job.

I will be watching the first movie momentarily in attempts to wash some of the sequel out of my brain, but like any bad dream or dissapointment in life, I know it will be etched in my thoughts everafter. I just hope I'm drunk when it does so.

All in all, the only way to watch this movie is captured in the picture accompained with this blog.