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But there’s something about The Boondock Saints that still makes it work, somehow. It’s a well edited movie whose brisk pace hardly gives you time to debate the merits of what you’re seeing. The violence present is to be expected; it is after all a gangster flick. But much of it is so utterly over the top that you can’t help but laugh at it. One scene in particular comes to mind; a shootout involving several people standing five meters apart, firing about eight million rounds into each other in super slow motion, yet nobody is seriously injured. Not only would the A-Team be proud, but they’d have as hard a time taking it any more seriously than you and I. This is a movie that seems to understand its limitations and not only does it take great care to stay within those boundaries; it joyfully fills those boundaries well past the point of excess. I also have to admit that despite the less than stellar performances, the MacManus brothers are likeable because of their faith, their devotion to one another and the fact that what they’re doing doesn’t seem entirely bad, depending on how you look at it. While it is unquestionably wrong to murder people, what if the people being murdered are murderers? We do live in a society of laws and that is without a doubt what keeps the majority of us civilized – it is in our best interests to coexist peacefully with one another. But when someone steps outside those lines and commits an atrocity for which there is no commensurate legal remedy, what should be done, and who should do it to them?

It’s a valid and important question but it is when The Boondock Saints attempts to step back from its comic book shenanigans and seriously address this issue that it falters. The film pays endless homage to scripture, and the MacManuses proselytize ad nauseum as though the sheer volume of it might absolve them of any spiritual penance they will later incur. Eventually the two Irish firebrands begin to make John Kennedy’s inauguration seem subtle in comparison. The spirit of Kitty Genovese is lovingly invoked; a woman whose brutal 1964 slaying caused national soul searching about the role of ordinary citizens in fighting crime. And in what is perhaps the most interesting part of the movie, the end credits roll over a series of man-on-the-street interviews with Bostonians as they debate whether or not the “Boondock Saints” and their brand of vigilante vengeance are morally acceptable. The problem is that this dichotomy weakens the film – on the one hand Troy Duffy clearly wanted to make his own Pulp Fiction, and in this he largely succeeded. But on the other hand, his desire to draw attention to the horror of violent crime seems incompatible with a movie that so brazenly celebrates it. If you’d like to turn off your brain and chuckle at the spectacle of Willem Dafoe in drag, or a skinny Irish boy using a commode as a weapon of mass destruction, then this movie is right up your alley. But if you seriously want to spend some time thinking about crime and punishment, do yourself a favor and just go rent A Few Good Men.

And as the Irish say, may God bring good health to the enemy of your enemy.

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