I've never witnessed a validation of karma so convincing as the one on display in Overnight. This is a documentary about a man named Troy Duffy, whose fate has convinced me that justice can prevail in this crazy world. I've never been one to derive any sort of pleasure whatsoever from another person's failure, and that hasn't changed with this film; but never did I imagine that I would think someone's crashing and falling was so richly deserved

Here's the backstory. In the late nineties, Troy Duffy rose out of nowhere with a movie called The Boondock Saints. The film went straight to video and Duffy returned to oblivion. I'd provide a brief review of his movie here, but that would be unethical, as I stopped the tape two thirds of the way through and took it back to the video store. From what I did see, I could tell that the film was an astoundingly awful, irredeemable Tarantino rip-off made by someone who thought the greatness of Tarantino's writing was the frequency with which he used the word 'fuck.' Now don't get me wrong, I understand the appeal of knocking off someone like Tarantino. I did it myself. When I was 13.

Somehow, inexplicably, the movie found an audience and became a cult hit; even now, you'll hear it praised by people who obviously don't know very much about film, and its popularity turned my initial dismissal into an intense dislike. I wondered about Duffy - where he came from, where he was now, and whether he was as obnoxious as his film. Last spring, reading Peter Biskind's Down And Dirty Pictures, I got an inkling of his story. He was a bartender who somehow got his script into the hands of Miramax's Harvey Weinstein, who gave him a six-figure deal so outlandishly good (it involved deals for Duffy's band and the purchase of the bar he worked at) that it landed him on the front page of Variety and USA today. After a few months, however, Weinstein put the film in turnaround and Duffy ended up making it for a fraction of its original budget with money put up by independent investors.

Why did Weinstein put it in turnaround after making such an industry-shaking deal? The answer, we learn in this film, is because Duffy is an insufferable, egotistical, pompous, idiotic, sexist, maniacal, drunken bully (I could probably come up with additional applicable adjectives, but you get the point). It really says something when Weinstein, who isn't exactly known for being a gentle soul himself, doesn't want to put up with you. Duffy acts like he's God's gift to the film industry, the music industry and pretty much everyone who comes into contact with him - even after his career has hit the skids. That this is a documentary, and that Duffy is a real person, is unbelievable. You don't usually see people like this in real life; you see them in movies, and you cheer when they get their comeuppance.

In the early months of his success, he meets with celebrities who tell him how wonderful his script is and record producers who want to help his band make his record. His already large ego inflates rapidly; he spends his nights partying with the stars, drinking copiously, harassing producers and agents, promising his circle of friends that they will revolutionize Hollywood, and never, it seems, actually accomplishing anything. Six months later, Miramax won't return his calls and his band's record contract is dropped. Duffy retaliates with endless streams of epithets and ridiculous levels of machismo, but it doesn't matter. He's been blacklisted.

The makers of this documentary, Tony Montana and Mark Brian Smith, were friends of Duffy brought from the get-go to document his rise to glory (they were also assigned the task of managing his band, The Brood, which ended up selling 690 copies of its major label debut record), and their film is a masterful assembly of moments we feel like we weren't supposed to see. This is probably not the documentary that Duffy had in mind. For that matter, it's probably not the documentary Montana and Smith had in mind; we get to wathc Duffy enchants them and his bandmates (including his brother Taylor) with his blustery bravado, promising them riches and never letting them forget that it's because of him that they'll be famous.When things go sour, it's inevitable that his circle starts to see him for what he is, and there are painful scenes of him screaming at his former pals (and his brother) and telling them that they are essentially worthless. I imagine it was at that point that this film turned into a form of revenge. The last time we see Duffy in the film, he's standing outside a bar, talking angrily to himself, as title cards let us know just how far he's fallen.

Through it all, even when Duffy's career is temporarily back on track and he's making his movie or recording his album, there is no joy or happiness or gratitude on display. He sucks it all up and spits it out, spitefully, and the members of his entourage, until they turn on him, spend most of their time nodding glumly and, I assume, trying to get the nerve to stand up to this blowhard. That's something that eventually is not that hard to do: after Boondock Saints is released on video, Duffy is a guest speaker at a film school, where the students see right through him and gently, politely cut him down with subtle questioning; we see him directly afterwards, talking about how stupid film students are. He's not a happy person, obviously, but he also doesn't learn from his mistakes, and the way he deflects any chance of sympathy is rather stunning.

I personally know many filmmakers and artists and musicians who strive to create, not to get rich and famous but because they simply love their work. They're all genuinely good people, and they're all relatively penniless, and every one of them - every single one - is in a better position now than Troy Duffy ever was, before or after he squandered that six figure deal. He had a chance that millions of artists dream of, and he squandered it, and now what? There are millions of starving artists in the world who have talent and integrity going for them; all Troy Duffy ever had was the promise of someone else's money, and now he doesn't even have that. Perhaps it's callous for me to say that it's what he deserves, but I think there's a reason this documentary played at Sundance and is now being released while he wallows in obscurity. I feel upset when I see Hollywood produce garbage when there are endless filmmakers with real talent who have no way of getting their films made or released. Here, for once, Hollywood seems to have done something right.