Here’s a rags-to-riches story gone wrong: In the mid ’90s, a West Hollywood bartender writes… Here’s a rags-to-riches story gone wrong: In the mid ’90s, a West Hollywood bartender writes a screenplay about Catholic vigilantes going on a highly stylized killing spree. Somehow, the manuscript finds its way to Miramax Films, which offers the bartender a $15-million contract to direct the movie and compose the musical score with his band. That movie would be called “The Boondock Saints.”

Then everything falls apart. Because of ongoing conflicts between Troy Duffy, the bartender and Harvey Weinstein, the co-founder of Miramax, the studio decides to drop the movie. Duffy is forced to make the film with less than half of the original budget. He screens it at the Cannes Film Festival, and no one buys it. Duffy and his blue-collar friends drop out of the movie business and go back to their banal former lives. The film eventually becomes a major cult classic, selling around $50 million in domestic video sales, but Duffy and his friends don’t get a cent — the royalties from such sales aren’t covered in their contract.

But somehow, 10 years later, Duffy and co. are back for more, with “The Boondock Saints II: All Saints Day.” The question is, is this even a good thing?

If you’re a teenage guy with at least a mild affinity for action movies, chances are you’ve seen “The Boondock Saints.” I first saw it in high school, and I found it a bit inexplicable — Willem Dafoe dancing maniacally around in a firefight just didn’t strike me as clever. Then I saw it again. This time, during finals week last year. It was enjoyable, but still not cutting-edge.

Regardless, “The Boondock Saints” has a firmly entrenched position in adolescent fandom, with Tarantino-like strokes of excess and political incorrectness that young adults — especially young males — revere. And when the trailer for “The Boondock Saints II” screened at this year’s Comic Con, the crowd went into an uncontrollable standing ovation.

Critics, however, have been less favorable, deploring the movie’s poor plot and occasional racism and homophobia.

This leaves me conflicted. On one hand, I love rise-to-stardom stories, and the fact that Duffy managed to overcome a Hollywood blacklisting and a glaring lack of funds pushes me to support his triumph. On the other hand, neither Duffy nor the two movies strike me as particularly commendable.

The problem may be Duffy in particular. The man’s reputation has been in peril ever since the 2003 documentary, “Overnight,” which chronicled his tumultuous rise and fall from Hollywood grace. For most of the documentary, Duffy more resembles Kenny Powers from “Eastbound & Down,” than a visionary young Tarantino — cursing out his friends, making absurd declarations about his own talent and generally being an egotistical snot as the world crumbles around him.

So the question is this: Should we praise Duffy, using his story as an example of tenacity in times of crisis? Or should it be more of a cautionary tale — an example of destructive egotism?

For one reason only, I’m inclined to go with the former. Duffy doesn’t make masterpieces, but the fact that he can make movies at all should be a sign of hope for all those aspiring directors and screenwriters — if he can do it, so can you. Maybe there exist other bartenders out there, nursing legendary screenplays in their spare time, average people who could find inspiration in Duffy’s unlikely rise to success. And let’s face it: We don’t really need another example of a destructive ego — that means you, Kanye.

So let’s tell Duffy’s story in a positive light, for all those creatively inclined but financially challenged souls out there. With any luck, they’re a lot better than Duffy.