And no, I have not seen the 2024 remake; and no, I probably won’t–too much love for Swayze.

Why it’s a Western

Road House, the 1989 smash hit starring Patrick Swayze follows the story of James Dalton (Swayze), a legendary bouncer with a philosophy degree and a devastating roundhouse kick, as he’s hired to clean up the notoriously dangerous Double Deuce bar in a small Missouri town. Ok, sure, Missouri isn’t really “the West,” but let’s review a few facts here:

• A mysterious, skilled outsider (Swayze’s Dalton) arrives in a lawless town at the request of a distressed citizen.
• He confronts a corrupt power figure, the evil baron Brad Wesley, who controls the town.
• The town exists in a frontier-style power vacuum: local law enforcement is ineffective, and there is no hope of help from outside.
• There’s a code of honor, vigilante justice, and moral violence. This code is not honored by the enemy, giving him an inherent edge that must be overcome.
• In defeating the villain, the hero earns the adulation of the town and the love of a beautiful woman, and he learns to tame the beast within… or does he?

I could go on.

• Most of the confrontations take place in a bar or saloon; most fights are about honor and pride, with economic interests serving purely as a MacGuffin.
• There is a decidedly Eastern influence to the movie. Dalton practices tai chi, and the combat choreography is enacted in a overwrought kung fu style. These elements mirror the Western’s influence by directors like Akira Kurosawa.
• The hero is terse, charming, and morally ambiguous. His motives are often unclear.

It’s a Western. Sam Elliot is in it!

Why it’s a Good One

The most enchanting thing about Road House is its unapologetic excess. Both temporally and stylistically, the movie puts an exclamation point on the over-the-top, shamelessly exaggerated aesthetic of the 1980’s. Whatever you want in a movie (action, drama, violence, romance), Road House has more than enough of it for you.

Dalton is Fonzie-cool, Eastwood-mysterious, and physically pristine. Though he’s a drifter by nature, love draws him into the morass of town politics, stolid grudges, and bitter rivalries. His love interest–a platinum blonde doctor he meets as she’s stitching his wounds–reminds one more of a Barbie doll (she even has the jeep) than a woman from real life.

The fights are brutal, last for several minutes each, and come at you like train cars, one after another with no apparent end. Blood flows freely and bodies pile up like driftwood as Dalton mows down assailants with an overpowering-yet-effortless force. At the end of each fight, Dalton receives a few stitches (or stitches himself), drinks a cold beer, and returns to the bar the next night for another brawl.

It might seem like a movie with this many fist fights probably wouldn’t have explosions. It does. There are two major explosion scenes, one shootout, and a flaming car crash… with an explosion. They’re all glorious.

In this way, Road House moves past the traditional Western and embraces a pulp modern glamour. Similarly, there’s gratuitous nudity throughout and one of the more explicit sex scenes of the decade. This isn’t your grandpa’s Western.

The dialogue is sparse but alternates between profound and clever, with a campy 80’s sincerity that’s surprisingly difficult to resist. Dalton is a warrior-poet. He exists not outside the law but somehow above it, giving his words the gravitas of scripture.

What makes all of this digestible and, in fact, charming is the subtle self-awareness the movie conveys. It’s as if director Rowdy Herrington (Rowdy!) is winking at us and saying, “Look, I know it’s ridiculous. But be honest, isn’t that what you wanted?”

Conclusion

Road House is the 80’s movie the Western genre deserves. It reminds us of the possibilities of cinema providing a charming naivete that we sometimes forget we need. Movies are so often prudent, so judicious, with their resources of craft and gimmick alike. Road House harnesses everything that cinema magic has to offer, munificently dishing out something for everybody–even if it’s far too much.

Recommended, and RIP Swayze.