It has mullets. Ripped-out tracheas. Jeff Healey. Right boots. Wade. Fucking. Garrett. What more can a man ask for in a film than the 1989 masterpiece Road House directed by Rowdy Herrington (great name)? Well, you get Philosophy major/world's most badass 140 lb. bouncer Patrick Swayze doing Tai Chi in sweatpants so tight he looks like he's trying to seduce children. You see, the Double Deuce is a bar on the climb and they need the best cooler in the business. Dalton pops a white cassette into his Benz and a legend is born. Swayze was hot off keeping Baby out of the corner and could do any movie he pleased, so he chose THIS brain-dead yahoo fare that now ranks as one the great awesomes of the modern era.
So, Dalton meets Doc after making her swoon with his "Pain don't hurt" line. Bitches come for the pain don't hurt. He demonstrates that pain don't hurt to her later by for some reason banging her against a very jagged and scary looking rock fireplace. At least she'll know how the treat those gashes all over her back. Brad Wesley is all like "Bish, you bangin my old lady? How about I sick Terry Funk and a tall retard that calls people "dickless" on yo ass?" And Dalton's all like "Nuh-uh, son. I'm gonna go all Wade Garret up in yo motherfuckin craw". Now the two greatest bouncers in America working in the same bar like a Voltron of enlightenment.
Brad Wesley bows to no one. Because he has dogs. Dogs with teeth. A dog named Jimmy. Jimmy used to fuck guys like you in prison. With his perfect dry-look Camaro Crash Helmet feathercut and a thundering homosexual twinkle in his eye that would make Pat Robertson turn over to the dark side, he's one ass-kicking, pool cue twirling, denim-rocking sonomabitch. Then Dalton kicks a gun out of his hand and kills him. Lot of guns get kicked out of hands in this film, it seems. The foot is quicker than the trigger finger, I guess.
After blowing up his Mercedez for no reason other than a decoy (couldn't he have just snuck into the mansion anyway?), Dalton in his best Karate-outfit clubbing shirt dispatches the bad dudes before nearly getting his ass handed to him by and old man that throws African spears with more grim accuracy than Leonidas on a calm day. Good triumphs, and Tinker that lovable little 400 pound mutt not only survives the dead polar bear-attack but helps the good guys cover up all the senselessly gruesome murders they just committed!
How can anybody NOT like this shit? Mindless skull-bashing, 1980's-style T & A and some of the greatest one liners in the history of the universe. Half of this film's budget was spent on AquaNet hairspray alone. If you're a man and can't enjoy this film you simply have no soul.
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