Being someone who enjoys a good brawl on screen, I must give the new Road House credit for never taking a step back once they give into the chaos. The Road House movie released in 1989 featured an oiled up Patrick Swayze alongside Patrick Swayze which promoted its main lead Dalton’s delicate balancing as a bouncer in Jasper, Missouri. But let’s be honest. It also revolved around him savagely ripping out a man’s throat with his bare hands. Fast forward to the new one, which is set to be released in 2024, features Jake Gyllenhaal as a more muscle toned and luck deprived version of the same character. The new film does not seem to care about bounds set by previous movies, and honestly I love it. Yes, this time around Dalton is portrayed as a guilt ridden former UFC fighter, but that does not take away from the fact that he is shown as ruthless. Which is why he essentially decides to become a drifter who lives in his car and does not settle until he gets offered a job at a bar by the name of Frankie in the Florida Keys.
However, when he finally allows himself to feel anger, the expression on his face reflects a “finally”, on the other hand, makes it evident that the makers think it presents a philosophy that it does not, for its audience is there for, the meaning is not wrong.
That ignorance makes the Road House remake rather silly in its attempts to augment the spirit of the original. It retains the basic bouncer versus shady businessman plot, yet discards all the other bizarre but engaging aspects. (Forget half-hearted homoeroticism or a travelling circuit of semi-famous ‘coolers’ who go round fixing troublesome honky-tonks.) But, whatever director Rowdy Herrington’s ’80s hit may have been cannoned into the cult territory with excessive airtime on cable networks but it is far from the bible. The other film, directed by Doug Liman, simply tries to take advantage of the MMA audience, letting Conor McGregor, one of the least liked stars of this sport, act for the first time, in the role of henchman Knox. And, almost perfectly explaining all these contradictions, Mr. Road House is a such film, and it is far better than it has any right to be, the good grade schlock that it is, precisely because it is so ridiculous. McGregor’s only half reaction is amusing, as he never seems to break character, and gets his way whilst also expressing anger. Instead of glorifying mixed martial arts as a masculine accolade, Liman treats it and the action scenes of the movie as a life-action tummy tunes idea where the feeling of getting hurt fully seems so far away Alexa then suddenly is not.
While not throwing characters across decor or on a boat, he tosses around the camera to capture more action scenes in the movie, making them more appealing to the viewers.
To be honest, MMA needs a lot of work. It is brutal in a way yet its sheer physicality isn’t particularly movie ready and Road House isn’t there to make up for that, with its pesky lens rotating around the universe combining it with an awkward POV from time to time. It is rather the parts that closely hug the fight that are actually the most interesting, be it the bridge battle or the water chase, along with some very well placed comedy. Gyllenhaal has always excelled in playing the oddball character and Road House fulfills this role with his portrayal of Dalton. The story revolves around him, out on the streets, searching for underground fights to include himself in. Rather than watching him in action, we instead watch him, in the parking lot, along a knife embedded skin deep into his stomach, an offense that can only be met with the type of obstinacy that Daffy Duck exudes, when his beak is forcefully blasted out of position. Later on Dalton takes the staff, that he had just pounded, to a hospital in his car, while warning them of upcoming potholes by stating ‘bump’ before each impact.
As the Date gets underway, he initially feels uncomfortable that the ER doctor inglesa is taking him for a boat ride, because while catching a glimpse of the Victorian maiden unja there is caught without an escort, he is trying to run off.
The film also gently introduces us to Ben Brandt (the brilliantly cartoonish Billy Magnussen), a local horticulturist who is in search for real estate on the island to build a resort. He is in search for land owned by Frankie, who refuses to sell her land. Brand and his bodyguards, who include a scene stealing Arturo Castro, offer Wexford no real threats which clearly justifies the sympathetic portrayal of him. Business goes on as he pops into the ordinary town serving as an agent for chaos who was loaned by Ben’s jailed father. McGregor is vividly one dimensional in his onscreen presence and has developed a single performance gimmick he has a manic beam. He does manage to have some laughs in the third act, especially when placed alongside Dalton’s more amiable I’m harmless grin. The smiling men are the final battle just nasty, and at this point they made me want to scream with laughter because of how ridiculous it was. I do not think New Road House will be ever able to exhibit the unintentional grandeur and strange subtleties of the first movie, but it is fascinating.
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