Road House (1989) **

Road House is one of those rare movies that are really, REALLY bad. But damn it, you can't help to watch it. It is so hokey, cliched, and bad that the mind can't fathom why you're watching this film. You know the plot- Patrick Swayze plays Dalton, the typical moral good guy with one name. He's a bouncer. He gets hired to bounce at some shithole town that is ran by the worst villain I've ever seen named Brad Wesley (Ben Gazzara). I don't get it. Who in the hell is going to be afraid of a guy named Brad Wesley? So Dalton takes it upon himself to clean up the shithole town, meeting a doctor in the process. They get it on in his rented horse stable loft.

Now an amazing thing about Road House is in its clientele. Before Dalton gets there it's filled with numerous women, dressed in the height of late 1980's fashion and hair taller than Kareem Abdul Jabar. There women look like they just walked out of a Whitesnake video. It's these women that are hanging out at this shithole bar in this shithole town, hanging out with a bunch of guys that look like rejects from a Deliverance sequel. BUT... when Dalton shows up, the male clientele gets better looking, dressing nicer, looking not as imbredish. That must be the power of Swayze.

That's what is great about Road House. You can't take it seriously. It's like streaking or drinking a marshmallow shake- you're not really getting anything out of it. It's mere junk food, but it mesmerizes you. Maybe it's the mullets? Maybe it's that rare appearance by the legendary Terry Funk. Or maybe it's the hippie Sam Elliott. Whatever it is, it's good, clean, American fun.