JAKE GYLLENHAAL stars in ROADHOUSE Photo: LAURA RADFORD © AMAZON CONTENT SERVICES LLC
At the risk of sounding prudish, we live in a society desensitized to excessive violence. We find it impossible to ignore and, especially in the case of the film industry, highly enjoyable. Audiences don’t bat an eye when John Wick nunchucks his way through a gaggle of grunts, nor when Tony Montana shoots down a door of mobsters. We cheer for these oddly feel-good action spectacles, which are often tried and true stories of good vs. evil, just with more collateral damage. In fact, the latest in this genre – Doug Liman’s grizzly reimagining of ‘80s b-movie Road House – is quick to evoke its age-old appeal.
In an early scene, Elwood Dalton (an effortlessly cool Jake Gyllenhaal) is talking to young bookstore clerk Charlie (Hannah Lanier) about Westerns. Charlie sees Dalton, hired as a bouncer for a beloved local roadhouse in the Florida Keys, as the archetypal handsome stranger who becomes sheriff when he sees a town in need. The roadhouse, aptly titled Road House, has seen trouble from a local biker gang led by Ben Brandt (a dialed-in Billy Magnussen), the son of wealthy magnate who wishes to see the club torn down to make way for a luxury resort. Dalton, a former UFC champion who garnered a nasty reputation and harrowing PTSD after a fight gone wrong, shirks off the idea that he is any kind of hero.
Yet, this is what Dalton is throughout Road House, in part because of the oddly considerate and apologetic sentiments he’ll share before and after he breaks your bones. In one of the film’s earliest fight scenes, each filmed with kinetic and fluid camerawork that highlights every fatal blow, Dalton begs one of Brandt’s cronies, Dell (JD Pardo), to honestly consider whether or not he wants to fight him; he even inquires if there’s a hospital nearby. Dell, fueled by pure arrogance, is frustrated by Dalton’s questions, but it isn’t too long before he and his gang are each in the hospital (driven by Dalton) with fractures and concussions. It’s an action beat driven by both action and comedy, something Road House strives to balance throughout its entirety.
Much of the film’s charm comes from Gyllenhaal’s natural charisma (even when it appears he isn’t trying to be charismatic) being channeled into a character that combats the local town’s aggressive, cynical nature. Deep down, you can feel Dalton’s need to be good, certainly in homage to Swayze’s character from the original. This plays in hilariously stark opposition to Magnussen, who is so cartoonishly evil that he feels supplanted from the original film. The lack of subtlety makes for heightened satisfaction during every beatdown and fuels Road House for its first half; even amidst aimless scripting, overwrought music supervision, and little more than a cheeky romance featuring Daniela Melchior, it’s the adrenaline-fueled but earnest fights – not to mention a few good laughs – that keep us invested.
And then comes Conor McGregor. The real-life UFC champion plays Knox, a beefed-up last resort that Brandt’s father calls in to do away with Dalton permanently. In his first scene, in which McGregor is buck-ass naked roaming the streets of Italy, tells you all you need to know about where the film is going. Pure ego in human form, Knox comes to town and rampages through the Road House, finally giving Dalton an opponent who could potentially take him down. Dalton, who has previously been a near-invincible protagonist, is given his first real challenge; it’s an unsettling sequence (in part due to McGregor’s utterly repulsive performance), one that pushes the film’s tonal balance to its breaking point. By the time an all-out bar fight ensues, where customers literally climb the ropes and fight on suspended canoes, the dam has all but burst.
The second half of Road House squanders any glimmer of old school heroism under layers of excessive, borderline cruel violence and attempts at silly humor despite that. In attempting to incorporate police corruption in the town, the film’s moral politics are muddied for the sake of convoluted plotting, and the previous satisfaction found through good triumphing over evil is brought down to ceaseless destruction. It’s obvious why Doug Liman and crew would want to beef the octane for the film’s final stretch, but it does so at such an unmeasured clip that it stops being fun to watch. Worse, when you squander the only goodwill you have, the various problems underneath come bubbling to the surface.
Fans of go-for-broke action thrillers will for sure be enraptured by Road House’s glossy island cinematography and cutthroat, gruesome kills. Plenty will clap, cheer, and roar at the film’s commitment to its own vision…or at least they would if the film were to be screening in theaters. In a sense, it’s better that way. Even those who consider themselves susceptible to ultraviolence may have found themselves pulled out their theatrical immersion to witness a crowd of screaming fans exalt a climax that devolves into the worst of male, violent impulses manifested in cinematic form. Thankfully, or maybe unfortunately, most people won’t have that experience. Instead, they’ll be watching at home, sans infectious audience energy, perhaps more self-aware at the unsettling nature of their entertainment. Liman made a blast of a film, but at what cost?
Road House held its World Premiere as part of the Headliners section of the 2024 SXSW TV & Film Festival. The film will premiere globally on Thursday, March 21, courtesy of Prime Video.
Director: Doug Liman
Rated: R
Runtime: 114m
Doug Liman’s action-packed remake is a blast to watch, that is until it throws too many punches and dilutes its own satisfying, rapturous story of honest heroism.
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GVN Rating 6
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Larry Fried is a filmmaker, writer, and podcaster based in New Jersey. He is the host and creator of the podcast “My Favorite Movie is…,” a podcast dedicated to helping filmmakers make somebody’s next favorite movie. He is also the Visual Content Manager for Special Olympics New Jersey, an organization dedicated to competition and training opportunities for athletes with intellectual disabilities across the Garden State.