Everything
Never let it be said that this author is afraid of being wrong. Case in point: the new Doug Lineman remake of cult classic Road House. Truth be told, I loved the original, complete with all its questionably sexual tension undertones courtesy of the late Patrick Swayze’s sultry stares so I came into the remake, starring Jake Gyllenhaal and Conor McGregor, with some trepidation. To say the least.
Let me just say, then, that the combination of Gyllenhaal’s smarmy charm and shockingly unmarked face as former UFC fighter turned knight-in-sweaty-armour for a Florida Keys dive bar Elwood Dalton and McGregor far-to-real turn as the epitome of toxic masculinity villain not just cleared my airways and restored the vigour of a 20-year-old me, it restored my faith in remakes.
Off the bat let’s begin with McGregor. The man’s performance is so unexpectedly spot-on, you’d question how he has only just turned his hand to acting (before you realise that his entire sport is just that). He and Gyllenhaal gel like gin and tonic—unexpectedly well, with just enough kick to make you crave more. The movie rollicks through its paces, delivering punchlines and punches with equal gusto, ensuring the action never dips into the gratuitous. Instead, it winks at the audience, acknowledging the sheer ludicrousness of it all.
Equally surprising is Gyllenhaal’s ability to make us forget about the fact that he is way too good looking to be the deadly fighter he claims to be in the film. Not a cabbage ear in sight. If there was one flaw that the film carried it might be that Gyllenhaal’s character leans almost too heavily into the bruiser with a beating heart. Even heroes can be bad guys, is what we’re saying.
Road House revels in its identity as a pastiche of a pastiche, with Liman at the helm, ensuring the spectacle never veers off into unwatchable territory. Instead, it embraces its campy core, serving up a cocktail of cheeky dialogue and cheekier fight scenes. The film’s refusal to take itself seriously is its secret weapon, allowing it to dance on the fine line between homage and parody with the grace of a drunken ballerina.
In a world where movie remakes often feel like reheated leftovers, Road House emerges as the unexpected Michelin star of the lot. It’s as if the movie guzzles down a shot of adrenaline and asks, “Was that too much?” The answer, delightfully, is no. While it’s not quite camp cult status of Showgirls or the original that inspired it, it doesn’t pretened to be anything other than what it is which is a visual grunt of a good time. As you watch Gyllenhaal and McGregor play off each other like old pals in a bar brawl ballet, you can’t help but think, “This is how you do a remake.” Forget nostalgia; this Road House is all about the now, and it’s a riotously good time.
