Some critics have argued that Amazon’s adaptation of 1989’s Road House is undermined by its simple story line and the looming shadow of its predecessor. I disagree on both counts.
As countless Westerns have shown (yes, Road House insists you view it as a neo-Western; more on this later), a straightforward plot is hardly an insurmountable obstacle to an engaging cinematic experience. Apparently, I’m also one of the few people who has not seen the original cult classic (relax, I was merely six years old upon its release) and intentionally steered clear of it in recent weeks to ensure that nostalgia for the late Patrick Swayze wouldn’t bias my evaluation of the 2024 remake.
In director Doug Liman’s iteration, a chiseled Jake Gyllenhaal stars as Elwood Dalton, a former UFC fighter with a haunted past, drawn into bar bouncing in the fictional Key West enclave of Glass Key. Dalton soon learns that the job is more than he signed up for. Beyond ejecting patrons who’ve indulged one too many rum runners, he becomes the seaside bar’s last line of defense against the ambitions of mobbed-up real-estate tycoon Ben Brandt (Billy Magnussen) and his imprisoned father.
Though Road House navigates familiar waters, its critical flaw is a lackluster screenplay that produces an unremarkable supporting cast. The importance of interesting characters over a complex plot in the Western genre is best exemplified by Sergio Leone’s The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly. Few can recall the 1966 masterpiece’s plot details, but no one forgets the chemistry between Clint Eastwood’s character and his nemeses, Tuco and Angel Eyes.
Road House pours a cinematic mojito with premium rum, but the concoction ultimately sours thanks to a disjointed recipe that forgets other essential ingredients. In this cocktail, Gyllenhaal infuses the enigmatic charm of the Man with No Name with a perfect dash of sardonic humor. But his nuanced portrayal feels as though it belongs to a completely different movie from the one his co-stars are in. Consider the treatment of Conor McGregor as Knox. Rather than being portrayed as a formidable foe to Dalton, the hit man’s cartoonish, constant grin gives the impression that he wandered off the pages of a Popeye comic strip.
The script also does little to elevate Portuguese actress Daniela Melchior, who plays local doctor Ellie. We don’t cringe when she calls Dalton a “rage-filled d***head” in their initial encounter because it challenges gender norms within the genre (Angie Dickinson’s Feathers was hardly demure in Rio Bravo). We’re taken aback because the dialogue feels contrived.
Frankie (Jessica Williams), the quick-witted owner of the Road House bar, adds an additional layer of narrative dissonance. Much like Ellie’s tough-as-nails introduction clashes with her later portrayal as a damsel in distress, Frankie’s character is mired in contradiction. As the movie goes on, it strains credulity that someone as capable as she, who can afford to casually offer a bouncer a staggering $20,000 for one month of work, would struggle to find adequate protection for her oceanfront cantina.
Road House’s failure to maximize action veteran Joaquim de Almeida’s talents further underscores that the screenplay is the movie’s fundamental flaw. After making a name for himself as the quintessential “suave Latin bad guy” of ’90s blockbusters such as Desperado, Almeida seems perfectly cast as the corrupt local sheriff. Yet despite delivering a commendable performance, he’s barely given enough time to showcase his villainous charisma.
Character issues can be easily overlooked in high-octane B flicks, but Road House’s self-awareness complicates what should be effortless viewing. Rather than let audiences get lost in exhilarating fistfights, the movie goes out of its way to remind us, not once but twice, that we’re watching a tropical Western. Along with labored efforts to justify the characters’ ruggedness through both direct explanations and symbolism, this overemphasis detracts from the audience’s experience. Simply put, it tries too hard to be more than what it is.
Nonetheless, Road House still manages to deliver thrills. Gyllenhaal’s muscular performance and a handful of engaging fight sequences — particularly the shorter ones — are highlights that demonstrate Liman’s considerable action chops. Despite a screenplay that often seems intent on undermining itself, the movie remains a “style over substance” affair whose most remarkable feat might be its convincing transformation of Dominican locales into the vibrant Florida Keys.
Having frequented my fair share of real-life roadhouses as a South Florida native, I appreciated the film’s attention to detail — from the locals’ affinity for Cuban coffee to the authenticity of bar scuffles against a backdrop of island rhythms. I just wish the Conch Republic had been brought to life through better storytelling.