The 1989 film “Road House” isn’t a classic. It’s more like a “classic.”

Patrick Swayze’s honky tonk romp is both deeply flawed and a cherished ’80s film. Any attempt to remake it seems fraught with complications.

• Too woke?
• Too reverential?
• Too over-the-top in that glorious “Road House” fashion?

How about too bland? And, worst of all, too unnecessary.

Jake Gyllenhaal steps in for Swayze, playing a former UFC fighter struggling to make sense of his life. He’s offered a sweet gig as the lead bouncer in a Florida club called, wait for it, The Road House.

No, it’s not a funny line nor is much of what we get worth a chuckle.

Our new Dalton flashes his bouncing skills in a sequence that suggests this remake might be worth the bother. He’s a force of nature, turning a gaggle of hoods into a crowded line at the Emergency Room.

His antics grab the attention of a local developer (Billy Magnussen, a fascinating actor given a terrible role) who wants to chase the Road House’s owner off the property. Dalton also angers the local Sheriff (Joaquim de Almeida), one of the few recognizable character actors in the film.

Too bad the sheriff is as lazily written as every other part, from the Road Houses owner (Jessica Williams) to Ellie the Love InterestTM (Daniela Melchior).

Dalton and Ellie have so little chemistry they’re more believable as brother and sister … or just strangers who wandered into a film audition.

The original “Road House” brought the heat between Swayze and co-star Kelly Lynch. That kind of animal attraction is too Male Gaze-y for today’s Hollywood, alas.

The film’s first half hour is remarkably flat, befitting a straight-to-streaming project not one directed by Doug Lemon (“Edge of Tomorrow,” “Swingers,” “Mr. and Mrs. Smith”).

“Road House” comes to life when Conor McGregor enters the frame as Knox, the hired hand tasked with bouncing Dalton out of the Florida Keys and this mortal coil.

McGregor may not be an actor-actor, but his burly physique and charisma are exactly what’s missing. He can’t do it all, though, so no amount of scene stealing can paper over the insanely dumb plot beats and limp dialog. 

Where is Sam Elliott, even at 79 a force of nature, when you need him?

Gyllenhaal is arguably a better actor than Swayze, but he lacks the late star’s presence. The OG Dalton had a Zen-like calm that felt fresh given the tenor of the times. He read philosophy books and eschewed creature comforts.

Who is this Dalton, anyway? He’s haunted by his past but bored by his present and future. Only the addition of a young bookstore co-owner gives him a reason to fight for his new neighbors.

Gyllenhaal is looking to project an inner calm between ab crunches. Instead, he just seems bored.

The new “House” echoes the original in small ways, but it mostly blazes its own trail. That’s fine, assuming said trail is worth a gander.

Instead, we get tired exchanges between Dalton and the locals, bland thugs (except Arturo Castro as a half-hearted villain) and no purpose beyond banking on another ’80s IP.

 

 

 

 

 

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Limon even struggles with the action set pieces. An attempt on Dalton’s life on a dangerous stretch of road features terrible CGI, crushing the moment’s power. Some of the bar battles feel cluttered and familiar. The film’s final fisticuffs raised the stakes, admittedly.

The original “Road House” made you smell the stale beer in the Double Deuce. The bar band, led by blind singer Jeff Healey, cranked out tunes that made you want to get up and dance. And maybe even flirt a little.

Or a lot.

The club was a character unto itself, and the film spent plenty of time exploring its dark wood crevices.

Here, the club in question is generic to the core. It has no character, no soul … something like the movie in question.

HiT or Miss: Love 1989’s “Road House?” Go watch it again over this pale retread.

The post Why ‘Road House’ Can’t Measure Up to the Original appeared first on Hollywood in Toto.