“I don’t know why people don’t realize that I like Road House unironically.
“It’s a perfect film. It’s paced well. It doesn’t have any extra fluff. It doesn’t get bigger than the story. It doesn’t try to be something it’s not.”
“I mean yeah, it’s ridiculous. OK. But it’s also got a noir element.”
He’s still listening, so I go on.
“You know, you have this kind of bleak wasteland. You have an anti-hero. A loner. He’s used to just taking care of himself. He’s good at it.”
“He’s a philosopher,” Ralph interjects.
“Right! But then he finds himself in a circumstance where he has to protect some innocents. And he can’t help himself. He has to get involved, even if it’s hopeless.”
I pause, and then say, “Well… I guess it’s not really that noir, I mean besides that. I mean, usually a noir has -“
“- a femme fatale,” my husband nods knowingly.
Instantly, I’m peevish. “Road House has a femme fatale!” I’m pissed. He’s sat through this movie with me many times. Come on!
“…She just doesn’t have a big part,” I allow, begrudgingly.