“Mr. Robot” thoughts, Season Four, Episode Eleven: “411 eXit”

Yes, it finally happened. After years of speculation, “Mr. Robot” pulled back the curtain on its single biggest mystery. It activated the secret machine that Whiterose, the leader of the Dark Army hacker collective and the Deus Group secret society of 1 percenters, built beneath the nuclear power plant in Elliot’s home, Washington Township. It really is a device intended to access a parallel world, one brighter and better than our own. And if we’re to believe our eyes during the episode’s final scenes, it worked.

How? The show is playing that particular card close to its vest; all it reveals is that the machine requires so much energy that switching it on draws power away from the nuclear plant’s cooling system, causing a meltdown. Honestly, that’s all the information we need. After carefully walking us through several dozen elaborate hacking exploits over four seasons, the show has more than earned a little science-fiction hand waving where generating alternate realities is concerned.

This goes double when the buildup to the parallel-world revelation is so expertly crafted. Sam Esmail, the show’s creator and the writer and director of this episode, repeatedly presents us with some of the series’s most memorable — and bloody — imagery to date.

I reviewed this week’s big episode of Mr. Robot for the New York Times.

“Watchmen” thoughts, Season One, Episode Nine: “See How They Fly”

Anyway, there’s some perfunctory “and the moral of the story is…” stuff about masks—Ozymandias says they “make men cruel,” Hooded Justice says “you can’t heal with a mask” because “wounds need air”—the sum total meaning of which you can grasp in about the time it took you to read this sentence. It seems to me that in an episode that featured, again, Angela Abar breaking someone’s fingers one by one for information, you should probably have shown how vigilantism and unaccountable law enforcement are bad rather than just told us. It would have made it easier to believe the show meant what it was saying.

As it stands, I’m not really sure what the show means. Not that meaning is the be-all and end-all of visual narrative—like I said a few episodes ago, this is a drama, not a thinkpiece. If you were to treat all of this as an essay rather than serialized television, you’d miss how much dizzying fun Damon Lindelof’s brand of blow-to-the-head surrealism can be, or how good Regina King and Jeremy Irons and Jean Smart and Tim Blake Nelson and Louis Gossett Jr. and Yahya Abdul-Mateen II and Tom Mison and Sara Vickers and Don Johnson and Hong Chau were in their roles. (Seriously, that is a murderers’ row of individually vivid performances, whatever you think about the show they were in.)

But seriously, what do we have here that we didn’t have before? Watchmen the original article had a lot to say about America, the Cold War, vigilantism, the right, the superhero genre, and the comics art form. Other than opening with the Tulsa Race Massacre—a big point in its favor—did Watchmen the TV show comment on politics in general or its own medium in particular with anything approaching Moore & Gibbons’s innovation, vision, and purpose? The puzzle pieces all fit, but what kind of picture are we looking at? I’ll give you a little time to think it over. Tick tock, tick tock.

I reviewed the finale of Watchmen for Decider. I feel like in the end it was a bunch of beautiful humbug.

351. The local constabulary, or “I didn’t see nothing”

“He’s got the sheriff and the whole police department in his pocket!” This brief statement by Red Webster, the day after Brad Wesley blew up his place of business, is pretty much the only word we hear regarding law enforcement in the town of Jasper, Missouri. No big news here: cops love rich authoritarians, film at eleven. But this isn’t even the Frank Wilhoit statement regarding conservatism, that “There must be in-groups whom the law protects but does not bind, alongside out-groups whom the law binds but does not protect,” in action. In Jasper, there is no one whom the law either protects or binds. It’s fucking Mad Max out there. This is how a jumped-up bouncer and a mall developer can go at each other in roving gangs for weeks without anyone lifting a finger to stop them.

But apparently word has reached the sheriff and his deputies that their patron is in trouble—big trouble this time, the kind of trouble that goons can’t be relied upon to stop. Again, how news of a five-minute fracas in a mansion can spread across town so quickly that half a dozen outsiders can get there in time for the climax is beyond me. But there they are, and they want to know where “Brad” is (when I said Elizabeth is the only person in the film to call him “Brad,” I neglected his pet cop) and what the hell happened here.

What follows either exposes a gaping hole in American jurisprudence or explains why the cops have been so superfluous in this movie. One after another, the people who just murdered Brad Wesley—and who’ve given their guns to Red Webster to hide, which takes him all of about ten seconds if you’re wondering how hard he worked to do so—simply say that they didn’t see anything.

With no eyewitnesses, how could the sheriff possibly hope to bring charges against the five men standing around a bullet-ridden corpse in said corpse’s own basement? Need I remind you? No one saw anything! And if they say they didn’t see anything, well, stop the investigation right there and file this one under “unsolved mysteries.” Forget it, Sheriff. It’s Jaspertown.

350. Dead Brad

Here lies Brad Wesley.

Some thoughts:

  • “Look how they massacred my boy.”
  • The way the ruins of the coffee table frame his body, like a portrait in a picture frame, reminds me of his exchange with Dalton over the picture of his grandfather: “Looks like an important man.” “He was an asshole.” The apple doesn’t die far from the tree.
  • I don’t think we’ve adequately discussed how willfully bizarre it is to have this little living-room set right in the middle of dozens, possibly hundreds, of stuffed and mounted animals killed on safari. Can you imagine coming over to Wesley’s house for, I don’t know, a Christmas party or a football game, and he invites you to sit amid the carcasses and make merry with him? “I see you’ve found my trophy room. The only thing that’s missing…is your ass…on my sofa! Have a seat, make yourself at home. You want anything? Have a bloody mary? Some breakfast? At least let me get you some coffee. Oh, that? That’s a water buffalo I shot to death. Milk and sugar? You take it black?”
  • The good news is that the blood should come right off of that naugahyde.
  • Next to Wesley’s right leg you can see one of the magazines he had on his coffee table before he was shot four times and sent flying through it. I can’t stop thinking about it. Did he while away an afternoon flipping through it earlier that week, not knowing it would one day soon rest beneath his corpse? Or was it just for show, or for company? Do you think Brad Wesley was much of a reader?
  • Ben Gazzara was a hell of a sport, getting wired with that many squibs. If they’d gone off all at once he’d have exploded like a smashed watermelon.
  • The question of Brad Wesley’s will was not one I’d entertained until this very moment. With most of his close associates, including his sister-son Pat McGurn and his bastard son (never officially acknowledged or legitimated) Jimmy Reno, dead, who would his worldly belongings and fortune go to? Could his “Jasper Improvement Society” protection racket now become a legit fund for civic development?
  • His battered girlfriend Denise deserves the money, that much I can say. In my mind I’ve written a happy ending for her where she tricked the old bastard into signing a document leaving everything to her without reading it over, like she said it was a release form for her Jazzercise class or something, and she gets to take over his mansion and his money and his interest in the 7-Eleven and live happily ever after. The dead animals would be the first things to go.
  • Goodbye, Brad Wesley. You were a truly demented person and a one-in-a-million movie villain. I’ll miss you, and I hope they have JC Penneys in hell.

349. “This is our town, and don’t you forget it.”

Red Webster, Emmett, Pete Strodenmire, and Frank Tilghman have had enough of Brad Wesley. I mean, to put it mildly. Together they shoot him to death, though not before Tilghman turns Wesley’s “This is my town—don’t you forget it” back at him. The two men exchange a sort of slight smile after that. It’s the smile of men with secrets, if you ask me, though it would pass for an expression of resignation on one hand and triumph on the other to the layman.

Be that as it may.

The thing that strikes me about Brad Wesley’s death today is how quickly it follows the murder of his goons. The bodies of Morgan, O’Connor, Ketchum, and Pat McGurn are still warm, and Jimmy is probably just a few miles downstream, and blam blam blam blam, no more Brad Wesley. They were the iron fist with which Wesley ruled Jasper, from JC Penney to shining Fotomat. Take them away and the man is revealed as a paper tiger, albeit one capable of nearly murdering the best damn cooler in the business.

To put it another way, Brad Wesley fell when his goon squad was supplanted with another. Had Red, Emmet, Pete, and Tilghman joined forces earlier, perhaps they could have out-muscled Wesley’s muscle, or at the very least outgunned them. All they lacked was a fighting spirit, and Dalton gave that to them. It already was their town. All they had to do was rise up and claim it.

348. Death and the Doctor

It’s hard to describe the cocktail of conflicting emotions Dr. Elizabeth Clay must be experiencing in this moment—the moment when her uncle, Red Webster, shoots her ex-husband, Brad Wesley, to save the life of her boyfriend, James Dalton. Just re-read that sentence and imagine yourself in your shoes. Here’s the kindly old man who raised you, and whom you moved back to Jasper after leaving the place so you could take care of him in his old age. He’s got a gun, and he’s just used it to shoot the man who—this is conjecture, but justified conjecture—you used to love, until you saw his ugly side. I’d imagine, given what we see of his treatment of Denise, that physical abuse was involved, since I doubt Denise was his first victim and since it would explain why the Doc skipped town instead of merely divorcing him. This man, with whom you once envisioned your future, has used your appearance on the scene to pull a gun with which he intends to shoot your current love interest. Only he’s not quite your current love interest at the moment, is he? The night before you watched him murder a man, tearing his throat out with his bare hands. Earlier today he tried to physically drag you out of town with him before you broke free and told him you had no intention of going anywhere with him. You’ve arrived just in time to watch him decide not to repeat this act, this time tearing the throat out of your ex-husband. Maybe you felt relief in that moment, but only briefly. Brad ruined it by pulling that gun, and Uncle Red ruined it by firing his. Three of the most important men in your life, locked in a dance of death.

And of course, it’s not over yet, no matter what Brad said. Three more men will put bullets in his body before he finally collapses through a glass table and dies. They include your boyfriend’s nominal boss—the reason this feud started—and his nominal landlord—who provided him with the place where you and he first made love. They also include a Ford dealer whose dealership you watched Brad Wesley demolish. Afterwards you and he had a talk, during which you attempted to appeal to the better angels of his nature, to no avail. The last thing he said to you was a threat against your boyfriend, right there near the rubble of Strodenmire Ford. The last thing he’ll ever say to you was that threat against your boyfriend, thanks in part to Strodenmire, who is participating in Brad’s murder before your very eyes.

And you abhor violence, don’t forget that. You’ve mocked Dalton’s tough-guy posturing to his face, on your first date no less. You broke up with him, kind of, because of the murder he committed last night. So you’re watching your own worst nightmare play out, again, involving men you’ve cared deeply about.

If you were Dr. Elizabeth Clay, could you ever recover?

347. “It’s over!”

Oh Brad, when will you learn. In the time it takes for Wesley to grab his fallen gun and turn it on Dalton while Dalton is distracted by Dr. Elizabeth Clay’s arrival, Doc has the chance to scream “No!” and Wesley himself gilds the lily by shouting “It’s over!” Which it is, but not in the way he intends.

It’s over because Red Webster, Dr. Elizabeth Clay’s uncle, has mortally wounded her ex-husband in order to save her (ex?-)boyfriend. That’s one more thing Wesley allows to happen because he’s too busy bantering to pull the goddamn trigger. It’s one thing to be chatty when you’re roughing up one of your own hapless employees; O’Connor isn’t going to put up a fight while you call him a messy bleeder, and none of your other goons is going to come to his aid.

But Dalton is a different story—a story of kindness, of friendship, of being the best damn cooler in the business. He’s made friends in this town. And though perhaps Brad Wesley can be forgiven for not expecting five of them to suddenly materialize in his basement, four of them carrying shooting irons, why take a chance?

346. The Arrival

The first of several unexpected visitors to the Wesley estate this fine morning—second if you count Dalton, but the goons were clearly expecting him—is Dr. Elizabeth Clay. This raises some questions. How did she know to come here? Did she know what she would find? Was she directed here by some staff member at the Double Deuce who put two and two together vis a vis the corpse on the bar? If so, why didn’t any of them come with her? Did Jack and Hank and Younger have better things to do? Were they just not on duty yet? Or did word spread through the town grapevine? How would that work, given that Dalton’s assault on the compound takes six minutes from start to finish? Did she arrive with the four village elders who will, a few seconds from this moment, murder Brad Wesley with shotguns? If so, why do they all enter the room from different directions? And how did they find out what was going on at the mansion? Was there a disturbance in the old-coot Force? Back to Doc for a second, what has she come to do? Stop Dalton? Stop Wesley? Stop them both? Did she blow right past the four dead bodies on the ground floor of the house, or did she stop to attempt triage and treatment before realizing she was too late? What is she feeling right here, right now, at this moment? Is she glad Dalton decided not to rip Wesley’s throat out, a decision he makes just before she arrives and thus without the need for her opprobrium to convince him? Is she worried Brad will take advantage of this lull in the action? Is she concerned, at all, for herself? If so, which man is she worried about? “You’re gonna save these people? Well who’s gonna save them from you?” Remember that? Remember her telling Dalton where to shove it when he attempted to convince her to leave town with him, earlier this very morning? What changed? What does Dalton feel when he sees her? Relief? Guilt? Gratitude? Shame? Vindication? And Wesley, what about him? Is he solely concerned with exploiting how Dalton has let down his guard? Does he wonder if Elizabeth came there to save him? Would he care if she did? Does he harbor hopes of a reunion once Dalton is out of the way? What are we to take from the fact that he only looks at Dalton in this moment, not at Elizabeth? Does he have his eyes on the prize, or is the real prize the one person he can’t bring himself to look at?

345. Hesitation

It’s finally happened. Dalton has gotten the drop on Brad Wesley, for good and all. He’s disarmed him, he’s kicked him into a chair, he’s pinning him down by the chest with his knee, and he’s left him with no place to move or hide. Instinctively, Dalton’s right arm pulls back, his fingers in a claw-grip position. You know what’s coming next—you’ve known it since you saw what happened to Jimmy, or heard about what happened in Memphis, or even when you saw Hank the bouncer tell Horny Steve the legend when Dalton first arrived at the Double Deuce. Brad Wesley is about to get his throat ripped out.

But this never happens. On the verge of a final, total, horrible victory, Dalton hesitates. He finds he cannot pull the throat out of a man who’s unarmed and helpless before him. He’s murdered five of the man’s minions and fought a pitched battle to get to this very moment, but when he gets there, there’s no Frodo claiming the Ring as his own for Dalton. He resists the temptation. He stays his hand.

Which, hey, good for him. One less murder to worry about!

But…look, I don’t want to come across as endorsing the act of ripping an unarmed man’s throat out to punish him for his crimes against auto shops and dive bars. That would be wrong. Still, I can’t help but feel that Dalton’s gotten this a bit backwards. Jimmy, Morgan, O’Connor, Ketcham, Pat McGurn: They were just following orders. Brad Wesley was giving those orders. He didn’t wield the knife that killed Wade Garrett, but it was his coin toss that decided the cooler’s fate. He didn’t plant the explosives at Red’s Auto Parts or Emmett’s cabin, he didn’t drive the monster truck over Strodenmire Ford, he didn’t personally start several vicious barfights, but he was the architect of it all, just as surely as he was the architect for the coming of the JC Penney.

And here Dalton hesitates? Here he develops doubt about the act of ripping a guy’s throat out? Is it truly a moral victory to slaughter five men but spare the one who put them in harm’s way to begin with?

344. “I just don’t have the time”

“I thought it would be fun to fight you, Dalton,” says Brad Wesley. “I really did.” He says this right after getting his knee smashed, which presumably made him reevaluate the relative fun-ness of fighting Dalton. “But now,” he adds, pulling his very small backup gun, “I just don’t have the time.”

Does this exchange sound familiar? It should: Jimmy pulled off a very similar conversational gambit at the end of his own fight with Dalton. “I’m gonna kill you the old-fashioned way,” he said, pulling his gun, before Dalton disarmed and murdered him.

And guess what happens to Brad Wesley next? Dalton disarms and…well, we’ll get to that, though observant readers already know what’s about to happen. But the salient point here is that he roundhouse kicks Wesley’s gun right out of his hand. Whatever time Wesley thought he was gonna save, I’m afraid he’ll have to spend after all.

Do you see the problem here, in terms of villainy and goonsmanship? Both Jimmy and Brad Wesley (his natural father in the parlance of A Song of Ice and Fire and in my own imagination) waste breath and time talking about how they’re gonna shoot Dalton to death when they probably would have been better served just, you know, shooting him to death. It can be convincingly argued that talking about it is precisely what prevents it from happening, in both cases. If only being a bad guy had its own set of three simple rules: “Be concise” might have been one of them, and it would have saved both men a world of hurt.

“His Dark Materials” thoughts, Season One, Episode Six: “The Daemon-Cages”

If there’s one phrase that sticks in the head after tonight’s episode of His Dark Materials (“The Daemon-Cages”), it’s “the tyranny of sin.” Uttered by one of the scientists who oversees the cruel, child-abusing “intercision” technique in the cold Northern prison known as Bolvangar, it explains nearly everything we’ve seen Mrs. Coulter and the sinister agents of the Magisterium do.

After all, if you truly believe that the planet is suffering under the boot-heel of original sin, is there anything you wouldn’t do to “free” it? Isn’t a sacrifice of the few for the many, as Mrs. Coulter puts it, worth the price?

The answer depends on whether you believe in the concept of sin to begin with. In this fantasy world, of course, the concept is equated with an actual physical substance called Dust, which in turn is associated with human souls in animal form, known as daemons. But what if you don’t buy into the notion that there’s something corrupt in the human heart, which only church and state can destroy? Then you can see Bolvangar for what it is: a facility for the torture of innocents.

It’s all very heavy stuff to wrestle with, and this episode is uncompromising in its depiction of the traumatized, zombified children left in the wake of the villains’ grand experiment. It’s also unflinching in showing us the excuses adults will cling to — sin, science, the need to follow orders — in order to justify their cruelty.

I reviewed this week’s episode of His Dark Materials for Rolling Stone.

Watching Watchmen with Struggle Session

I appeared on the latest episode of the Struggle Session podcast to talk to hosts Leslie Lee III and Jack Allison about the latest episode of Watchmen. Give it a listen!

343. “Give me the biggest guy in the world: You smash his knee, he’ll drop like a stone”

Discipline—that’s what you’re seeing on display here. Remarkably, Dalton has found himself on the losing end of a battle with a Korean War veteran wielding a spear. He’s been shot, he’s been mollywhopped, he’s exhausted from dodging each new swing and thrust. But never do his cooler instincts depart him, and why is that? Because he’s dedicated his entire life to being, in Frank Tilghman’s immortal words, the best damn cooler in the business. (Technically second-best—oh, wait, not anymore.) He is following his own rules. He is taking the threat presented by Brad Wesley, 7-Eleven impresario, very seriously. (“Never underestimate your opponent. Expect the unexpected.”) He has taken the fight to the man instead of waiting for the man to come to him. (“Take it outside. Never start anything inside the bar unless it’s absolutely necessary.”) He is aware of what time it is. (“Be nice…until it’s time to not be nice.”) And he is making use of one of the tricks of the trade—“Give me the biggest guy in the world: You smash his knee, he’ll drop like a stone.”

That is what it takes to lay Brad Wesley low: a blow to the knee, the same thing that enabled Dalton to make short work of Ketcham and allowed Wade Garrett to defeat Mountain. (Dalton may even have injured the knee of Jimmy against that tree during their fight to the death, though the angle makes it unclear.) A lesser man, having just incurred a gunshot wound after murdering four men and now finding himself being chased around a coffee table by a berserk mall developer in the taxidermy wing of his mansion, might forget that sort of thing in the heat of the moment. But when you’re a cooler, there’s no such thing as “the heat of the moment.” The cool is all there is.

“Watchmen” thoughts, Season One, Episode Eight: “A God Walks Into Abar”

It’s only when the episode reaches its conclusion that it starts to trip over itself. First, it indulges in a cheap and easy Terminator-style temporal paradox: Angela tells Dr. Manhattan that her grandfather murdered Judd Crawford for being a closet Klansman and member of the Cyclops conspiracy, facts of which he goes on to inform her grandfather years earlier, causing him to commit that very murder in the first place.

Alan Moore wisely avoided these chicken-and-egg brainteasers when he wrote the character. Instead, he emphasized the way Dr. Manhattan’s quantum-physics experience of life would affect him emotionally. Passing messages backwards and forwards in time until reality becomes a loop is a lot less interesting than the idea of a man constantly adrift in an endless sea of memory, experience, and anticipation. One is a parlor game; the other is a story. It doesn’t surprise me to see the co-writer of this episode is Jeff Jensen, the former TV critic best known for his elaborate and always incorrect theories about what was really going on on Lindelof’s Lost. (Apparently Lindelof appreciated those pieces a lot more than I did.)

I reviewed this week’s episode of Watchmen, about which I had mixed feelings, for Decider.

“Mr. Robot” thoughts, Season Four, Episode Ten: “410 Gone”

But there’s one thing I can’t quite figure out: the episode’s final shot. After numerous references to her insomnia, we finally see Dom fast asleep on the plane, Darlene’s empty seat next to her.

Why does Dom finally sleep the sleep of the just at this moment? Didn’t she run back to the plane because she wanted to reunite with Darlene? If all she wanted to do was break free of her responsibilities — to her family, to her job, even to Darlene — then wouldn’t she have done something else, considering she believed Darlene was on the plane?

At the very least, the music supervisor owes me an apology for getting my hopes up with that Jepsen song. But perhaps that disappointment was the point. As they used to say on “Game of Thrones,” life is not a song.

I reviewed this week’s episode of Mr. Robot (and its Carly Rae Jepsen music cue) for the New York Times.

342. Mad Brad

In the middle of whipping the shit out of Dalton with a spear, Brad Wesley makes this face. His eyes all but bug right out of his head. His mouth is set in some sort of weird battle rictus. His usually impeccably coiffed hair is just wild enough to look upsetting in context. All in all it’s probably the right way to look if you are Ben Gazzara, age 58, and you’re supposed to be a convincingly formidable adversary to a trained dancer/fighter/stuntman/actor 22 years your junior. Fortunately for us, director Rowdy Herrington agreed, and a lingering shot of this absurd face made the cut when this fight scene was put into its final form. It goes a long way toward selling Wesley’s end of the bargain.

For his part, Patrick Swayze spends a long time just dodging rather than striking, rolling around on the furniture, avoiding Gazzara’s swipes and stabs with the spear. When he finally gets back on his feet he’s hunched over, his bullet-wounded left arm pulled in toward his body, a posture that conveys the fact that he’s badly injured and possibly also just worn down from murdering four other guys in the past three or four minutes. After seeing Dalton go toe to toe with the likes of Jimmy and emerge victorious, Road House had yeoman’s work to do in order to convince us that Dalton’s battle against Brad Wesley would be anything other than an embarrassing squash, and by god the film almost pulls it off.

341. Spear

If there’s one thing I’ve learned over three hundred forty-one days of writing about Road House, it’s that “Famous bouncer impaled to death by spear thrown by deranged Fotomat enthusiast” would be a fitting end to Road House. Alas for Brad Wesley, it is not meant to be. The spear he grabs from his extensive spear collection and throws at Dalton sails leisurely past the target, gliding by as if suspended on some kind of wire before crashing into something in the background.

But there’s more where that came from, fortunately for Wesley, and he spends the bulk of this fight scene alternately trying to batter and stab Dalton with another spear. It’s a surprisingly effective tactic, as we should perhaps have guessed: It’s not like Dalton got a lot of experience defending himself against spears during his career as a bouncer. The fact that he gets out of this alive at all is a testament to his adherence to the First Rule: “Never underestimate your opponent; expect the unexpected.” A duel to the death with a spear-wielding 58-year-old Chamber of Commerce guy is the unexpected alright.

340. Battle of the Buffalo

I love writing about action filmmaking and cartooning, even if action is not my favorite genre in either art form. (Though I do like it a lot. Perhaps you’ve heard about my affection for a film called Road House?) Years ago now, one of my friends and colleagues at a comics-industry magazine I worked for said I was three critics in one: the horror guy, the fight scene guy, and the pervert. He was not wrong!

A sense of place, a sense of space, is what I look for above virtually anything else in an action scene. I want the fight to be rooted in its environment, making use of its unique advantages and obstacles. I want to be able to parse the spatial relationships between the combatants at all times, so I understand who is at risk and when and why. I want each movement to have tangible physical stakes and consequences I can parse against the spacial and environmental backdrop. From the “Duel of the Fates” sequence in The Phantom Menace to the alleyway slugfest in They Live to the beach fight right here in Road House, great fight scenes deliver in these criteria.

So I want to be clear about this: The beginning of Dalton and Wesley’s final battle makes no sense at all.

Wesley is walking through his trophy room, starting from base of the staircase. A POV shot reveals his surroundings: To his right is a living-room set, and to his left is a wall with a stuffed bear, a stuffed hyena, and a stuffed buffalo. There is a good deal of space between these animals. Behind them is a blank white wall.

Rather intelligently, considering that it’s the first place along Wesley’s route where Dalton could conceivably find cover, Wesley whips to his left and points his gun toward the wall immediately after passing the buffalo. There’s even a little sting from Michael Kamen’s score to dramatize the moment.

Unfortunately, Dalton is not there. Dalton is in fact behind the buffalo, as we can see when he slowly emerges after Wesley lets down his guard. Dalton kicks, Wesley shoots and grazes Dalton’s arm, and the game is afoot.

Do you see the problem here? Dalton was hiding in a place plainly visible throughout the course of Wesley’s patrol. Unless he quickly tiptoed from some unseen hidden recess behind that bear, taking care not to bump any of the animals or make any noise or emerge into the view of the gun-toting man about four feet away from him, it is literally impossible for Dalton to do what he does. Wesley would have seen him no matter what.

You know that part in Funny Games where the guy breaks the fourth wall and rewinds the action so that the outcome plays in his favor? Perhaps this is Road House anticipating that move years in advance. Perhaps the focused totality of Dalton’s bouncer powers enabled him to warp time and space around him so he could appear someplace he hadn’t been moments before, or rendered him invisible to Wesley’s eye until it came time to strike. Perhaps the invisible hand of Rowdy Herrington himself just plopped him there and let him loose so that the final battle could at last begin. Perhaps the three parking-lot scenes are designed to impress upon us the film’s almost ponderous understanding of physical space, so we don’t question it when it makes no sense at all.

Anyway, the psychotic JC Penney developer gets attacked by a bloodthirsty bouncer who was hiding behind his stuffed buffalo. And that’s all you need to know, son.

339. “This town is big enough for both of us”

Now here’s something you don’t hear everyday, even if everyday you’re talking to villains. “Now c’mon Dalton,” Brad Wesley says as he prowls his trophy room. “This town is big enough for both of us.” He adds an entreaty to “let’s talk about this,” but I at least was stopped short by his assessment of the size of the town relative to the needs of himself and his enemy here. Frankly, I’ve never heard a villain say that this town is big enough for both of us. I mean, that kind of abrogates the need for villainy in the first place, does it not? Just as there are no ethical billionaires, there are no villains dedicated to properly apportioning a town, of any size, to themselves and their rivals.

It’s a particularly risible statement in the context of Road House, in which Brad Wesley has repeatedly told Dalton his presence wasn’t “working out,” and even asked his ex-wife Dr. Elizabeth Clay to get Dalton out of town for him, in between having his goons attempt to beat and kill him. For his part, Dalton has thwarted Brad Wesley’s machinations at every turn, and in the past 24 hours has murdered five of his men, so we know where he stands on the issue of the town’s bigness.

“This town is big enough for both of us” is a desperation play, is what it is. Wesley has every intention of plugging Dalton the moment he gets a clear shot, and simply needs to stall by keeping Dalton off-guard until that shot materializes. The weakness of the claim is perhaps our only outward indication that Wesley realizes he’s in a real jam here. It’s the statement of a man who’s not sure how big this town really is anymore.

338. A man among boys

Brad Wesley doesn’t feel Dalton has much to complain about. “What’s this all about, anyway?” he asks as he descends the spiral staircase into his trophy room. “Your friend Wade? One old man? That’s what I call a mercy killing. I put him out of his misery. Now you’re not mad at me about that, are you?” C’mon, what’s the big deal? Wesley just ordered the murder of an old man, one who is younger than he is but whatever. Get over it!

But there’s another point Brad would like to make. “Hell, you took Jimmy,” he continues. “He was in better shape!” That should settle the matter—just a couple of murders between friends, no biggie, and Dalton clearly had the better of it.

And then he looks down and sees Tinker, trapped beneath a polar bear. For all we know in the audience, this has somehow killed him. That’s definitely what Wesley thinks: “Hell, you took all my boys!” he bellows good-naturedly, a broad smile on his face, arms outstretched in an aw-shucks wouldja believe it gesture. (And to be fair, how would you react to that?)

Jimmy, Morgan, O’Connor, Ketcham, Pat, Tinker—Brad Wesley’s lost boys are gone, to a man, all thanks to Dalton, and he reacts to this like he’s learned something no more significant than that they’ve decided not to participate in the company softball game. Is this where we see the practical limits of Wesley’s paternalism? When the worst happens, as it definitely has to his organization—who now to shake down auto parts stores, or to grease the wheels required to open a Dress Barn—he sees it as no more of a setback than a kid being a little bit too impish when you’re trying to get out the door to head to the supermarket. When everyone looks like a boy to you, a fatherly tut-tut-tut is your solution to everything.

Well, that, plus attempted murder, as we will soon see. Maybe that’s the key to Wesley’s downfall, which is only one or two minutes away from occurring: He could never integrate Brad Wesley, town father, with Brad Wesley, deathbringer. Those grins are like the soft patch in Smaug’s breast.