At this late stage of the film, in this Time to Not Be Nice, great extras and background actors are largely a thing of the past. Wasn’t that Dalton’s entire raison d’être—to expunge the 40-year-old adolescents, felons, power drinkers, and trustees of modern chemistry—the Shirtless Man, the Foxworthy, the Mr. Clean, the Well-Endowed Wife? Other than their shared penchant for ostentatious hats the patrons of the new Double Deuce are a nondescript sort.

So it’s truly something special that the Suit stands out. That’s him getting shoved out of the way by Jack when the fire at Red’s break out, reacting with a stunned fervor usually reserved for members of the high school drama club who don’t get a speaking role but are pretty distracting in crowd scenes. That’s him again—sans jacket, now in a different color shirt and a vest—hooting and hollering at Denise’s dance like a man who’s never seen tits before, or at the very least has spent a long time in some sort of monastic community not of his own free will. And that’s him a third time, baying for blood as Jimmy whips the shit out of all comers.

A distinctive look. A face that’s expressive to the point of overdoing it, like a commedia dell’arte mask. The bald, browed pate of an angry Ugnaught. A three-piece suit at the white blues bar. The Suit, most extra of extras and last of a dying breed, has it all.