I don’t usually yuk it up over people just after they’ve shuffled off this mortal coil—a few wry notes of concern about the depths of Ronald Reagan’s grave notwithstanding—but even if I did I wouldn’t crack wise about Patrick Swayze, whose death from pancreatic cancer at the age of 57 returns many women (and not a few men) right back to the private tingly sensations they got when Swayze taught Jennifer Grey how to…dance…in Dirty Dancing. You can’t crack wise about people’s Private Tingly Sensations (or P.T.S.), the treasured memories of which often make life bearable during rough times, unless it’s with the utmost of affection.

That said, Swayze’s 1989 Road House is a homoerotic hoot, with hysterically butch butt-kicking—he plays a philosophy major who reluctantly rips people’s throats out with his bare hands—and more male nudity than any action movie ostensibly intended for a straight male audience has ever featured.

Central Cinema’s got both films as a double feature on Tuesday, Sept 15 only. Road House continues to screen through Thursday (and includes classic Swayze trailers and clips). I’ll continue to stare at this post’s accompanying black-and-white portrait of Mr. Swayze through at least the end of the week. Feel free to join me.

Thanks for the P.T.S., Mr. Swayze.

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