Now it’s an omnipresent, overtly cutesy pop culture punchline, but 20 years ago “Road House” was a superlative goofball classic that was absolute catnip to my 13-year-old mind. I was way too young to see it, but that never stopped me before. The explosion of redneck defiance, Sam Elliot’s spot-on impression of KY jelly, freewheeling sexuality, scorching Jeff Healey Band blues, and Patrick Swayze’s Zen-like barroom-busting badassery probed deep into my virginal soul. It was mesmerizing: a bloodied, battered Penthouse Letter brought to life and ready to yank out your voice box. I had never witnessed a picture like it before.