I now have one type and it's Sam Elliott in Road House.
Also Jimmy Iovine was the music supervisor?!
I hate to be one of those people--but I probably would have liked this more had I not just finished the astoundingly good novel by Dorothy Hughes just before watching it. In the end, it turns out the two have little to do with each other. I guess I should've realized Hollywood would not have been ready for Hughes's transgressive twist on noir, where the homme fatale's fragile and twisted masculinity turns deadly.
I laughed hysterically a lot more than I expected to during this movie. If this entire film existed only to get us to the Buck Henry/Lily Taylor parking lot scene, it would be more than worth it.
I audibly gasped and put my hand over my mouth during one of the final scenes (no spoilers but if you've seen it, you know), which I don't know if I've ever done naturally during a film before. I've seen so many films…