There’s a moment during Patrick Swayze’s 1989 movie “Road House” — thought by many, including this writer, to be the height of unintentionally funny cinema — where you realize you’re watching one of the most hilariously fatuous things ever put to film. In it, Swayze’s character, a highly paid, philosophically aware, tai chi-doing bar bouncer (seriously) is injured by some hired thugs in a fight at the dive he’s taken over in a small-town Missouri. Never mind that that sentence already sounds ridiculous: At the hospital, he’s treated by a young female doctor, who is of course comely and of co…