Images of teary young faces awash in a swell of triumphant orchestral music. Works every time. If I'd been one of Pavlov's dogs, I would have just salivated at the sound of the bell. But when a movie reduces perfectly decent emotions to stupid pet tricks like this, I also find myself feeling something deeper. Something like anger, resentment.
Nobody knows for sure.
Consequently, the superficial emotional effects of a phony film like Dead Poets Society usually evaporate by the time the end credits are over and you make your way back into the light where people can see you. Other, even worse films, however, may make a more lingering impression, lasting up to several hours. The movie is full of fight scenes, choreographed to rolicking Dolby Stereo rock 'n' roll, that escalate in intensity until Swayze finally just rips a homicidal villain's throat out with his bare hands. The picture climaxes with an orgasmic explosion of gunfire, resulting in geyser-like eruptions of blood from the torsos of the bad guys. Road House is a violent movie.