Maus Momentos no Hotel Royale

I really wanted to like this movie. For about the first hour, I really did, but by about the two-hour mark I was ready for the film to end, and by the time the credits rolled I found myself walking from the theater slightly disappointed. "Bad Times at the El Royale" was written and directed by Drew Goddard ("Cabin in the Woods"), a man whose work I've been largely split on, but whenever he hits the nail on the head, his stuff really works for me. This film started off great; there were lots of great twists and turns, memorable and diverse characters, and a mysterious premise. But as the film rolled on, and the character's secrets were unveiled, I found myself growing disenfranchised with the film. Goddard continuously hints at darker things happening, but he never really delivered what he promises. The movie felt like it was trying to emulate the overlapping storylines of "Pulp Fiction", and even some of the dialogue felt like it was Tarantino-esque, but Goddard never quite reaches the level of snappiness Tarantino infuses into his films. Goddard's writing seems uneven; some of the lengthy dialogue scenes are great, while others are dull, borderline boring.

Writer/director Drew Goddard's Bad Times at the El Royale is a long and entertaining sendup of Quentin Tarantino's crime world (think Hateful 8 and Pulp Fiction), post-Tarantino caper movies, and a bit of Hitchcock for suspense. It's the late 60's when eccentric characters converge on the seedy El Royale motel to recover cash from a heist 10 years ago hidden under the floorboards of a room.

By far the most interesting visitor is Father Daniel Flynn, aka Dock O'Kelly (Jeff Bridges), who set the heist in motion back then, did time for it, and returns to the half-closed motel to recover the loot. As symbol of a corrupt society that still clings to some semblance of religiosity, Flynn navigates the other crooks with caution.

Until the incarnation of the devil, or at least Charles Manson, arrives, Billy Lee (Chris Hemsworth), muscled and amoral but not loath to preach about a simple life for his devotees and seek the money for himself. With the motel's roaring fireplaces enfolding these untrustworthy survivors, Goddard must surely be thinking of hell on earth as earthlings grapple for lucre.

Surprises abound (be careful with that shotgun!), and not all the players make it out alive. Heck, even undercover cops are vulnerable. And women, watch out, for the bad girls are trigger happy. The exception is a lounge singer, Darlene Sweet (impressive Tony winner, Cynthia Erivo), who needs to hookup with the corrupt priest to escape this hell, but with loot.

The location is Lake Tahoe on the border of Nevada and California, a figurative crossroads for everyone, where the wrong step can take you to life or death. I'm beginning to sound like Twilight Zone's Rod Serling, and rightfully so because there's a claustrophobia to these surroundings, wherein the sins of mankind are scrutinized for their immorality, where redemption is rare, and a lesson can be learned.

As Father Flynn candidly comments, "I'm Old. S**t happens. Get the whiskey." That's Goddard's charmingly amoral world, where even a priest has issues.

A pretty solid crime thriller with loads of retro cool, a well-stocked cast and gorgeous cinematography - and a glut of extraneous flashbacks. If Bad Times at the El Royale has a weakness, it's pacing. It's not a problem during the opening act, as the hotel's emptiness (as well as who the hell are these people?) offers ample intrigue. Plus, there are the sets, I mean this looks incredible. But eventually night falls, backstories start piling up and ... it's enough already.

I have the same problem with El Royale that I did with The Hateful Eight; lots of talent and craft put into the film overall, but it's never again as good as its opening.

And absurdly long-winded.

For the most part this is a really good, if not excellent film, with a fantastic central performance from Jeff Bridges, ably supported with an equally compelling performance from Londoner Cynthia Erivo who I recently saw in Stephen King's The Outside TV series. beautifully shot and confidently and surely constructed to have us spellbound but not fully aware of just what is going on. Is it the hotel that is weird or just the people? Jon Hamm is great in the early stages and looked a bit like a young Robert de Niro. Things really only go wrong, for me, in the last half hour. The film is certainly some fifteen minutes too long and there is simply too much time allowed for Chris Hemsworth to unconvincingly develop his character and similarly with Lewis Pullman who had been great as the hapless bellboy cum hotel manager but with whom we spend a little too long in the end. Disappointing end or not this is well worth a watch and always going to be worth it for a late great showing from Jeff Bridges, and those 60s songs where even just a line or two can be surprisingly effective, indeed it is 'strange how potent cheap music is.'

...from 20th Century Fox and writer-director Drew Goddard. Circa 1972, various characters, including a doddering priest (Jeff Bridges), a struggling singer (Cynthia Erivo), a traveling salesman (Jon Hamm), and an anti-social mystery woman (Dakota Johnson), converge on the title locale, a former hot spot that straddles the California/Nevada border that has started to go to seed. Each person has their own reasons for being there, and most are not what they profess. Their secrets are revealed over one long, stormy, bloody night.

Goddard was responsible for the excellent horror genre send-up The Cabin in the Woods back in 2011, and this is his long-awaited follow-up. It's nowhere near as good, in my opinion, but fans of crime thrillers going in with diminished expectations will find a watch worthwhile. Bridges is very good, as is Cynthia Erivo, who I wasn't familiar with but who, at the time of release, garnered a lot of awards buzz for her performance here. I also liked Lewis (son of Bill) Pullman as the hotel's struggling sole employee in attendance.

The movie starts to fall flat in the last stretch, when Chris Hemsworth, as a Manson-esque cult leader, shows up and the film's former momentum grinds to a screeching halt. I don't dislike Hemsworth normally, but he's all sculpted abs and chiseled looks, and his character needed a bit more than that to make the last act compelling.