MOTEL HELL
Main Cast: Jeff Bridges, Cynthia Erivo
Director: Drew Goddard
I have arrived in Rio, Rio by the sea-oh and am now ensconced at the Copacabana Palace, across the street from the famous beach. I arrived to find a security perimeter around the grounds with a host of adoring fans and paparazzi which I thought was somewhat unusual as I had not had Madame Rose, my publicist, alert the media as to my movements. I, of course, took a deep bow to the crowd after descending from my taxi followed by a tap routine up the stairs into the lobby. The crowd was not as responsive as I would have liked. I later found out that they were awaiting some person called Katy Perry which struck me as odd. Why hang around for a no-name minor league chanteuse when they had a true megawatt star on hand? But there is simply no accounting for taste, especially in a foreign land. Perhaps she sings fado in Portuguese for them or something. I suppose I could try serenading the pool area with Malaguena later this afternoon. Drew Goddard
I am supposed to meet someone named Dom Bellina for dinner this evening who is supposed to put me in touch with the Afro-Caribbean community who may have some talented musical zombies available for the ensemble of my new production of Shuffle Along: The Walking Dead Musical. As long as they can move on beat and sing four part harmony, they should be castable and we’ll be able to move the production schedule along for a spring opening. We’re hoping that the Winter Garden will become available as it will require a theater of that size to hold the eye popping physical production that the design team is working on. I am truly excited for some of the set pieces such as the horse disemboweling and the helicopter rescue. There has been some talk of making the production truly immersive by chaining the emergency exits closed and boarding them up with spray painted signs reading ‘Do Not Open. Dead Inside’ but the fire marshal was not cooperative.
As I am in a new hotel in a country with which I am not overly familiar, I decided that a film was in order and so I hooked my tablet up to the widescreen TV in my suite with an HDMI cable and flipped through my streaming apps looking for a suitable hotel based film with which to settle in. I ran across one entitled Bad Times at the El Royale from 2018 which I had never heard of and poured myself several glasses of champagne from the complementary bottle which greeted me when I arrived. I was soon far from modern Rio and in the Stateline/Tahoe area of some fifty years ago.
The film takes place in and around a mid century modern motel resort that sits on the state line between California and Nevada. In the past, the El Royale was the latest and greatest in glamour, nestled among the pines and the likes of the Rat Pack stayed and played there. But now, in the late 60s, it has gone a bit to seed and is off the beaten track with the jet set and high rollers having moved on. There is a prologue, set ten years prior in which a man, (Nick Offerman) wordlessly tears apart one of the motel rooms in order to hide a satchel under the floorboards and then reconstructs the room. We then skip forward and the now nearly vacant motel has four strangers who show up and check in. A priest (Jeff Bridges), a lounge singer (Cynthia Erivo), a young woman with an attitude (Dakota Johnson), and an obnoxious vacuum salesman (Jon Hamm). The only person working is a young and somewhat befuddled guest clerk (Lewis Pullman). None of these people are exactly what they appear to be on the surface and their lives become intertwined in surprising and more and more violent ways. I shan’t reveal more of the plot as one of the things that makes the film interesting is its twists and turns and sudden reversals.
The first hour of Bad Times at the El Royale is very, very good as more and more is revealed about who these disparate characters are, they develop relationships with each other, and there are a number of shocker plot twists. Then things get dicey. New characters are introduced such as a Manson like cult leader (Chris Hemsworth) and his groupies and the whole thing starts to unravel, not to mention goes on about half an hour too long. If writer/director Drew Goddard (The Cabin in the Woods, The Martian) had kept up the same pace and wrapped it up in 45 minutes or so it might have been a great film. But, instead, things slow down and become more measured, subplots are introduced late in the game that keep stretching out the running time and, at two hours and forty minutes, one feels that one should have turned it off half an hour before the end. The finale features a literal blazing gun fight but it’s not enough to re-engage us after forty minutes of meandering.
My biggest criticism is that Bad Times at the El Royale isn’t sure what it’s supposed to be. It seems to want to be a neo-noir like LA Confidential but the style is all wrong. The sets (Martin Whist and Hamish Purdy) and costumes (Danny Glicker) are full of period detail and carefully chosen colors to help us understand the morality of various characters. The hotel, being constructed on the state line, has one palette for the California side (golds and oranges) and another for the Nevada side (blues and purples) with a blood red state line separating them. The cinematography (Seamus McGarvey) and the choice of mostly medium shots gives the whole thing the mannered look of a Wes Anderson film but while Mr. Anderson’s films have a fundamentally optimistic tone (even his villains are quirkily endearing), there is a huge streak of nihilism running through this movie which makes the photography at times jarring and working against the narrative and themes.
I’m still trying to puzzle out whether the hotel is supposed to be a real place or a metaphorical one. In many ways it is a story of purgatory and moral choices and redemption and forgiveness but if that’s supposed to be what we take away from the proceedings, it’s all clouded by the violence and the noir elements. These things may have been clear in Mr. Goddard’s mind when he wrote the screenplay but they don’t come through to the audience. Perhaps we’re not supposed to know. If that’s the case, the film is just frustrating as it holds out promise and then yanks it away. It does, however, have a killer soundtrack of 60s songs in various styles from girl group to Motown to psychedelia, each carefully chosen to illuminate the moment. It’s perhaps the best thing about the film.
I can’t say I liked Bad Times at the El Royale and I think it falls far short of its promise. It has reasonable performances from its ensemble cast (especially from Ervio who brings an incredible intensity to her role), a well thought out production design, and some interesting things to say. It just trips itself up in its second half by going on far too long and bringing in new plot lines and characters that are extraneous and undo the tautness of that first hour.
Disabled cars. Convenient thunderstorm. No free coffee. Gratuitous roulette wheel. Old transcriptionist. One way mirrors. Gratuitous J. Edgar Hoover. Field of goldenrod. Swinging from the chandelier.
Originally from Seattle Washington, land of mist, coffee and flying salmon, Mrs. Norman Maine sprang to life, full grown like Athena, from Andy’s head during a difficult period of life shortly after his relocation to Alabama.
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