Bad Times at the El Royale

Perhaps the most insufferable Tarantino knockoff since the 90s.

At some point during this logy 2-hour-and-21-minute exercise you want something more substantial than even Hemsworth's admittedly mesmerizing snaky hips.

An extremely well-directed film.

It's a best-of-the-'60s jukebox, but it has a few hit tunes among the duds, and some enjoyable surprise B-sides that you really don't expect Goddard to spin.

The performances are all top-notch, especially from Erivo and Bridges. And Pullman's gradual emergence as someone who is more than a motel clerk is an eye-opener.

Every puzzle piece clicks together smoothly, and while there is joy in watching everything fit, the film feels like there's something missing. It lacks true substance. It's all aesthetics, no guts. But damn if the "Bad Times" aren't beautiful to watch.

At its core, Bad Times is a film about duality. California, Nevada. Glamour, abandonment. The song, the food. The money, the film. The sins of the past, the consequences of the present.

It’s almost like Christopher Nolan and Martin Scorcese doped up on Agatha Christie and Alfred Hitchcock’s contained storytelling before picking up Quentin Tarantino’s “The Hateful Eight” to remix.

Jeff Bridges as Father Daniel Flynn was outstanding and will go down as one of my favorites from him.

Phenomenal cast, with outstanding performances from everyone. A lost narrative structure is brought back to elevate a brilliant R-rated mystery, filled with memorable scenes and a fantastic score.