Film Review: Bad Times At The El Royale

The director of Cabin In The Woods, TV's The Good Place and a writer of Lost, Cloverfield and Buffy The Vampire Slayer, Drew Goddard's work has always combined thrills, twists, philosophical questions and a self-aware sense of humour. But is there room for all of that in a thriller about a dank motel?

Set in 1969, the eerie titular establishment straddles the states of California and Nevada, with a literal line running through the building to separate what sins are allowed where; drinking is only legal in California and gambling only legal in Nevada. But when it comes to the motel's guests, the lines between good and bad are less clear.

A forgetful priest (Jeff Bridges), slick vacuum salesman (Jon Hamm), quiet R&B singer (Cynthia Erivo) and rifle-toting hippie (Dakota Johnson) all claim they're just looking for some rest - but the emergence of a swaggering cult leader (Chris Hemsworth) inspires them to spill their secrets.

The first half-hour is wickedly suspenseful, as ambitious and unbroken tracking shots reveal the seedy secrets of this labyrinthine building - and its occupants. Erivo's beautiful Motown crooning is underscored by disquieting strings, as if the motel is tensing with the weight of the characters' guilt. The '60s setting allows Goddard to play with the era's concerns, such as surveillance, war, celebrities and counter-culture.

But despite a punishing run-time, Goddard never brings these threads together, and the film loses its clarity among a series of increasingly perfunctory set-pieces. Overlong flashbacks and a non-linear chronology hint at a wider conspiracy, but Goddard seems too intent on imitating sorry, paying homage to Tarantino to make the movie fully coherent. After an hour, you'll forget Motown and instead be plagued by the taunts of a classic rock song: "You can check out any time you like / But you can never leave!"