In sum, there's nothing absolutely original about this movie, but it's pretty well put together and will keep you guessing until the end. although about ten minutes from the end something bumped my concentration to make it clear all this was scripted. Gasp! What an insane idea! Thanks to cinematographer Seamus McGarvey, composer Michael Giacchino and the other talent behind the camera, as well as a solid cast led by Jeff Bridges, it works very well. Where he has bettered Tarrantino - with whom I have reached my limit - is that it's not necessary to go all potty-mouth all the time, and if you can't remember a great shot to steal, why, you can write your own. A great music track is necessary - 1960s girl-band hits. Add in some shock value and a great setting - the Arte Moderne El Royale is clearly modeled on the Cal-Neva Lodge, the glitzy hotel half in California and half in Nevada, that was bought by Sinatra and Dean Martin fronting for the Mafia. Clearly writer-director Drew Goddard has seen Quentin Tarrantino's pictures and has learned his stye of writing a movie: take a bunch of great shots, and write a script that gets from one to the next. It's an elaborately, almost flamboyantly written neo-noir. Only one of them is what he or she claims to be. Ten years later, a priest, a traveling salesman, a girl singer and an angry hippie chick are checked into the El Royale motel by a deaf hotel clerk.

A man enters a motel room, moves all the furniture, rolls up the rug, pries open the floor, drops a satchel into the hole, puts everything back in place, hangs around, answers the door and is blown to smithereens.

El royale casino reviews