“Bad Times at the El Royale” can only be described as an experience. I compare the feeling to having watched Pulp Fiction for the first time. One of the more backburner films this year in terms of marketing, I expected maybe a casually entertaining star vehicle, a comfortable paycheck to pad the time between blockbuster events. I walked out completely blown away, feeling a very specific buzz, the impression seared into my brain that I’d witnessed something very special, a instant-classic, a sub-three-hour chunk of moving picture chock full of stylistic intention and masterful storytelling. I’ve spent the moments since El Royale’s credits started to roll, carefully considering what I’d rate it, trying to find any small reason, or gripe, or niggle to deny it a perfect 10/10, as I’ve found that first impressions can sometimes differ substantially from a film’s cumulative quality. (The Last Jedi) Unlike a few big budget name films we’ve recently seen that attempt to compensate for weaker parts with a few, flashy, strategically placed scenes, El Royale’s charm comes from the deliberate slowness of its pacing, the lightness of its exposition, and a delicate balance between action and indulgence that span the entire film. Not for everyone, especially those who find it difficult to give stories the time they need to properly unfold, but it’s a solid 10/10 from me.