The plot goes as follows: seven strangers congregate at the formerly glorious El Royale, a place that's hiding almost as many dark secrets as they are. On the outside, each individual looks completely benign — it's kind of like the beginning of a bad joke: a priest (Bridges), a singer on her way to Reno (Erivo), a cool hippie girl with great bangs (Johnson) all walk into a lobby. But what starts out as any other night soon devolves into chaos, presumably because a moustachioed and shirtless Hemsworth walks in, completely soaked from the pouring rain, looking for trouble. Is there any better catalyst for drama than a wet Hollywood Chris