The Royal Hotel

The Royal Hotel has to be added to the curriculum in film schools; as a reference for awful writing.

Two free-spirited woman having the time of their lives backpacking and partying in Australia. Until they run out money. And because Sydney is renown for the lack of casual job opportunities, they have no choice other than accepting a job in an outback pub. Of course the pub’s patrons are all men; all with a juvenile sense of humour, most of them covetous, some outright predatorial.

You know where this goes but I bet you didn’t expect that the women’s saviour shows up at dawn, out of nowhere, at exactly the right time. What was he up to since he left the pub earlier? Was he lurking around in his car? Was he drunk-driving through the desert for hours? Could he smell the danger? We don’t know, but it’s not important because we’re closing in on the ninety-minute mark and the film must end soon. And it soon does when the two women set this temple of misogyny on fire. They walk off as the hotel blazes fiercely in the background. The symbolism!