slothtroyer’s review published on Letterboxd:
Did I get a little bored at a certain point? Yeah of course I did. This thing obliterates your concept of time. It is a gateway into sitting in hallways and elevators in 1972. Mystical as it is mundane. 60 minutes in the life of a wandering ghost. Like any room, it is what you bring to it. Its difficult to rate an experience. I can only say that I am eager to return and haunt these halls again to find new textures and reflections on the walls.
Yeah, about 15 minutes in I even picked up a book feeling no longer bored necessarily, but at home, sitting inside the eye that wandered these halls in 1972. I read a line, I look up, I read a line, I look up. A line: "Most of what happens hour by hour is quiet and still. We sit most of the time" a line from Samuel R. Delany's city novel Dhalgren. I look up, a hallway and an ominous looking elevator. I pause the film for a moment, say hi to my partner. A room, in which to view a room.
I let my book fall away at a certain point and I am indeed locked inside the hotel. The spell works on me. With repeated viewings who knows if this spell will work again, but that moment, I feel like I am there. A gesture exerted forward down a hallway to stare out the window but never leave, never ever leave to explore the strange city that surrounds. A gesture exerted backward the window slowly shrinks away and we sink back into the heart of Hotel Monterey 1972. A night in 1972 that leads to a morning in 1972. Naturally, you start to wonder about the camera itself. You picture our director, having a moment in these halls. You think about what the camera is supposed to "be." We watch the patrons of the hotel only lightly acknowledge we who are behind the camera lens looking in on hotel Monterey 1972. A "camera being" a sorry creature who must stare and wander, never hearing, and never to be fully acknowledged.
A cut of the camera may reveal someone going through a doorway. We sit and stare at that doorway and I almost believe they will surely come back through and stare into the camera. They never do.
A place to be is the greatest gift an artist can give.