Kelley

Next time you’re driving the Grapevine and nearing the forest of oil rigs on the outskirts of Bakersfield, look for a six-story guitar.

That would be the Hard Rock Casino Tejon, whose opening on Thursday brings industrial-strength Indian gaming — and some Hollywood pizzazz — to a territory better known for cowboy hats, farmland and petroleum extraction.

The Tejon casino stands in the rural community of Mettler, near the convergence of Interstate 5 and State Route 99 — “a stone’s throw away” from Los Angeles, suggested Hard Rock Casino Tejon President Chris Kelley.

In effect, the casino is a $600-million bet by leaders of Hard Rock International and the Tejon Indian Tribe that they can grab a central role among the many Indian casinos in Southern California.

The property is the first full-scale gaming and entertainment destination in Kern County.

(Makenzie Beeney Photography for Hard Rock International)

A wind sculpture at the entrance of the casino.

(Cristian Costea for Hard Rock International)

The draw? Most notably, 150,000 square feet of gaming space — including 58 table games and more than 2,000 slot machines — putting it among the largest casinos in Southern California, on par with many along the Strip in Las Vegas.

And, of course, because this is a Hard Rock venture, there are pop music artifacts on display. Among them: the blue hooded velvet mini dress Sabrina Carpenter wore in her “Please Please Please” music video, signed guitars from Sheryl Crow and Bonnie Raitt, Beck’s tambourine and Natalie Cole’s orange high heels.

The casino also includes four restaurants serving Asian street food, tacos, pizza and American comfort food (especially Nashville hot chicken) — and a bonus feature. At select hours, Kelley said, staff will put up a divider to create Deep Cut, a fancier “speakeasy restaurant” that will emphasize steak and seafood.

“This is something no other Hard Rock Cafe has … a restaurant within a restaurant,” said Kelley, leading a tour in the days before opening.

Live-action table games include blackjack, craps, roulette and baccarat.

(Makenzie Beeney Photography for Hard Rock International)

Plans for the second phase of the project will include a 400-room hotel and spa on-site, along with a 2,800-seat Hard Rock Live venue designed to host concerts, sporting events and ultimately make Kern County a premier destination for travelers and fans. Officials declined to share a timeline for this next installment.

Though its global empire began with a London cafe in 1971, Hard Rock International has been owned by the Seminole Tribe of Florida since 2007. The company’s native ownership was “a major influence” on the Tejon tribe’s decision to team up, said Tejon Tribal Chairman Octavio Escobedo III. Hard Rock Casino Tejon is owned by the Tejon Indian Tribe and is managed by Hard Rock International.

For the Tejon tribe and its 1,523 enrolled members, the casino amounts to a new chapter in a saga full of challenges. In the 1850s, the Tejon were included in the creation of California’s first Indian reservation — which was then closed by federal officials in the 1860s. More than a century later, in 1979, the tribe was omitted from a U.S. Bureau of Indian Affairs list of formally recognized tribes — an apparent mistake that took decades to correct.

When the Tejon did win federal recognition in late 2011, gaming plans materialized quickly. By late 2016, the tribe had set in motion the acquisition of the casino site.

The restaurant Deep Cut is billed as an “elevated steakhouse experience.”

(Makenzie Beeney Photography for Hard Rock International)

For the tribe, Escobedo said, the long-term picture likely includes developing a residential community — which the Tejon haven’t had for more than a century — as the tribe aims for “financial sovereignty.” Though he declined to specify the amount of money that would require, he did say “it’s going to take a tremendous amount of financial discipline to achieve that.”

So far, things feel promising. Escobedo said 52 tribal members have signed on to work at casino jobs and “I’d love to see that number double over the next year or so.”

Long before the Seminoles bought control of Hard Rock International, the tribe pioneered Indian gaming in the U.S., beginning with a bingo hall in Hollywood, Fla., in 1979. Through further investment and legal victories rooted in tribal sovereignty, tribes in 29 states across the U.S. have built hundreds of gaming operations, which together gross more than $40 billion yearly.

Beyond its possibilities for the Tejon tribe, the arrival of the casino means about 1,100 new jobs for greater Bakersfield, which lost a beloved entertainment venue in August when Buck Owens’ Crystal Palace closed after 29 years.

Owens, who died in 2006, was a longtime resident of Bakersfield and proponent of the gritty “Bakersfield sound” in country music. Besides artifacts from pop music, rock ’n’ roll and Tejon cultural history, Kelley said, “We are going to have some Buck Owens memorabilia. It just wouldn’t be right not to.”

Movies that depict the history of war criminals on trial will almost always be worth making and watching. These films are edifying (and cathartic) in a way that could almost be considered a public servic and that’s what works best in James Vanderbilt’s “Nuremberg,” about the international tribunal that tried the Nazi high command in the immediate wake of World War II. It’s a drama that is well-intentioned and elucidating despite some missteps.

For his second directorial effort, Vanderbilt, a journeyman writer best known for his “Zodiac” screenplay for David Fincher, adapts “The Nazi and the Psychiatrist” by Jack El-Hai, about the curious clinical relationship between Dr. Douglas Kelley, an Army psychiatrist, and former German Reichsmarschall Hermann Göring during the lead-up to the Nuremberg trials.

The film is a two-hander shared by Oscar winners: a formidable Russell Crowe as Göring and a squirrely Rami Malek as Kelley. At the end of the war, Kelley is summoned to an ad-hoc Nazi prison in Luxembourg to evaluate the Nazi commandants. Immediately, he’s intrigued at the thought of sampling so many flavors of narcissism.

It becomes clear that the doctor has his own interests in mind with this unique task as well. At one point while recording notes, in a moment of particularly on-the-nose screenwriting, Kelley verbalizes “Someone could write a book” and off he dashes to the library with his German interpreter, a baby-faced U.S. Army officer named Howie (Leo Woodall), in tow. That book would eventually be published in 1947 as “22 Cells in Nuremberg,” a warning about the possibilities of Nazism in our own country, but no one wants to believe our neighbors can be Nazis until our neighbors are Nazis.

One of the lessons of the Nuremberg trials — and of “Nuremberg” the film — is that Nazis are people too, with the lesson being that human beings are indeed capable of such horrors (the film grinds to an appropriate halt in a crucial moment to simply let the characters and the audience take in devastating concentration camp footage). Human beings, not monsters, were the architects of the Final Solution.

But human beings can also fight against this if they choose to, and the rule of law can prevail if people make the choice to uphold it. The Nuremberg trials start because Justice Robert Jackson (Michael Shannon) doesn’t let anything so inconvenient as a logistical international legal nightmare stop him from doing what’s right.

Kelley’s motivations are less altruistic. He is fascinated by these men and their pathologies, particularly the disarming Göring, and in the name of science the doctor dives headlong into a deeper relationship with his patient than he should, eventually ferrying letters back and forth between Göring and his wife and daughter, still in hiding. He finds that Göring is just a man — a megalomaniacal, arrogant and manipulative man, but just a man. That makes the genocide that he helped to plan and execute that much harder to swallow.

Crowe has a planet-sized gravitational force on screen that he lends to the outsize Göring and Shannon possesses the same weight. A climactic scene between these two actors in which Jackson cross-examines Göring is a riveting piece of courtroom drama. Malek’s energy is unsettled, his character always unpredictable. He and Crowe are interesting but unbalanced together.

Vanderbilt strives to imbue “Nuremberg” with a retro appeal that sometimes feels misplaced. John Slattery, as the colonel in charge of the prison, throws some sauce on his snappy patter that harks back to old movies from the 1940s, but the film has been color-corrected into a dull, desaturated gray. It’s a stylistic choice to give the film the essence of a faded vintage photograph, but it’s also ugly as sin.

Vanderbilt struggles to find a tone and clutters the film with extra story lines to diminishing results. Howie’s personal history (based on a true story) is deeply affecting and Woodall sells it beautifully. But then there are the underwritten female characters: a saucy journalist (Lydia Peckham) who gets Kelley drunk to draw out his secrets for a scoop, and Justice Jackson’s legal clerk (Wrenn Schmidt) who clucks and tsks her way through the trial, serving only as the person to whom Jackson can articulate his thoughts. Their names are scarcely uttered during the film and their barely-there inclusion feels almost offensive.

So while the subject matter makes “Nuremberg” worth the watch, the film itself is a mixed bag, with some towering performances (Crowe and Shannon) and some poor ones. It manages to eke out its message in the eleventh hour, but it feels too little too late in our cultural moment, despite its evergreen importance. If the film is intended to be a canary in a coal mine, that bird has long since expired.

Walsh is a Tribune News Service film critic.