A limousine driver, and his passenger, a washed up actress. A police officer, and his prison transport. A prostitute. A pair of newlyweds. A family of three: father, mother, and son. These ten strangers seem to have nothing in common, but it's James Mongold's Identity that brings them together at a desolate Nevada motel, caught in a seemingly infinite downpour. It's a twisting and turning "whodunnit" mystery, with a lot of elements clearly derived from or inspired by Agatha Christie. As tensions rise and the number of strangers begins to dwindle through mysterious circumstances, Mangold amps up the atmosphere: the motel has a spooky, dreamlike quality to it, with its dimly lit rooms and halls and worn out walls, almost reminiscent of the ever famous Bates Motel. The story itself is kind of dreamlike, to mostly good results. Every death is creative and feels new in context of the story, and allows for each character to slowly descend into lunacy and provide some solid performances, namely from John Cusack, Ray Liotta, and Amanda Peet. It all culminates in a twist that, while rather original, lacks the element of surprise and subtlety thanks to a disappointing lead-up around the midpoint of the movie. The ending itself, referring to the very final scene, is absolutely ridiculous, but by that point, you're either on board with the rules of this story or you aren't: thankfully, Mangold crafts enough tension for it to likely be the former.