Opus
Cult cliches add up to a bunch of nothing in this unfocused flick
Ayo Edebiri can’t save this overly serious flick
Pop star Alfred Moretti (John Malkovich) was a sensation in the 90s. He moved into seclusion and left the world bereft of his music — until now. Moretti has just announced a new album, making him the biggest entertainment story of the year.
Only six journalists will be able to cover it. Moretti has invited them all for a listening party: a crude shock jock (Mark Sivertsen), a social media influencer (Stephanie Suganami), a paparazzi photographer (Melissa Chambers), a talk show hostess (Juliette Lewis), and journalist Stan (Murray Bartlett). The last member of the listening party is a surprise to everyone — Stan’s assistant Ariel (Ayo Edebiri). Ariel is, well, a nobody. Stan can’t figure out how she’s gotten an invite, but knows better than to risk a tantrum from the reclusive rockstar.
When the group arrives at Moretti’s compound, it’s clear from the start that there’s some sort of cult activity happening. While most of the journalists are willing to ignore it in favor of getting a scoop from Moretti, Ariel is disturbed. Slowly, Moretti and his guests begin imposing their will on the group, first in little ways, then in larger ones. Ariel worries that something truly sinister is going to happen.
A mashup of cult tropes so all-encompassing it could be considered a greatest hits album, Opus is a flat retread of stories we already know. Writer/director Mark Anthony Green’s inauspicious debut is filled with ideas, most of them concerning parasocial relationships to famous people and what the media machine has become, but none of them are new, and they certainly aren’t developed into anything interesting. Watching Opus will just leave you to remember better cult films, films that Green clearly derived inspiration from.
The issues start with casting. Malkovich is an imposing presence on screen, but he lacks the magnetism of a pop idol. He never manages to get past threatening in his performance, even when he’s trying to camp it up on stage. There’s no raw animal magnetism or sexuality. I found myself wondering what Willem Dafoe or Djimon Hounsou could have done with the role.
As the lead of the film, Edebiri, who is usually a reliable performer, seems lost. Because of Green’s baffling decision to play this movie straight instead of as a dark comedy, Edebiri spends the running time fighting her natural comic timing and presence. The result is a stilted, uninteresting Ariel. It’s hard to care if the cult gets her or not. Green also doesn’t bother to develop Ariel’s character beyond “quiet assistant with little life experience”. A director like Nia DaCosta might have mined Ariel’s experience as a Black woman trying to make a name for herself in journalism to add some dimension to Ariel’s character.
Green’s insistence on keeping the comedy at bay completely kills what could have been the saving grace of the film. If he’d leaned into energy like The Menu and combined menace with snarling satire, there might have been more to Opus than a retread of familiar themes. The one genuinely brilliant moment in the film is found during a puppet show that is so unhinged it needs to be seen to be believed. I found myself wondering why Green refused to embrace this tone for the rest of his staid, boring movie.
If you’re a fan of cult movies, go watch Midsommar or The Wicker Man. If you’re a fan of people allowing their politeness to override their sense of self-preservation, watch The Menu or The Invitation. But unless you have a particular hankering to watch John Malkovich totter around in platform heels, there’s very little to see in Opus that we haven’t already seen.
Verdict: You’d need to be in a cult to care about this movie
Opus is rated R and is available in theaters March 14
