Movie Review ~ Opus

From the Manson Family to Heaven’s Gate, societal fascination with cults and the cult of celebrity has spawned numerous documentaries, exhaustive podcasts, and multiple dramatic interpretations and recreations that illustrate how apparently intelligent people can fall under the seductive spell of charisma.  Even more irresistible is the mythology of the vanished genius, the artist who withdraws into obscurity at their peak, leaving behind a legacy never fully understood.  Orson Wells, Prince, and Stanley Kubrick are all famous masters of retreat, rarely gracing the public and fans with an appearance until they had something to say.

Examining the razor-thin line between artistic devotion and dangerous obsession is A24’s newest curio, Opus.  From first-time director Mark Anthony Green, the thriller taps into the same attraction to rumor but twists it into something infinitely more unsettling.  What begins as a mystery about a long-lost pop star eventually reinvents itself as a slow-burning horror involving artistic devotion, media manipulation, creative inspiration, and targeted indoctrination.  While early buzz out of its premiere at Sundance pegged it as providing less than its promised chills, Opus is more entertaining than I imagined.  Though not destined to be categorized as slam-dunk a success like A24’s more distinguished titles (Hereditary, Midsommar), its talent for steadily mounting dread is a familiar formula for the indie studio.

When struggling journalist Ariel Ecton (Ayo Edebiri, Omni Loop) receives an invitation to visit legendary pop star Alfred Moretti’s (John Malkovich, Jennifer 8) secluded compound, the assignment seems career-defining.  Currently toiling away near the bottom of the masthead at “J” magazine and hoping to impress her demanding boss Stan (Murray Bartlett), Ariel views the invite as the way to get up several rungs on the ladder in 3,000 words or less.  Joining a select group of critics, writers, cultural elites, and Stan to witness the unveiling of Caesar’s Request, Moretti’s long-rumored comeback album, this could finally be her time to stand out.  However, from the moment Ariel steps onto Moretti’s grounds, Opus drips with menace. 

The estate is a fortress—beautiful, but creepily devoid of warmth.  Every guest has been carefully chosen.  Every interaction feels rehearsed.  Moretti himself is magnetic and unnerving in equal measure.  Speaking in riddles and moving through a kingdom he created like a benevolent dictator, he surrounds himself with devoted followers more than willing to prove their loyalty like Belle (Amber Midthunder, decidedly less warm than she is in Novocaine), assigned as Alicia’s concierge (and night watchwoman),  Guests include TV host Clara Armstrong (a brittle Juliette Lewis, Cape Fear), an uncharacteristically deferential Stan, and a handful of other creatures of culture that don’t appear to be out of place in Moretti’s sphere of influence.

What makes the first half of Opus so fun is how Green’s screenplay refuses to telegraph its intentions immediately.  Avoiding the expected visual language of cult narratives, we don’t have any paranoid over-the-shoulder glances between Moretti’s followers to suggest hidden dangers.  You keep expecting an unraveling around each corner, but Tommy Maddox-Upshaw’s cinematography brings you deeper into a deliberately ambiguous paranoia.  Are the people a cult or just serious groupies?  Is Moretti a visionary or something worse? Is Ariel here as an observer, or has she already been woven into the story long before she arrived? Some viewers might find this approach dull, but I view it as excessively deliberate, which pays dividends when the film’s true nature eventually reveals itself.

Edebiri, fresh off her Bear-fueled rise to near-overnight superstardom, plays Ariel with a different kind of energy than we’ve seen her provide up until this point.  It isn’t an easy role, having to play someone smart enough to see the warning signs, but proceed anyway, her ambition a driving force in delaying her instinct for caution.  Malkovich is in his element, having built a career playing characters who exist slightly out of sync with reality.  Far scarier than a lunatic, he’s possessed by his own certainty.  After years of playing in sub-par films (very sub-par), he’s the best and most lively he’s been in years.  Yet he chews the scenery with restraint, knowing he’ll eventually get it all down but taking his time with no one to stop him. 

The production design is equally meticulous—Moretti’s compound feels less like a lair and more like an architectural trick, designed to make its inhabitants feel like they exist in a separate timeline.  Ernie Gilbert’s editing sets the film’s measured pace, allowing character development to unfold naturally even as the weekend grows increasingly worrying.  There’s a fascinating visual evolution in Shirley Kurata’s costume design, particularly in the contrast between Malkovich’s flamboyant attire and Edebiri’s wardrobe, which grows more sophisticated as she becomes further enmeshed in Moretti’s view of the askew world.

The film’s biggest risk and most surprising triumph is how seriously it takes Moretti’s supposed genius.  Legendary Chic (“Le Freak”) founder Nile Rodgers and contemporary hitmaker The-Dream have composed remarkably convincing, witty songs for Moretti’s musical catalog.  I appreciated that these weren’t parody songs or ironic imitations of ’70s rock or modern pop.  They’re genuinely tuneful and catchy, making it entirely believable to grasp that Moretti was once a cultural god.  When the music plays, you get it.  You understand why people would follow this man anywhere.  It’s a sweet icing on the cake that Malkovich performs them with such credible conviction.

Opus falters somewhat in its final act, where narrative leaps occasionally substitute for the more organic development that characterized earlier scenes.  The rising heat of the first two-thirds sputters during a slightly rushed climax, almost as if the film realized it had limited time to tie off its loose ends.  Even so, some of the most tantalizing threads are left vague, and an ambiguous coda comes off as orchestrated solely to subvert expectations.  Sparking debate is not necessarily a bad thing, but there’s an unevenness in the proceedings that keeps it from feeling wholly successful.

It may not be the next big A24 smash, but Opus is an often absorbing, unsettling, and at times hypnotic experience.  Green’s directorial debut is confident with its atmospheric examination of celebrity worship and raises intriguing questions regarding artistic license and legacy.  Seen in a theater populated with titles based on existing IP and overstuffed efforts to reinvent the blockbuster, there’s something refreshingly unpredictable about this eerie indie.