Review: Opus

Director:  Mark Anthony Green

Stars:  Ayo Edebiri, John Malkovich, Amber Midthunder

A24 is as much a distribution company as it is a studio creating art in its own right, yet there have been enough kooky indie horrors with their brand on them that a collective sense of an ‘A24-type’ movie exists in the hive mind. Later this year we’ll see a belated sixth entry in the wearying Scary Movie series of parody films, and it’s a safe enough bet already that they’ll devote time to aping the assumptions of what an ‘A24-type’ horror movie entails. There’ll be nods to Midsommar, Hereditary, Heretic and the rest. That effort may ultimately prove redundant in the wake of Opus, a new title under the studio’s banner, which feels purpose-built to meet their own idiosyncratic criteria. Round peg, round hole. The fit’s a little too perfect.

In truth Opus pulls from many sources. Sure, Midsommar is in there. But so is Jordan Peele’s zeitgeist-grabbing Get Out along with its many successors from major studios. The Menu. Last year’s Blink Twice. And while some of the movies it connects with are too recent to have been material in the movie’s creation, it arrives late enough in the cycle to feel unfortunately beholden to all. A lesser version of past glories. Which is a shame, as in it’s star Ayo Edebiri it has one of the brightest rising talents in American film and TV. 

Edebiri plays Ariel Ecton, an aspiring journalist at a large print media firm, who in three years still hasn’t gotten her copy onto the page. Somewhat meek in her approach, she has fallen under the wing of boss Stan (Murray Bartlett), but grown stagnant in the role of underling. An opportunity to show her worth comes when a reclusive 90s pop star – John Malkovich’s campy Moretti – returns from a 30 year hiatus to unveil a hyped new album. As is Moretti’s theatrical bent, a select listening party will be gathered at his secluded Utah ranch to ‘experience’ this masterwork over the course of a long weekend. A smattering of big hitters from across media platforms are invited along. And Ariel.

Opus wobbles over the somewhat high hurdle of getting us to believe in the idea of Malkovich as a world-conquering electro-pop guru, but so be it. There’s the lingering suspicion that Nicolas Cage was too busy. Nevertheless, the stage is set for Ariel, Stan and their small press enclave to become ensnared in what is very obviously a secretive and – by insinuation – dangerous cult out in the middle of nowhere. Much like Channing Tatum’s private island from Blink Twice, cell phones are a no-no. If déjà vu wasn’t already hitting, getting us passed this point is an ungainly red flag. Messy business to maintain the conceit. 

Ariel discovers that there is something quasi-religious about the people with whom Moretti has surrounded himself, who call themselves ‘Levelists’. There are indoctrinating texts, weird chores in secluded tents; plenty of ammunition for her growing sense of justified unease. Stan and the others – including Juliette Lewis’ talk show host Clara and Stephanie Suganami’s influencer Emily – are frustratingly (and unconvincingly) fine with the escalating levels of weird. Even after one of them is shot with an arrow. Because popstars, am I right?

What Opus does well is get us ticking over what might be happening. We’re right there with Ariel, keen to put the pieces together. But what’s deeply frustrating about Mark Anthony Green’s film is that there’s so much less to it than all the tantalising clues allude to. Moretti makes some late-in-the-game grand statements about evolution of the species, suggestive of some eugenics angle, but the motivations of ‘The Level’ aren’t nearly as sci-fi as we’re led to believe, and Ariel’s otherness within her own group a little too obvious in retrospect. So much of the eccentric behaviour we’re subjected to appears to be weirdness for the sake of it, including the deeply unpleasant listening party where Malkovich goes full oddball, lip-syncing to the songs written and performed for the movie by Nile Rodgers and The-Dream, and taking uncomfortable liberties with his audience.

The motivations behind it all are disappointingly petty, but they do a reasonable job of lambasting the music industry, presented here as a closed loop of rivalries and grudges. Green throws out many more shady missiles, taking shots at privileged notions of equality, worker exploitation, media manipulation, and diehard fandom. But like so many of the weirder set pieces, it all feels somewhat untidy. Trappings and decoration hung around… not so much. 

Undoubtedly the biggest saving grace here is Edebiri. I’ll confess I’d watch her in just about anything, but its genuinely great to see her centre stage (she was co-lead for Bottoms and while she’s a standout on The Bear, its a heated ensemble). Moretti devotee Rachel (Tamera Tomakili) flatters Ariel that she has the bone structure of Pam Grier, and it’s the most truthful light shone by Opus. Edebiri shares many of the same screen charisma qualities of Grier in her heyday (and would kill a decent biopic), and while there isn’t as much meat to the character of Ariel as one might hope for, she carries what’s given all the way through Green’s chaotic menagerie. So much so that it’s an absolute shame to call out Opus for being, well, not very good.

Credit where it’s due for Green, he’s mounted a handsome looking production here. But there are glaring little details out of place that aren’t hard to spot, and while this or that frame is handsome and the lighting is generally quite lovely, there’s nearly no edge here. It’s a cover version of that kooky ‘A24-type’ movie, and not an especially flattering one. Rather like a late-game album from a faded popstar, the keenness to find something relevant in it is overwhelmed by the realisation that it’s all a little too pedestrian* and, frankly, disappointingly conservative.

*Great artwork, though. Can someone get me the UK quad poster please?