Jay Rohr
Opus really wants to say something important. Writer-director Mark Anthony Green aims to look at tribalism from the angle of celebrity worship and desires to offer clever insights. The problem is that Opus is nowhere near a fresh perspective resulting in a lot of dreadfully obvious observations and plot points.
Alfred Moretti (John Malkovich) is the undisputed king of pop music. Everyone listens to him, and his flamboyant stage antics are the stuff of legend. After decades without a single song, he announces out of the blue that a new album is coming. The world can’t wait to hear it, and a select few are invited to his private desert estate for an advance listening party. Among them are aspiring writer Ariel Ecton (Ayo Edebiri), who’s desperate for a chance to get her career to the next level. Upon arrival, however, it’s clear that Moretti’s behavior goes beyond celebrity eccentricity. Something sinister is playing a sour note.
The obviousness of what transpires next cannot be understated. The rest of the movie plays out, if not predictably, with a telegraphed intention. Though there’s a clear logic to certain events, Opus lacks the tension necessary to thrill as well as any twists to catch viewers off guard. The only things which earn a deserved flinch are a few shocks shown in a flash. At the same time, the film’s idea of grotesquery is basic.
Opus is a powerfully unsubtle film that says nothing interesting. It wants to explore cult dynamics but lacks the subtle brilliance, visually or narratively, of something like Midsommar (2019). It tries to say something about society without the intriguing course of reveals found in The Menu (2022). Meanwhile, it’s hard to say if Opus is supposed to be a dark comedy or it just feels humorous because some scenes are ridiculous. Being kind, assuming anything laughable is intentional, then there is a satirical aspect to the movie. Its obviousness, though, keeps Opus from ever showing anything sharp.
That’s unfortunate because John Malkovich (Velvet Buzzsaw) is constantly serving gold. His depiction of Moretti, who is essentially Elton John mixed with Jim Jones, offers an intriguing personality that can be unsettling yet delightfully outrageous. Watching his flamboyant pop performances can easily distract from the sinister things he’s implied earlier. And Ayo Edebiri (The Bear) is equally excellent, especially in one big scene with Malkovich. She has a way of being uncertain and confident in her portrayal of Ariel that really captures someone who is certain yet unsure if they can act. From the beginning, she’s the only character aware things are a little off. What’s unfortunate is that most of the other roles have no personality for her to perform with. Their interactions only reveal things because of the exposition dumps which ensue.
Juliet Lewis (Yellowjackets) plays Clara Armstrong, a television personality with some kind of show. It’s never really made clear, though it seems to be a celebrity interview program. That’s because her role is told to the audience rather than shown. Even if backstory is being expedited by exposition, Opus makes the mistake of never having interactions that would help flesh out characters through behavior and dialogue. The closest it gets to doing that is one scene between Malkovich and Edebiri as well as conversations with her boss Stan played by Murray Bartlett (The White Lotus).
But then there are virtually mute parts in the picture. Stephanie Suganami (Something from Tiffany’s) fills the role of social media influencer Emily Katz. Melissa Chambers (Mayfair Witches) plays paparazzi Bianca Tyson, and Mark Sivertsen (Drunk Town’s Finest) is someone called Bill Lotto. They are three main characters with a total of maybe ten lines in the whole movie. There’d be zero no sense of who they are if not for backstory monologues courtesy of other performers and the stereotypical nature of Emily as social media influencer.
Writer-director Mark Anthony Green has essentially put together a picture composed of superfluous parts. The desire to have a kind of And Then There Were None (a.k.a. Ten Little Indians) seasoned by some Glass Onion is clear, but Opus lacks the clever reveals through tantalizing clues and dialogue which makes those movies work. The history that connects the people Moretti has chosen for his vengeful Willy Wonka-esque listening party at what is obviously a cult compound in the middle of nowhere, that no one is remotely unsettled by except for Ariel, only surfaces at the film’s end when Ayo Edebiri monologues everyone’s backstory.
It’s very clear this former GQ writer wanted to say something. Themes of tribalism, celebrity worship, and the toxic nature of fame abound. However, Mark Anthony Green doesn’t say anything about them that hasn’t been said elsewhere in more interesting ways. These trite observations might have been forgivable with some cinematic stylization, but Opus lacks the visual poetry necessary to escape its narrative and thematic shortcomings.
Obviously in a film about a pop music icon there’s going to be songs. To that end, the legendary Niles Rodgers was brought in. He’s had a hand in hits by the likes of Madonna, Chic, David Bowie, Diana Ross, Daft Punk, and Duran Duran to name a few. With help from Beyoncé collaborator The-Dream, the two composed original music for Opus. The tunes are okay, but it takes a suspension of disbelief to think these are life-changing pop songs for the ages. That said, Malkovich does lend some authenticity to the tunes by actually doing the vocals.
Opus is a thrill ride racing with the brakes on. Nothing terribly shocking occurs. There’s next to no tension since everything is obvious. And its various observations are neither deeply insightful, uniquely intriguing, nor enhanced by poetic visuals. Narratively, this is a series of exposition dumps pushing a predictable plot to a been-there-done-that conclusion. While Opus entertains enough to not feel like a waste of time, it’s annoying that the building blocks of a better movie are here, such as Malkovich and Edebiri, yet never used enough.
