Opus desperately wants to be a part of the moment. It has the look: the hard lines and clinical wide shots – Stanley Kubrick as a viral aesthetic – that have dominated high-concept horror of late, especially any fellow productions acquired by distributor A24. It’s how last month’s Companion was styled, and Zoë Kravitz’s Blink Twice before it. It has the star: Ayo Edebiri, whose relatable nonchalance on the comedy-drama series The Bear and goofy, yet sardonic humour off camera have made her one of the hottest rising stars of late. And it has the “salient themes”: celebrity worship, the media, the rise in cult-like behaviours. But this is all superficial stuff. There’s not much about Opus, really, that fully convinces.
Edebiri, with that same relatable nonchalance, plays Ariel, an overlooked Gen Z writer at a music magazine, whose ideas are appropriated by her editor Stan (The Last of Us and The White Lotus’s Murray Bartlett), and passed off to white, male writers. Opportunity knocks when she unexpectedly receives an invite, alongside Stan, to the remote compound of pop star Alfred Moretti (John Malkovich), the “Wizard of Wiggle” who delivered a string of No 1 singles in the previous century and then practically evaporated off the face of the planet.
He’s back now, with what his publicist (Tony Hale) promises will be “the greatest album of modern times”, Caesar’s Request. It’s set to debut at an exclusive listening party attended by Ariel, Stan, talk show host Clara (Juliette Lewis), influencer Emily (Stephanie Suganami), paparazzo Bianca (Melissa Chambers), and Moretti’s former pal Bill (Mark Sivertsen) – and, also, the entire population of his compound, blue robed-zealots who call themselves Levelists, shuck oysters for pearls, and take bites out of the same loaf of bread at dinnertime.
Opus may be the debut feature of former GQ writer Mark Anthony Green, but his experiences in the field provide a frustrating lack of insight. No one particularly needs to be told that celebrity fandoms and real-deal cults exist mere inches apart, or that the relationship between media and power is one of adulation in return for access.
There’s a sliver of promise when it comes to Ariel herself, ultimately a wannabe set on personal fame, whose closest friend (Young Mazino) calls her “middle as f**k” because she’s never experienced poverty, addiction, or heartbreak. She swears by authenticity and journalistic rigour, yet what does it say when she turns up to the compound dressed exactly like her weaselly editor?
That level of interrogation is swiftly tossed aside for routine images of cult quirks, from the mysterious tent in the middle of a field, to the demand that Ariel has her nether regions groomed to a specific standard – there, seemingly, to assure audiences that the Levelists are just as spiritually and sexually fanatical as the creeps in Midsommar (2019) or Eyes Wide Shut (1999). Amber Midthunder’s cultist character Belle, meanwhile, hews uncomfortably close to the racist stereotype of the mute but ferocious Indigenous woman.
Malkovich, certainly, can make a meal out of Moretti’s vanity, in the theatrical twirl of his jewel-coloured sarongs or the peculiar, unplaceable patter of speech that seems to only manifest in those who have dedicated their lives to art. But Green fails to pin down what this performative eccentric, beyond his thundering tunes about sex and luxury (written by Nile Rodgers and The-Dream), offers his devoted listeners. An escape? An identity? A promise? Opus offers no revelation.
Dir: Mark Anthony Green. Starring: Ayo Edebiri, John Malkovich, Juliette Lewis, Murray Bartlett, Amber Midthunder, Stephanie Suganami, Young Mazino, Tatanka Means. 15, 104 minutes.
‘Opus’ is in cinemas from 14 March
