'Opus' Struggles to Sing with Shallow Satire on the State of Entertainment Journalism [Review]

​Cults. Religious fanatics. The demagogue’s that lead them. These have all been popular topics in the horror-sphere as of late (can’t imagine why!). Yet where films like The Menu or Midsommar presented tales that felt shocking and fresh, A24’s latest, Opus, is neither. Writer/director Mark Anthony Green’s feature debut takes a bit from them all while blending in its own half-baked ideas, resulting in a hodgepodge of concepts that not even a stellar cast can make music with. 

Pop star Alfred Moretti (John Malkovich), a.k.a., “The Wizard of Wiggle”, hasn’t released a new album in over two decades. So, when small time journalist Ariel Ecton (Ayo Edebiri) receives an invite to the mysterious musician’s desert compound after announcing he will be returning with a new album entitled “Caesar’s Request”, it’s the chance of a lifetime. Granted, Ariel’s boss, Stan (Murray Bartlet), is also attending the select party and has asked her to take notes for his story rather than write her own, but still, the thrill of the opportunity isn’t lost on her. That is, until Ariel discovers that Moretti and the hundred-plus followers at his camp believe in a strange religion called “Level” that posits a hierarchy of society based on creative talent. Are these individuals just weird, or is there something more sinister afoot? And why has Ariel, of all people, been summoned to this event?

​Green starts off his satire meant to emphasize the crumbling state of entertainment journalism well enough, introducing the audience to Ariel, a journalist in her late twenties who has become frustrated with her lack of success and worries others may never view her as the great writer she believes herself to be. That worry is only amplified by the contrast of Moretti’s superstardom. He might as well be a god by comparison, and as we soon learn, that’s not too far off from how he sees himself. Following a few creepy interactions with Moretti’s fellow “Levelists”, Ariel and her companions (comprised of fellow journalists, paparazzi and an influencer), arrive at the desolate compound where they are, of course, asked to turn in their phones, as to not disrupt their “experience”. Each attendee is assigned a concierge who follows them everywhere—Ariel has the luck of snagging Amber Midthunder as Belle—and they’re introduced to Moretti, a pompous eccentric who sees his mere presence as a gift but is no doubt talented (the original music, as the kids say, slaps).

On a technical level, Opus impresses. It looks good. It sounds good. But it’s like the blue uniforms that the cultists all wear, absent of its own unique personality. It’s as if Green has chopped up more memorable cult films like the above-mentioned or Ti West’s The Sacrament and even a dash of Blink Twice, haphazardly stirred them together and splashed the remaining paste onto a canvas. All concepts we’ve seen many times before (not to mention all-too recently). All lacking the well thought out depth of their predecessors. Moretti might as well be Chef Slowik from The Menu, only, despite an as always engaging performance from Malkovich, the eccentric musician has a fraction of the depth of the Chef. All that’s missing is declarations of “yes, Chef”, though his followers do laugh at all of Moretti’s bad jokes. Where the predecessors of Green’s film feel like a carefully plotted puzzle leading to a shocking conclusion, Opus plays out more like a starstruck Moretti fan—displayed with literal stars in their eyes in the film—stumbling along as they reference all their favorite songs. Few of the half-heartedly fleshed out Levelist beliefs come off as organic, instead stitched together, with most of the intended surprises landing with a shrug. Lacking effective scares or bristling tension, the film often goes for the grossout instead, such as one early scene during dinner that has a single hunk of bread being passed from those at the top of the hierarchy (Moretti) to the bottom (where Ariel has found herself), each taking a bite and leaving a slobbery piece of dough by the time it gets to our protagonist. It’s a moment that lays the foundation for the film, at once a display of pretentious ego and a commentary on trickle-down economics, one that Green fails to build upon in a satisfying manner.

If there’s any kind of saving grace with Opus, it’s that the cast is excellent and manages to pull out a few entertaining moments here and there. Edebiri makes the comical horror seem legitimate despite the script. Midthunder reminds us she is a woman who took down a Predator and is not to be trifled with. And Malkovich performs a dance number that’ll either have you laughing or cringing or both. They’re all talented actors doing the best with what they have, but what they have is a shallow satire filled with even shallower characters.

Opus, like Moretti, is a film that thinks it has more to offer than it does. Sure, there are kernels of ideas worth exploring, such as the blind worship we tend to attribute to artistic phenoms and how some take advantage of that, yet Green’s film never quite manages to grow those seeds into anything that we can chew on for a while. Ultimately, it’s an album of cover songs for greatest hits, more of a reminder that other, better films with similar concepts exist.

Opus arrives in theaters March 14th from A24. 

By Matt Konopka