Opus: Another Fandom Fury

Fandoms are unhinged. Celebrity culture is surreal. 

A24’s newest horror endeavor premiered at the Sundance Film Festival as an addition to a growing library of self-indulgent, socially satirical horror-comedies. Like its predecessors The Menu and Blink Twice, there are a handful of moments where Opus wants to say something, but unfortunately falls short in between thematic idiosyncrasies and the mumbling of John Malkovich’s Alfred Moretti.

Opus is the directorial debut of Mark Anthony Green, a former GQ editor and journalist whose first film seems to comment on issues he is familiar with, or wants to be familiar with (celebrity culture, proper journalism, etc.). Moretti, played flamboyantly by Malkovich, is portrayed not only as a modern pop icon, but a revolutionary artiste who parallels the grandeur and eminence of real-life icons like Prince and David Bowie. Withdrawn from society for 30 years, publicist Soledad Yusef (Tony Hale) announces the comeback of Moretti along with a new album, Caesar’s Request, and his long-awaited reappearance shifts the world on its axis. With Moretti’s return being heralded by real media outlets and celebrity cameos, we are led to believe that he was not only a real person but also influential, groundbreaking, and unmatched. This detail is one of few redeemable expositions in the film’s narrative.

Ariel Ecton, played by Ayo Edibiri, is one of several individuals who receives an invitation to a listening party for Moretti’s opus. Wanting a big break, Ariel travels with her boss Stan (Murray Bartlett) and an assortment of guests (including Melissa Chambers, Mark Sivertsen, Stephanie Suganami, and Juliette Lewis) to a desertic estate that is home to a commune of weirdly creative and joyous people. Somewhat strange happenings occur almost immediately, from the disappearances of guests to Malkovich pelvic-thrusting to a puppet show featuring Billie Holiday and grotesque rats. Ariel is the first and only one to notice these occurrences, asking the right questions to members of the Levelists, the film’s cult, and Moretti himself, but to no avail. What begins as an enthralling premise slowly burns out and becomes a mash of hollow mystery when the answers to Moretti’s flamboyance and cultish ideologies are either unanswered or underwhelming.

There are respectable investments that Green makes in the film—catchy 90s-esque pop hits, an intriguing portrayal of Moretti’s ego and sensuality, an unsettling atmosphere, and solid cinematography—but the payoff shows the audience that the scariest element of Opus is its lack of risk. Unlike Midsommar (2019), which notably features the terrors of the Hårga cult, Opus offers very little when it comes to cult horrors. It never leans into funnier sequences, scarier moments, tense monologues. Instead, the film defaults into a bizarre middle where there’s safety with little thematic progression. Moreover, Edibiri’s greatest assets are unused and her character feels underwritten for the purpose of molding Malkovich’s Moretti instead. Although the rest of the ensemble are less important than Ariel narratively, their presence feels like a random comedic insertion rather than fleshed-out participants in the schemes of Moretti’s cult.
In the end, Green says very little in Opus. With tighter pacing, bolder horror elements, and a clearer understanding of Moretti’s motivations, Opus could have delivered a more compelling message. Unfortunately, it ends just as cryptically as it began—leaving us wondering if it was meant to be more than it ultimately was.

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