Reviewed on January 28th at the 2025 Sundance Film Festival – Midnight Section. 104 Mins
Cast: Ayo Edebiri, John Malkovich, Juliette Lewis, Amber Midthunder, Murray Bartlett, Rosario Dawson
Genre: Psychological Drama
Director: Mark Anthony Green
In Irish Cinemas: Now
Set in a remote location, a group of unsuspecting and idiosyncratic hopefuls gathers, unaware that a deadly plan is set to pick them off individually. It’s a classic setup for an engaging horror-thriller—one that, in the right hands, could deliver both suspense and biting social commentary. However, writer-director Mark Anthony Green’s feature debut, Opus, squanders its potential, offering little more than superficial musings on celebrity culture and fan obsession while failing to raise the stakes high enough to captivate truly.
Green, a former GQ editor, at least brings an insider’s understanding of the struggles within modern media. Ambitious young writers fight for a foothold in an industry that often favours social media influencers over those with real journalistic chops. Among them is Ariel Ecton (played perceptively by Ayo Edebiri), an up-and-coming journalist at a Rolling Stone-esque publication. Despite her sharp instincts and drive Ariel finds herself consistently overlooked, with her best pitches handed off to senior writers while she’s left scrounging for meaningful assignments. Her boss, the condescending and dismissive Stan Sullivan (Murray Bartlett), seems entirely indifferent to her career growth. Even Ariel’s friends aren’t convinced she has what it takes, with one bluntly suggesting she’s a “middle”—a charming, well-adjusted young woman who hasn’t endured enough hardship to bring depth to her work.
Then, opportunity comes knocking in the form of a once-in-a-lifetime scoop. After vanishing from the public eye for three decades, ’90s music legend Alfred Moretti (John Malkovich) has resurfaced, ready to unveil his long-awaited 18th studio album. In a highly selective move, the enigmatic artist extends personal invitations to a handful of media figures—including, unexpectedly, both Stan and Ariel. They are summoned to Moretti’s secluded desert compound for an exclusive, opulent weekend dedicated to the album’s grand reveal.
From the outset, Opus clarifies that Moretti is no ordinary musician. He is repeatedly heralded as “one of the greatest entertainers of our time,” a cultural force on par with David Bowie or Prince. Completely with commentary from figures like Wolf Blitzer, newsreels reinforce his towering influence. Time and again, we are told that Moretti is an artist of unparalleled genius. But for the film’s premise to work, it must prove this—not just state it.
Unfortunately, Opus stumbles in that regard. Despite original songs penned by legendary producer Nile Rodgers and The Dream, the film’s musical centrepiece falls flat. Moretti’s so-called masterpiece, Dina Simone (sung by Malkovich himself, as are all his tracks), is catchy but ultimately underwhelming. Green attempts to convince the audience of its cultural impact through a globe-spanning montage of ecstatic fans singing along, yet the song lacks the weight to support such a claim. Moretti’s extravagant wardrobe—featuring Shirley Kurata’s stunning designs, from bejewelled velvet ensembles to a metallic silver spacesuit—suggests a hybrid of Bowie, Elton John, and Daft Punk. But when it comes to the music, he fails to measure up.
The compound itself, an eerie yet visually striking retreat, hints at something more sinister beneath the surface. As guests arrive—including Juliette Lewis as brash gossip reporter Clara, Melissa Chambers as veteran paparazzo Bianca, and Mark Sivertsen as musician and former Moretti rival Bill Lotto—they must relinquish their phones and laptops. Inside, they find a community devoted to artisanal craftsmanship, oyster-sucking, and immersive performance art centred around their enigmatic leader, Moretti, who has seemingly reinvented himself as a quasi-spiritual figure.
At first, the film evokes Midsommar-like cult dynamics, as Moretti’s devoted followers operate with eerie precision. A parallel emerges with The Menu, as his fiercely loyal staff—played by a talented ensemble that includes Tatanka Means, Aspen Martinez, and Amber Midthunder—execute his every command without question. Midthunder, in particular, shines as Ariel’s concierge, exuding warmth and quiet menace in her limited but impactful screen time. Yet, bafflingly, none of the guests seems to register the growing unease—except for Ariel, whose scepticism stands alone. “Muslims pray toward Mecca. Catholics go to church. What do you do in your religion?” she pointedly asks.
It’s a compelling question, but Opus fails to provide a satisfying answer. Moretti’s philosophical musings are presented as profound, yet they amount to little more than vague, meandering wordplay. His motivations remain frustratingly opaque. The film gestures at a critique of media intrusion and fan entitlement—Moretti resents how the world once demanded ownership over him—but never fully explores these themes.
As the tension finally escalates, Ariel finds herself trapped, desperate to escape as the body count rises. What follows is the film’s most substantial stretch: a slasher-inspired sequence in which she fights for survival, navigating a deadly game of cat and mouse. However, just as the suspense builds, Green rushes through the mystery and its resolution, ultimately leading to an underwhelming, ambiguous epilogue that offers little payoff.
Tonally, Opus struggles to find its footing, teetering between satire and horror without fully committing to either. Malkovich’s performance, while eccentric, feels misaligned with the film’s larger ambitions, reinforcing its uneven nature. Despite its stylish production and intriguing setup, Opus feels like a wasted opportunity—an empty spectacle that gestures at grand ideas but delivers little substance. Ultimately, the most unsettling thing about it is just how little it has to say.
Overall: 6.5/10
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