Opus Can’t Crack Its Critique of Celebrity

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The unexpected resurgence of a world-class pop star begets a wide-scale (and increasingly ominous) cultural shift in Opus, the feature debut from writer-director Mark Anthony Green. Certainly mining from his career beginnings as a GQ staff writer, Green’s film questions the relationship between media and celebrity—which entity is truly at the mercy of the other?—yet the answers conjured up here honestly don’t make a lick of sense. Without a strong thesis, cohesive plot or narrative payoff, A24 thriller Opus struggles to communicate the filmmaker’s messy musings.

An on-brand Ayo Edebiri plays Ariel Ecton, a young staffer at a New York-based culture publication who feels stagnant in her current role. At 27-years-old, she frets about how the past three years on staff have been essentially fruitless; if she continues at this rate, she’ll be “35, which is basically 40” with no big stories under her belt. The tongue-in-cheek anxieties of aging aside, Ariel’s age is further contextualized by breaking news that gets the editorial office in a frenzy: Moretti (an unhinged John Malkovich), the globally renowned pop maestro, has emerged out of an extended retreat from the public eye in order to release Caesars’ Request, his 18th studio album. It’s been exactly 27 years since he was last heard from, and the media is predictably chomping at the bit to get the best coverage they possibly can.

Of course, Moretti has anticipated the media’s unwavering loyalty to him, only secondary to its eternal desperation for a good scoop. As such, a handful of legacy press have received a lavish gift basket from the star himself, complete with an invitation to join him on his compound in remote Utah for an exclusive first-listen of the forthcoming album. Although it’s no surprise that Ariel’s editor, Stan (Murray Bartlett), got an invite, it’s a shock to the whole office that her name also appears on a sleek little envelope. Joining them on the journey are TV personality Clara Armstrong (an under-utilized Juliette Lewis), paparazzo extraordinaire Bianca (Melissa Chambers), print journalist (and former Moretti feuder) Bill (Mark Sivertsen), and, for good measure, influencer Emily (Stephanie Suganami).

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When the group arrives, they’re surprised to find themselves in extended company. Residing on Moretti’s estate are a group of spiritual zealots known as “Levelists,” whose doctrine is never actually elaborated upon. They engage in craft making, team sports and an odd oyster-shucking ritual, but above all, they live to do Moretti’s bidding. “Teach them young” is an eerie motto oft-repeated by Levelists, but confoundingly there is never any explanation as to exactly what beliefs they hope to indoctrinate the youth into. Aside from a disturbing puppet show the child cult members orchestrate about Billie Holiday’s exploitation at the hands of the tabloids, it’s difficult to parse the ideological leanings on display here.

For a group of journalists, though, there is little interrogation into why they were specifically chosen to appear at Moretti’s request. Ariel, who Stan immediately demotes to the role of “note taker,” is the only one who begins to question the intentions of the individual Levelists who act as a “24/7 concierge” for each attendee. Even amid increasingly strange phenomena—the clandestine confiscation of technology, forcibly-shaven public hair, unblinking Levelists guarding rooms all night—most everyone shrugs and helps themselves to another high-quality cocktail, clearly under the spell of Moretti’s catchy new hits. Ironically, their current devotion doesn’t count for all that much in the superstar’s eyes. Although she’s the most vocally skeptical, Ariel nevertheless possesses something instrumental for Moretti and the Levelist’s ultimate end goal.

The three original songs in Opus, written by industry heavyweights Nile Rodgers and The-Dream, also lack the oomph that Green so hopelessly attempts to conjure. “Dina Simone,” Moretti’s ‘90s hit, is presented as one of the greatest pop songs to have ever graced the planet, yet its chorus never had a chance of becoming a successful earworm. Even the new material—which the invitees, including Ariel, fawn over—hardly feels evocative of a late period masterpiece. “Bring me ass, bring me lips,” he moans in the chorus of one such song, which inspires an erotic dance circle among the press. Aside from being generic, the songwriting oddly doesn’t even connect to the sinister plot that unfolds on the compound, a lost opportunity to tie the adored singer’s catalogue into the group’s ploy for cultural domination.

“Royalty, even at the mercy of peasants, is still royalty,” Moretti says during one of his opaque conversations with Ariel. Yet who exactly is the underclass in this scenario? The Levelists, who blindly do what their flesh and blood deity asks of them? Or (overwhelmingly underpaid) writers, who admonish or praise an artist on the basis of personal opinion? Perhaps the consumers, who are unwittingly swayed by what they absorb versus what they actually think? There are no legible trains of thought offered in Opus; even the nature of its title is murky, at times alluding to Moretti or Ariel’s vastly differing approach to opportunism. Although Green may have sought to dissect the intricacies of celebrity worship, media bias and careerism, the final product feels like an unfocused treatise, or a half-finished album.

Director: Mark Anthony Green
Writers: Mark Anthony Green
Stars: Ayo Edebiri, John Malkovich, Juliette Lewis, Murray Bartlett, Melissa Chambers, Mark Sivertsen, Stephanie Suganami
Release Date: January 27, 2024 (Sundance Film Festival)

Natalia Keogan is a freelance writer and editor with a concerted focus on independent film. Her interviews and criticism have appeared in Filmmaker Magazine, Reverse Shot, Backstage Magazine, SlashFilm, Blood Knife and Daily Grindhouse, among others. She lives in Queens, New York with her large orange cat. Find her on Twitter @nataliakeogan

Opus Can’t Crack Its Critique of Celebrity

Ayo Edebiri and John Malkovich give utmost commitment to a film that completely lacks clarity in its commentary of media frenzy and stan culture.