Review: OPUS

 by Rob DiCristino

First movies are hard, you know?

“Perspective comes from experience,” one character tells another in Mark Anthony Green’s debut feature, Opus. “And no one cares about your perspective because you have no experience.” It’s a good line, one that probably cuts deep for those would-be creatives who are deluded enough to think that an English degree and a rough childhood entitle them to a platform for expression (present company included). Just because you can turn a nifty phrase doesn’t necessarily mean you have anything real to say, after all — Why am I attacking myself so much? — and many a promising career has cratered under the weight of an unforeseen deficit of true inspiration. In fact, as insightful as that line may be on its own, it’s especially ballsy for Green to give it to a character only a few minutes into his debut feature, that delicate period of time in which an audience is deciding whether a freshman writer/director has a genuine perspective born of real experience or, in the more likely case, he’s just a well-connected wannabe with an inflated sense of self-importance.

I’ve got a few thoughts on that front, but let's get into Opus, which introduces rookie entertainment journalist Ariel (Ayo Edebiri) and her aforementioned lack of experience or perspective. Ariel says she’s demonstrated vigor and talent in her three years on staff at the magazine, but her editor, Stan (Murray Bartlett), won’t give her the opportunity to write a real feature, relegating her to note-taking duties during their upcoming assignment: Reclusive pop legend Alfred Moretti (John Malkovich) has just announced his first new album in decades, and he’s invited a few select members of the cultural intelligentsia — including Stan, Ariel, talk show host Clara (Juliette Lewis), paparazzo Bianca (Melissa Chambers), and social media influencer Emily (Stephanie Suganami) — to his remote compound for a weekend of music, glad-handing, and masturbatory indulgence. But while the Gen Xers relish the opportunity to reconnect with their ‘90s glory days, Ariel is immediately skeptical of Moretti’s god complex and army of spooky, dead-eyed devotees.

And since you’ve no doubt seen a movie before, you can probably guess how things will progress from there: The “Levelists” who populate the compound are really a cult! Moretti is their leader! This whole exercise is actually a thinly-veiled revenge plot against the entertainment establishment whose bad reviews forced the ostentatious star into hiding all those years ago. As Moretti’s goons (including Prey’s Amber Midthunder) hack and slash away at her cohorts, Ariel must survive long enough to make it back to civilization, publish this terrifying story, and finally earn the recognition she thinks she deserves. In other words, Opus is former GQ journalist Mark Anthony Green’s critique of a popular culture that dismisses talent like Ariel’s, regards uninspired hacks like Moretti as generation-defining geniuses — his lusty dance tracks are presented without comment, but I’m going to go ahead and call them awful — and fosters a civilization so sycophantic that they’re willing to forgive a mass murderer as long as he serves a useful purpose in their lives.

But for as true as Opus’ conclusions may ring — one needs only look to the reality TV host in the White House for proof — it’s too sloppy and obtuse for any sharp insight. It carries every unfortunate hallmark of a first screenplay, from Ariel as the author avatar whose talent we’re forced to presume without evidence to its tendency to genre hop incoherently as the circumstances demand. Green borrows aesthetics from thrillers like The Wicker Man, Midsommar, and The Menu, but he can’t get enough of a grip on his tone to make them effective. Ayo Edebiri’s signature self-consciousness makes Ariel a compelling protagonist for a while, but even she becomes a disappointing genre cliche by the end. Perhaps most damning of all, Green fails to modulate John Malkovich’s goofball performance enough to give Moretti a coherent psychology until the last scene, at which point it’s far too late for anyone to care. What’s left of Opus beyond that is scattershot fluff that wastes a talented cast and further jeopardizes A24’s already-waning reputation for quality genre work.

It’s a shame, honestly, because Opus had an opportunity to celebrate the kind of independent cultural criticism that is sorely needed in an age of growing influencer…well, influence, an age when film studios (to name one industry) are granting more access to Tik Tok stars promoting their product than to credentialed writers — including yours truly — who might critique it. I’m sure Green counts himself in the latter camp, and I’m confident that he’s seen and heard some revelatory things in his time at GQ, but his ultimate thesis about the dangers of alluring celebrity is hampered by his inability to effectively dramatize it; in other words, he demonstrates the very same deficiency of craft he attributes to his villains. So while he certainly has time to hone that craft — he’s a male director in Hollywood, after all — he might be better served returning to the medium where he can articulate his wit and insight more effectively. Opus gave Green experience, sure. But if this is the limit of his perspective, he’s going to have a hard time getting anyone to care.

Opus hits U.S. theaters on Friday, March 14th.