clunky satire about an evil celebrity cult has plenty to say – it just doesn’t know how to say it

Opus, the film debut of former GQ editor-turned-director Mark Anthony Green has been described as a horror-musical. And while this new hybrid-genre film clearly has something to say, what that is remains frustratingly unclear.

Produced by independent film company A24, often a hallmark of quality, the film follows Ariel Ecton (Ayo Edebiri), a young writer striving to make her mark in entertainment journalism. While it gestures toward themes of celebrity culture and the toxicity of extreme fandom, the film ultimately feels tangled in a jumble of unfocused ideas and derivative references to other – arguably stronger – works.

Despite talent and determination, Ariel struggles with her boss Stan (Murray Bartlett) who redeploys her ideas to other senior colleagues and is often too self-absorbed to nurture her career development.

The very watchable Edebiri eases into centre stage after catapulting to global fame in the TV show The Bear (2022-present), for which she has received a Golden Globe and an Emmy.

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In contrast to the achievements of The Bear’s Sydney, her character Ariel’s success as a writer seems out of reach in Opus. In an early scene, she articulates her frustrations to a friend who responds by pointing to Ariel’s ordinariness and comfortable upbringing. Apparently, her lack of disadvantage is precisely what’s holding her back, leaving her “too middle” to be noticed, promoted or considered.

Here we have the first clue that Ariel will be destined to experience trauma which will come by way of the “final girl” horror trope (a reference to the last woman standing) by the end of the film.

To Ariel’s surprise, she is selected to accompany Stan to a remote desert compound with other journalists to cover the story of reclusive pop legend Alfred Moretti (John Malkovich, returning to the big screen for the first time in five years).

Coincidentally, Moretti is about to make a return to public life after a 30-year hiatus and reset his reputation with a new album. Malkovich seems to relish the role, cranking up his flamboyant eccentricity in what feels like a mash-up of Ziggy Stardust and Frank-N-Furter.

Moretti’s ostentatiousness in contrast to Ariel’s subdued “middle-ness”, seems to be one of several binaries that the film explores, with an epilogue that discusses the left and right sides of the brain, and the division between destruction and creativity.

The theme of creativeness is a driving force in the film, with Moretti’s and Ariel’s respective musical and literary artistry used as fuel in the narrative, from a director with a similar writing background to Ariel.

Unfortunately, the film often feels more derivative than creative because of the numerous sources it takes as its inspiration. Moretti’s compound turns out, of course, to be a cult where Ariel, Stan and other invited guests will find something even more sinister than Malkovich’s rhythmic hip thrusts.

The rules of the compound mean that all guests must hand over their phones and electronic devices, so that in typical horror fashion, the characters are completely cut off from the outside world.

The knowing nod to this horror cliché is perhaps done for comedic value, but becomes another of the film’s weak spots, in the sense that it never really commits to any one thing. It’s not quite a comedy, a horror or a musical but something that is more fragmentary, borrowing elements of each.

It’s as if the director has assembled his favourite genres, but only in notes that have not yet been successfully put together. For example, there is an explicit recreation of a very distinct scene from Takashi Miike’s harrowing Audition (1999), while other parts are heavily influenced by Ari Aster’s disturbing Midsommar, (2019) a folk horror film also made by A24.

There are also nods to Mark Mylod’s The Menu (2022) in which an eccentric celebrity chef creates a meal for a group of sycophant critics with lethal consequences. As a dark comedy-horror, The Menu succeeds in satirising the absurdity of reality cooking shows, where competitiveness and TV chefs are caricatured.

However, Green’s attempt at satire in Opus doesn’t really work. That’s not to imply that the film hasn’t got something to say – Green appears to be interested in the relationship between celebrity culture and fandom. However, that idea doesn’t feel fully fleshed out, particularly when other films like Brandon Cronenberg’s dangerously underrated Antiviral (2012) was addressing this idea with visceral originality more than a decade ago.

Moretti’s songs have a deliberately dated sound which seems to be inspired by Michael Jackson, particularly around the time of his 2001 Invincible tour and album, which both failed to return the singer to his “king of pop” status.
Again, films such as Coralie Fargeat’s The Substance (2024) tackle the idea of the ageing celebrity with more clarity and originality, even while clearly being inspired by other movies.

Consequently, Opus has quite a 1990s feel to it, perhaps aided by the casting of Malkovich and Juliette Lewis, both huge stars during that decade. The film also gets a bit meta, nodding to Spike Jonze’s Being John Malkovich (1999) through a similar use of star cameos and a puppet show – both interesting elements, but again which feel disjointed in Opus.

I think Green has stronger films in him to come but, although his work raises interesting points, there are too many ideas here for a convincing film to properly materialise. I was unclear on a number of things including Moretti’s motives and his contempt for critics, including the positive ones.

Opus perhaps bites off more than it can chew, leaving me feeling that Green’s directorial opus is still to come.