The unsuspecting-group-arrives-at-a-remote-location-only-to-discover-not-all-is-what-it-seems trend has seen a steady rise over the past few years, with films like Midsommar, Blink Twice, Glass Onion and The Menu at the forefront. Writer-director Mark Anthony Green's feature directorial debut, Opus, follows a similar formula, tapping into the cult-like fandom surrounding celebrities. However, Opus fails at offering anything new to this familiar pattern, lacking the thrilling punch of its predecessors.
A former GQ editor, Green's experiences in print media adds a realistic touch to Ayo Edebiri's Ariel Ecton, an ambitious journalist at a music magazine who struggles with being "incredibly fucking middle," as her friend (Young Mazino) describes her. Well-educated, in good health, with no tragic backstory and no one to listen to her, Ariel's seniors at work steal her pitches and her colleagues overlook her in favour of more experienced writers.
Somehow Ariel pulls the ultimate golden ticket when she and her boss, Stan (Murray Bartlett), receive a Willy Wonka-style invitation to the remote Utah compound of reclusive celebrity Alfred Moretti (John Malkovich). Having withdrawn from the public eye for the past 30 years, the former '90s pop star gears up for a music-filled weekend by welcoming various media types to a luxurious listening party for his upcoming album. Moretti's other guests include TV host Clara (Juliette Lewis), influencer Emily (Stephanie Suganami), podcaster Bill (Mark Sivertsen) and paparazzo Bianca (Melissa Chambers).
Upon their arrival, the guests meet Moretti's blue-clad employees and receive a concierge who attends to them every hour. As increasingly strange situations occur around the group, Ariel's journalistic instinct pushes her to discover the truth about Moretti and his followers.
Opus feels like a breath of hot air to the face, failing to capture the witty thrills of The Menu. Overflowing with exposition as Green opts to tell not show, the film overly concerns itself with emulating the aesthetics of a cult, relying heavily on visual signifiers to suggest danger. The yurts, matching uniforms, oysters and weird eating rituals of Moretti's followers add no real tension to the film's narrative aside from mild discomfort. Opus lacks the well-crafted subtlety and slow-burning dread that Midsommar communicates so well; rather, it screams, "Yes, this is a cult!"
As celebrities feel more accessible to us than ever before, and given his background at GQ, Green has a valuable perspective as a cultural commentator, which should have set Opus apart as an interesting critique of celebrity culture and the media industry. However, the film frustratingly discards nuggets of valuable information that could benefit that critique: Stan mentions Bill's past article about Moretti as an afterthought, and Green underutilizes the star's fans camping outside of his compound. A sinister puppet show depicting the press as mangy rats presents a compelling visual, but prove to be decorative and inconsequential. Green offers many good ideas that lack a satisfying or logical payoff.
The film swallows up the ensemble cast, leaving only Malkovich and Edebiri treading above water. Malkovich is enjoyable enough as the zany Moretti, lending his vocals to the pop star's Nile Rodgers- and The-Dream produced music. Malkovich gives himself fully to the character's physicality, the additional flowing costumes capturing all the eccentrics and cultural impact of Elton John, David Bowie, Prince and Daft Punk. However, despite being set up as a legendary '90s pop star, Moretti's importance as a celebrity feels flat, and it's difficult to become fully engrossed in the fantasy. He and his followers worship the vaguest notion of "art," and Moretti's actions lack any real motivation — as enjoyable as "Dina, Simone" is, Moretti could have been an actor or magician or businessman for all it matters.
As usual, Edebiri's onscreen presence exudes magnetism and charm, and her trademark dry delivery paints her as the reliable comedic straight man. Green underserves Edebiri's performance, however, as Ariel's growing anxieties negatively emphasize Opus's aimlessness, making the film agitating instead of thrilling and dangerous. Every strange encounter Ariel experiences feels low-stakes, but Edebiri sticks the landing well enough to make Ariel an enjoyable character to root for.
Green's enthusiasm for his feature debut is commendable, but Opus suffers from an overflow of ideas that rely on old tropes to keep it afloat. The thrills are few and far between, and the film's resolution is anticlimatic at best and uninspired at worst.
The film sets up a few opportunities for interesting conversations around celebrity worship, journalism and the struggles of being a young woman at the beginning of her career, but Opus simply becomes Ariel's worst fear: middling as fuck.