In one of the opening scenes of writer/director Mark Anthony Green’s Opus, Ayo Edebiri‘s Ariel Ecton is faux-sparring with her pal Kent (Young Mazino) in an eatery. As she “protects” her food from Kent, she gets hit by her opponent and makes these fantastic little grunting noises. It’s a fleeting moment, but a delightful one showing Ecton’s engaging frivolous side. It’s also the kind of tiny detail many other actors don’t imbue into their performance. Edebiri, though, understands how personality comes through in even a character’s silliest corners, like squawks suggesting Ecton’s been “stabbed.” Opus isn’t a very good movie. However, at least it confirms once again Edebiri is one of our finest living performers.
Ariel Ecton works as a journalist at the bottom-rung of a major music publication. She craves an opportunity to prove her talents. Tragically, cocky editor Stan (Murray Bartlett) has no interest in giving her any opportunities to excel as a writer. However, a promising potential occasion emerges when Ecton and Stan are both invited to an event signaling long-dormant pop sensation Alfred Moretti’s (John Malkovich) returns. After decades away from the spotlight, he’s back. Not only that, but he’s inviting six people to experience his new album, Ceasar’s Revenge, at his Utah compound.
Here, Moretti lives amongst a community that all (including this singer) subscribe to the religious identity of “Levelists.” It’s like Scientology crossed with the Peoples Temple. The moment she arrives, Ecton gets suspicious vibes from this place. The other five attendees, like Stan and TV host Clara Armstrong (Juliette Lewis), attribute everything to Moretti’s artistic eccentricities. As people start vanishing and the compound becomes increasingly violent, though, Ecton realizes she needs to take matters into her own hands. This is one song that needs to end early.
In Longlegs, Nicolas Cage’s titular killer allegedly only has ten minutes of screentime. 1954’s of its runtime to the titular beast. Sometimes, less is more. Just ask anyone who saw Jack Sparrow going from hysterical to torturously tedious over five Pirates of the Caribbean installments. Mark Anthony Green did not get this memo when carving out Alfred Moretti’s Opus antics. Too much of the movie is just Malkovich mugging for the camera and excessively monologuing. It’s as if Green hoped that the mere sight of Malkovich writhing on the floor and speaking in rhyme (among other peculiar sights) would garner audience engagement.
Unfortunately, that doesn’t pay off. Moretti’s gratuitous screentime doesn’t result in any truly unforgettably outlandish material, especially in the pantheon of both pop star eccentricities and Malkovich performances. Moretti’s a creepy oddball, but he’s nowhere near as memorably intimidating or bizarre as, say, Malkovich’s Burn After Reading character. This pop star’s most disturbing abnormalities, meanwhile, can’t compare to the hideous Kayne West’s of the world. Gags about this guy’s frustration that “waterproof concealer is never fully waterproof” aren’t funny enough to justify centering so much of the script on him.
As a terrible cherry on top, keeping Moretti on-screen for so long dilutes his creepiness. Green’s camera’s too enamored with this man’s specific brand of wackiness. Jaws, The Vanishing, Memories of Murder, these and so many other thrills wrung such chilling atmospheres out of leaving things to the imagination. Opus tries to go in the opposite direction with its incessant focus on Moretti’s oddball behavior. Nothing about Moretti is either compelling or eerie enough to keep one from wishing the proceedings were more restrained.
No matter how long he lingers on-screen, what you see is what you get with Moretti. That epitomizes a larger problem with Opus as a whole. Green’s concocted a frustratingly static movie lacking excitingly unique plot turns or unexpected scares. The social commentary here is incredibly flat while functioning as just fun entertainment doesn’t go much better. A third-act nighttime chase sequence particularly fumbles thanks to exceedingly clumsy and occasionally incoherent editing. Only autumn-tinged hues in the production design and natural backdrops differentiate this from other 2020s thrillers about creepy rich folks. Otherwise, Opus is just a drag seemingly leaning solely on Malkovich’s weirdest flourishes to inspire memes and a fanbase.
The fleeting successful corners of Green’s script left me incredibly frustrated at the general generic ambiance weighing down Opus. Take an extended puppet show involving the ugliest rat puppets imaginable and Billie Holliday. This scene’s an incredibly unsubtle distillation of Moretti’s gripes with his principal guests, no question. However, the atonal appearance of the puppets combined with the gratuitous close-up shots makes the set piece feel so excitingly unpleasant. While the kookiest Moretti scenes strain to garner audience approval, this puppet show exists in its own self-satisfied world.
Green and cinematographer Tommy Maddox-Upshaw also nicely execute a handful of early visual gags with unbroken camerawork. Especially well-done is a joke where Ecton tries joging only for her concierge Belle (Amber Midthunder) to follow and mimic her every move. Plus, the proceedings heavily utilize Ayo Edebiri, who truly excels beyond the movie she’s inhabiting. While talented actors like Murray Bartlett and Juliette Lewis struggle injecting life into severely underwritten characters, Edebiri’s performance always radiates palpable humanity. Speaking of commendable cast members, props too to Tamera Tomakili as Levelist member Rachel. She deftly conveys this warm energy mixed with creepy conviction anytime she’s on-screen.
No movie featuring Ayo Edebiri infusing so much personality into little groans of faux-pain is all bad. Unfortunately, not a natural-born movie star like this Bottoms veteran can salvage an ultimately inert feature like Opus. Mark Anthony Green’s feature-length directorial debut is hampered by stagnant visual impulses (a key nighttime third-act sequence is especially egregiously realized) and overconfidence in John Malkovich absurdity carrying an entire movie. Opus has enough endless monologues to fill up an entire season of Noah Hawley’s Fargo. Yet it doesn’t end up saying (or singing) much interesting. Not even an appearance by an adorable hysterical comic strip penguin could’ve saved Opus.
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2025-03-18 16:29