Of all the recurring myths of 20th century pop culture, few are more tantalizing than that of the reclusive pop star: the rock genius who vanished at the height of their powers, leaving their discography unfinished amidst a swirl of rumors. The reality, of course, rarely lived up to record collectors’ fantasies, usually either marked by the effects of drug abuse and crippling mental illness (your Syd Barretts, your Arthur Lees) or, perhaps even more dispiritingly, anonymous normalcy (as is most likely the case with Suburban Lawns frontwoman Su Tissue). But what if the rumors were true– that the enigmatic pop visionary really was toiling away at some mad masterpiece while engaging in mind-bending occult rituals? And what if you, true fan that you are, could finagle your way onto the VIP list to get the first peek?
This is, more or less, the foundation of Opus, the feature debut of GQ editor-turned-filmmaker Mark Anthony Green. Ayo Edebiri plays Ariel, cub reporter at the fictional J Magazine, who is inexplicably selected to accompany her blustery rock-dude editor (Murray Bartlett) to witness the reemergence of onetime pop superstar Arthur Moretti. Moretti, as embodied by John Malkovich at his most magnanimous, was evidently a sort of everything-to-everyone glam-pop icon, who conquered the world with his infectious dance single “Dina, Simone” (more on which in a bit) before vanishing from the public sphere sometime in the mid ‘90s. A new Moretti record, in pop obsessive circles, seems to be something close to the second coming of Christ.
Upon arriving at Moretti’s compound, Ariel begins to realize that this analogy is more apt than anyone knows: Moretti lives among a self-contained community who call themselves “Levellists,” striving toward vaguely defined ideals of spiritual enlightenment and personal betterment, though functionally mostly serving Moretti himself. The more seasoned hands in the press entourage (which also includes a superficial TV host played by Juliette Lewis and an influencer played by Stephanie Suganami) take all of this in stride as typical rock ‘n’ roll eccentricity, but Ariel sees a darker undercurrent– and perhaps her shot at a feature story.
Opus is a film which hits a lot of my personal sweet spots at once: I am a known sucker for films about crusading journalists, cult musicians, and cults. That Green excels on the first point is perhaps unsurprising given his background, but I quite enjoyed the specificity of it. There are plenty of films about dogged reporters trying to get to the bottom of some explosive political or unexplained story, but relatively few about entertainment journalists doing the same. Edebiri is a delight as always, and while the material doesn’t quite match the livewire comic energy of her personal public persona (I’m not sure any scripted film could, though Bottoms comes close), she is more than believable as an aspiring author trying to work her way up through puff pieces about celebrities. More than most films I’ve seen on the subject, Opus seems to understand the mechanics of developing a story, of finding the odd details around the corners of one’s subject and pulling at the threads until you come away with something far richer than the assignment. It probably doesn’t constitute a spoiler to reveal that the Levellists turn out to be sinister and dangerous, but even if they didn’t, I would love to read Ariel’s piece on them.
Likewise, Opus wisely doesn’t cut corners on the musical element. The tricky thing about making a movie about a supposedly game-changing work of art is that you either need to avoid actually showing it to the audience (which almost always feels like a cop-out) or create a work-within-a-work which stands on its own feet. Green solves this problem by tasking the creation of the film’s songs to The-Dream, the R&B power producer behind much of Beyonce’s latter-day output, and honest-to-god musical legend Nile Rodgers. I don’t know if I buy that “Dina, Simone” is a song which could have been released in 1991, but I 100% accept that it would have been a world-conquering hit if it had. Green gives us the usual exposition dump about Moretti’s stardom, but a montage of the song playing in various clubs, gyms, makeout sessions, and beach parties through the years tells us everything we need to know. Malkovich performs three or four songs in their entirety, and all are unironic bangers. I had no idea I needed an EP of John Malkovich/Nile Rodgers slow jams, but I’m absolutely not going to turn it away.
Malkovich, for his part, is clearly having the time of his life, whether gyrating to baby-making music while decked out in vintage glam-rock regalia (courtesy of Everything Everywhere costumer Shirley Kurota) or delivering apocalyptic supervillain speeches. As a musical artist, Moretti seems to mostly be a pastiche of Bowie and Prince, with perhaps a dash of Morrissey thrown in (sadly, we can only dream of a world in which Moz has declined to grant an interview since 1995). Of course, John Malkovich doesn’t look like anyone’s idea of a pop superstar; he seems consciously styled to look more like Heaven’s Gate ringleader Marshall Applewhite, or perhaps the early spiritualist George Gurdjieff. Indeed, cult-watchers will have fun spotting the various allusions– a dash of Manson, a dollop of Jonestown– though the greatest influence may in fact be 2019’s Midsommar, a turn which feels significant in the evolution of A24 as de facto horror subgenre unto itself. (Not for nothing, I also clocked an A24 beach towel in an early montage).
As a rule, I try not to read other critics’ reviews of a film while working on my own, but I sense I may be in the minority in liking Opus as much as I do. I can perhaps understand where these others are coming from; the third act does feel a bit rushed, and, for what is ostensibly a horror comedy, I can’t say I frequently laughed out loud or found myself particularly scared. But the mood of the piece is exceptional, a sinister, slow-burn psychedelia which works its way under your skin, leading to a coda which raises further questions about the ways in which media, pop culture, and darker forces feed off each other. Opus may not be a Sgt. Pepper or a Pet Sounds, but I can see it as a long-lost cut-out album which slowly develops a cult following– so to speak.
Opus
2025
dir. Mark Anthony Green
103 min.
Opens Friday, 3/14 @ Coolidge Corner Theatre, Kendall Square Cinema, Apple Cinemas Cambridge, and various AMCs
