‘Opus’ Review: A24 Reaches a New Low
Mark Anthony Green’s Opus recycles the aesthetics and tropes A24 has firmly established itself upon and may accidentally reveal that their brand of “elevated” independent entertainment has grown stale after over a decade of films on the big screen.
The brand of “elevated” entertainment A24 has established over the years may no longer be a viable path to profitability after audiences see Mark Anthony Green’s disastrous Opus, an amalgamation of some of the worst tendencies the studio known for its auteur-driven, anti-handholding entertainment has introduced in the mainstream public consciousness for the past decade. That’s not to say the attributes mentioned above are bad – it’s great that audiences are accepting more independent cinema that makes them think for a bit instead of the same ol’ junk from the Hollywood slop machine.
In our ecosystem, we need riskier films appealing to a broad audience that take bold formal swings to excite and shock the audience, especially if it means that the art form of cinema will positively evolve as a result. Productions like Ari Aster’s Midsommar and Beau is Afraid, for example, do just that. On the other hand, Opus is the exact opposite of what A24 allegedly stands for and finally gives reason to the naysayers who have said they produce (and distribute) the same empty spectacle from production to production (of course, this is not true if one has seen Paolo Sorrentino’s Parthenope).
Forget the blatant visual ripoffs to Midsommar, Don’t Worry Darling, The Menu, Get Out, Ex-Machina, and Blink Twice and the predictable plot where we see every detail – and story development – coming a mile away. This is a movie whose aesthetic impulses want to be on the same level as the pantheon of great A24 titles, which have always had a formal edge over many modern-day Hollywood productions. Green and cinematographer Tommy Maddox-Upshaw want to immediately impress audiences with its semi-artful compositions that showcase the lavish, Saltburn-esque compound artist Alfred Moretti (John Malkovich) lives with his followers, vintage title card, and aspect ratio shifts that are supposed to pull the audience further into this darkly funny ride into perversion. Yet, every single shot or visual cue is borrowed from another – better – production. No ounce of originality emanates from a movie that bathes itself in its visual textures to hide the severe lack of substance Green’s screenplay holds.
The bulk of Opus centers around how its aesthetics are supposed to say something meaningful about the sickening nature of cults, as journalist Ariel Ecton (Ayo Edebiri) joins her boss Stan (Murray Bartlett) for a sample of Moretti’s latest album, his first in decades. When they arrive, the group, comprised of several guests, including talk show host Clara Armstrong (Juliette Lewis), is welcomed into Moretti’s Levellist cult, “the one and only holistic path to prevent the obstruction of creativity.” Ariel already knows something’s wrong when she sees everyone share the same piece of bread at dinner, which she is forced to bite into as a “purity test” before Moretti makes his move.
An extreme close-up of saliva on the bread (ooooh! edgy!), and you've got the gist of a movie that attempts to be kooky and unflinchingly brutal but ends up being neither because it’s all style, no substance. Maddox-Upshaw’s photography attempts to disconcert audiences and provoke a feeling of genuine unease, especially as the layers of Moretti’s cult get (slowly) peeled until its over-the-top climax. However, very few scenes have legitimate visual or emotional impact. The only scene containing a tangible sense of tension occurs early on in the movie, with Ariel going for a jog in the morning but is followed (at the same pace) by her concierge, Belle (Amber Midthunder), who watches every single movement she makes every day (stalker much?).
Midthunder’s (non-verbal) performance is arguably the highlight of this dreary affair, giving darkly funny notes to her character that efficiently work when she’s face-to-face with Ariel. Green knows how to amp up suspense every time she's on screen. Whenever she isn’t on screen, Green reverts to TikTok-lite edited platitudes where Moretti’s flashy outfits (and exuberant songs) act as fodder for people to disappear randomly. It all gets tiresome quite fast, especially when it doesn’t amount to anything concrete, whether in its slasher-tinged conclusion or during the epilogue, where Ariel goes toe-to-toe with a death cult leader to directly confront his view of the world that has caused lots of human damage.
What does Green actively want to say about the ethics of journalism, specifically vulturous celebrity/entertainment reporters who don’t understand the concept of “boundaries” and always think there’s a story to everything surrounding people who are constantly in the spotlight? More appropriately, why do these people always ask the most inappropriate questions and consistently make their subjects uncomfortable? What do they get when dehumanizing subjects that are, at their core, human beings? They may have grown in fame and experienced meteoric success, but these celebrities still have a personal life away from the glitz and glamour that’s worth respecting and, most importantly, humanizing. That seems like an intriguing narrative thread to explore. However, Green barely touches upon the issue of celebrity worship through tabloid journalism to discuss the nature of cults through personal worship of a figure, which is also fine because many journalists act as worshippers (or “shills”) to gain access to the celebrity they want to interview and/or profile.
However, that’s about as far as Green goes in his “commentary,” completely disinterested in the aesthetic and thematic underpinnings he efficiently constructs in its opening question. He instead fills the back half of the picture with a barrage of scenes replete with “shocking” moments bound to get an artificial reaction out of the audience in the hopes they won’t dig deep into the movie’s themes to find absolutely nothing. It’s also why the aesthetic is continuously flashy in ways that try to distract audiences with aspect ratio changes or pronounced colors so they don’t think about the meaning behind this flashiness. Perhaps it could’ve worked if the screenplay wasn’t so pedestrian. However, all we get are empty frames devoid of significance that will make anyone uninitiated in semiotics believe Opus has something going for it, when, in reality, it doesn’t.
It’s even worse when none of the actors are particularly memorable, notably Edebiri, whose fast-talking, ironic comedy schtick is growing as tiresome as A24’s “elevated” impulses, especially when it gives us toothless films like Opus. Credit where credit is due, Edebiri does try to make at least Ariel a rounded protagonist with enough agency to surpass Green’s screenwriting ineptitudes and tones down some of her most grating comedic tendencies during the end. However, even she can’t overcome such a flimsy screenplay. No one can. Not even John Malkovich, who seems to have the most fun of his career since Spike Jonze’s Being John Malkovich, can salvage it, despite performing catchy original songs written by Nile Rodgers & The-Dream.
When Opus ultimately reaches the epilogue, which attempts to tie a broader message in its thematic underpinnings, one wonders why Green didn’t focus on this specific message from the get-go. Was it cowardice, laziness, or both? Either way, a film that wants to explore themes like celebrity worship, vulturous journalism, and the perversion of self through cults should say something about any of these subjects because, if you’re not attempting to convey a message, what exactly are you doing? Empty gestures are, in this day and age, the most gutless thing you can do as an artist. Say something, or don’t say anything, and not waste our precious time on this Earth, trying to understand our place in it before it’s too late.