Sundance 2025 Review: OPUS Sings a Familiar Culty Tune

A magnum opus? Mark Anthony Green's filmmaking debut is not. His Opus inspects celebrity cult status through pop superstardom with the same unease as a Midsommar or The Sacrament, except oddly restrained. High points are undeniable: John Malkovich as a Liberace x Mercury idol, very A24-coded styles, and Ayo Edebiri being Ayo. It's undeniably accomplished on technical fronts for a coming-out feature, but problems with the third act's payoff diminish Opus' devilish appeal.

Storytelling revolves around Malkovich's scene-stealing Alfred Moretti — a bedazzled, flamboyant musical legend who announces his first album in decades. Industry media players are invited to his secluded desert compound for a private listening party: music journalist Stan Sullivan (Murray Bartlett), paparazzi extraordinaire Bianca Tyson (Melissa Chambers), mega influencer Emily Katz (Stephanie Suganami), podcaster Bill Lotto (Mark Sivertsen), and television personality Carla Armstrong (Juliette Lewis). The only outlier is Sullivan's employee, Ariel Ecton (Edebiri), an eager rookie hungry to make her name in the journalism scene. Moretti welcomes his guests in anticipation of Caesar's Request, but Ariel is immediately irked by her cult-like surroundings. Ariel isn't buying Moretti's lavish hospitality or his "Levelist" beliefs, nor does she want to write just another puff piece about a mad god.

It's a movie caught between Theater of Blood, any Jonestown remix, and Mindhunter. Green's themes show a curiosity in sycophantic elements tied to parasocial relationships with entertainers, but follow-through is stunted. There's so much in play as publishers forgo integrity when wined and dined by talent, whether Ariel's mocked by peers for her investigations or Moretti teaches about questionable Levelist mantras. There's plenty of obscurity in Opus, from oyster-shucking rights of passage to uncomfortable grooming requests, but they're more like standalone vignettes. Scenes can be so enrapturing, leaning on tension derived from Moretti's blatant sinister undertones, but then we're on to the next wicked nugget without taking time to wallow in passing discomfort.

Malkovich's utterly interesting turn as the “Wizard of Wiggle" comes with three boppy original recordings from the actor's mouth. He wears gaudy, glistening fashions with supreme confidence, sells a deity-like composure, and rocks hard as a Euro-trance singer who can still capture audiences as a sex symbol. Moretti's always in control, and Malkovich relishes the gamesmanship of his position. There's nothing better than Moretti hip-thrusting while putting on a concert for his invitees, dressed like a disco-ball Daft Punk member, but it's not all about audacity. Malkovich clues into the sinister sophistication behind Moretti's Levelist congregation, balancing temper with tact — but he's never better than when thin facades drop like a velvet curtain.

The guests exist to fall victim to Moretti's charms, which is par for a story such as Opus. Bartlett pals with Moretti like they're schoolyard bros, Lewis dances erotically with the eccentric, and Chambers loses herself to Moretti's twinkling eyes. Starpower is a helluva drug, and Green has a blast making the film's industry professionals look foolish under Moretti's spell — except Edebiri. She's the "virgin" of the group, the untrained new blood who questions Moretti's brand of exclusive bribery even before everyone at dinner takes a bite of the same bread loaf. It's prime Edebiri as Ariel barks conspiracy warnings at fame and alcohol-drunk rubes, staying blunt and skeptical much to Moretti's amusement. Cat-and-mouse antics are entertaining, whether the ignorant indulge or Ariel questions motivations, but intoxicating opulence tricks only carry so far.

Opus is a slow burn toward an inevitable eruption, but Green fails the film's payoff climax. Tease after tease stokes anticipation for Moretti's big reveal, whatever's being cooked behind surveillance cameras and closed doors, but it's over in a blink. Patient Levelists played by Amber Midthunder and Peter Diseth hardly get their releases, or even more frustratingly, the group's fate runs oddly unfulfilling given the swiftness of outcomes. Green's waiting game doesn't beget an equal reward, even with a few gross-out body horror gags and vicious bloodiness. 

And yet, the film continues onward. Opus struggles to capitalize on its themes and overcomplicates messaging as the third act translates into a hidden fourth epilogue. Green addresses a list of issues in entertainment circles, press coverage, and society, but plot threads often fray, left dangling. Production designers achieve such intricate visuals whether children put on rat-faced puppet shows or Ariel darts through Moretti's fully immersive museum of costumes and paraphernalia, but the weekend’s events meander. Picturesque cult backdrops of tents in fields and matching uniforms are shot with panache, but buttoned-up style never harmonizes with substance.

That said? Opus remains a passable reworking of traditional cultism tropes. With Malkovich front-and-center, he works the proverbial runway and shines in the spotlight. Outside of the mesmeric idolization and Moretti's presence? Opus isn't as revolutionary. Green aims for the stars with his debut and undoubtedly flashes eye-catching talent, but there's a lack of completion. Graded on its highlight reel, Opus earns a thumbs up — but spectacle and sizzle don't distract from more significant storytelling blockers.

Movie Score: 3/5