A young journalist is invited to an exclusive gathering at the remote compound of a reclusive pop icon who has been out of the public eye for years. The story unfolds as a surreal descent into ambition, manipulation, and the dark side of fame.
What happens when you combine the theatrical elitism of The Menu with the eerie pageantry of Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory? The result is Opus, a psychological mystery thriller that teeters on the edge of satire, horror, and performance art. Written and directed by Mark Anthony Green in his feature debut, the film embraces its surrealism with a confident, almost smug flourish. Equal parts haunting and head-scratching, Opus proudly wears the A24 stamp, a studio known for its stylish, off-kilter storytelling, and settles comfortably into the brand’s more polarizing corner.
Set within the estate of world-renowned composer Alfred Moretti, Opus follows a select group of journalists invited to a remote, elaborate compound for a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. But as the competition unfolds, the atmosphere becomes increasingly bizarre and claustrophobic, each day more uncanny than the last. Secrets begin to seep through the walls of the opulent experience, and what initially appears to be an opportunity offered to a select few slowly morphs into a twisted, orchestrated descent into psychological control.
Music producers Dany Bensi, Nile Rodgers, and The Dream create the film’s essential sonic texture, utilizing compositions and unsettling echoes that contribute to the film’s overall mood as effectively as a secondary character. This audio design harmonizes with Green’s highly stylized direction, characterized by sweeping, symmetrical shots and hallucinatory close-ups that distort the viewer’s perception of reality. The film’s visual presentation pulsates with tension, moving between moments of elegant precision and moments of nightmarish distortion.
At the center of Opus is Ariel, a promising journalist played by Ayo Edebiri. Edebiri, best known for her comedic timing, makes an assured dramatic turn here. Ariel is observant, success-driven, and emotionally guarded, someone who keeps one eye on the prize and the other on the exits. Her quiet apprehension serves as an emotional barometer for the audience, grounding us in a world that only gets stranger by the scene. Edebiri’s performance is layered with subtlety: the side-eyes, the stifled responses, the slow-burn panic all of it adds up to a performance that’s as much internal as it is expressive. In a genre that has long struggled to make space for Black “final girls,” Ariel’s survival instinct feels not just earned, but satisfying.
John Malkovich is in his element as the enigmatic Moretti, a genius maestro with a magnetic presence and unnerving charisma. With performative grandeur, Malkovich laces every line with theatrical menace. Whether he’s complimenting or criticizing, there’s always a hidden agenda in his tone, and Malkovich delivers that ambiguity with unnerving glee.
As a film, Opus is familiar, the “eccentric genius invites the unsuspecting to his lair” structure has been done many times before. However, Green doesn’t seem interested in novelty; instead, he leans fully into aesthetic, mood, and metaphor. The narrative may echo its predecessors, but the execution is distinctively A24, opaque, atmospheric, and unapologetically weird.
Despite its lack of true originality, Opus keeps you engaged through sheer audacity and an immersive audiovisual experience. It’s a strange, slow-burning waltz through ambition, artistry, and control, asking how far one might go for genius and what it costs to be in the orbit of greatness.
For those who revel in art-house ambiguity and don’t mind unanswered questions, Opus offers an intriguing, if familiar, descent into the strange. It may not be a masterpiece, but it’s a symphony of dread that’s hard to forget.