Sundance 2025 Review: OPUS, A Positively Demented Malkovich Barely Saves Cult Horror Entry

Q (Religious Studies Professor): “What’s the difference between a religion and a cult?” 

A (Religious Studies Professor, Answering His Own Question): “Time.”

 

There’s cult horror — as in horror that develops a cult following offscreen — and cult horror – as in a horror film involving a religious/spiritual cult, an authoritarian leader, and the inherently destructive consequences that follow when cult leaders and cult followers follow. Former GQ-scribe-turned-filmmaker Mark Anthony Green’s wildly ambitious feature-length debut, Opus, falls into the latter category, though with time and reflection, it might just develop the equivalent of an offscreen following parsing every word and phrase, every visual cue and prop, every twist and theme.

 

Or maybe not. As always, audiences will decide whether Opus becomes a cult hit (about cults) with a relatively long shelf-life or get promptly memory-holed like most films released theatrically or on streaming every year.

 

Opus centers on Ariel Ecton (Ayo Edebiri, The Bear), a driven, ambitious junior writer for one of the last print music magazines in existence. Like any writer at the beginning of their careers, Ariel dreams of a career filled with top-tier assignments, including bylines under high-profile cover stories, and above everything else, recognition for her singular, starry talents and sharing her invaluable, world-changing insights with the rest of the world. First, though, she needs the real-world, first-hand experience to set her apart from other driven, ambitious junior writers.

 

At her current gig, Ariel mostly suffers in silence, simmering in frustration as her callous, condescending, credit-hoarding senior editor, Stan Sullivan (Murray Bartlett, The White Lotus), assigns one of her pitches to another staff writer. A lunchtime conversation with a sometime friend, Kent (Young Mazino), leaves Ariel even more frustrated at her current predicament, underseen, underappreciated, and otherwise ignored by those above her. Rather than wallow, though, Ariel returns to the office with a renewed desire to prove herself worthy of high-profile, feature-length magazine assignments.

 

The long-rumored, absurdly antcipated return of one of the world’s biggest pop star-idols, Alfred Moretti (John Malkovich, Being John Malkovich), an outlandish, outrageous performer apparently culled from the discarded DNA of Madonna, Prince, and Elton John (among others), after a three-decade hiatus gives Ariel the perfect opportunity to kickstart her stagnant career: An invite-only weekend getaway at Moretti's isolated, desert compound. The getaway includes exclusive access to a listening party for Moretti’s first album in thirty years, Caesar’s Request, and if the entertainment gods and/or her editors smile on her, a spotlight article about her weekend experience. 

 

Despite the absence of bylines with her name, Ariel unexpectedly receives an invite of her own for the exclusive weekend getaway at Moretti's compound. Through some glitch, accident, or on purpose, the invite places Ariel on the same elevated level as Sullivan, Clara Armstrong (Juliette Lewis), Bianca Tyson (Melissa Chambers), a radio personality turned podcast host, Emily Katz (Stephanie Suganami), an ultra-popular social media influencer, and Bill Lotto (Mark Sivertsen), a long estranged professional colleague of Moretti’s brought back into the pop star’s fold. 

 

Among the invited guests, only Ariel seems to take notice of the compound's more sinister aspects, up to and including Moretti’s monosyllabic, obedient. blue-clad acolytes, their rote, robotic behavior suggesting they've undergone some kind or degree of cult programming/indoctrination, and the around-the-clock concierge service Moretti provides his guests, ostensibly because he places a premium on their comfort and security. The truth, of course, lies elsewhere. Ariel’s eerily mute, Terminator-like bodyguard, Belle (Amber Midthunder, Prey), follows her everywhere she goes, even on Ariel’s morning run.

 

Moretti’s acolytes engage in typical communal activity, growing food, handling menial chores around the compound, and otherwise keeping themselves perpetually available to do Moretti’s bidding, whatever it might be and whatever consequences might follow. They also identify themselves as “Levelists,” adherents of Moretti’s Scientology-inspired religion. Moretti doesn’t just want the world to dance; he wants the world to be recreated in his own image. 

 

In short, it’s a cult of personality and celebrity rolled into one, acolytes willing to completely subsume their personal identities, needs, and desires in service to Moretti and his cult. Thanks to legendary producer Nile Rodgers and his chief collaborator, The-Dream, Moretti still produces ear worm-worthy, danceable bangers, though, and that almost excuses his seemingly loopy, logic-challenged monologues to his rapt, captive audience or the sudden, unexplained disappearance of the guests in no discernible order. 

 

Generously mixing splatter-filled horror and black comedy, Green fashions a timely, if over-broad, surface-deep satire of cults of personalities and/or celebrities, indiscriminate media consumption, and malignant parasocial relationships between obsessive fans and the celebrities they worship.  Taking his cues from Cult Leaders 101, Moretti manipulates guests through ostentatious displays of his wealth, power, and privilege. Moretti's always "on" public persona and penchant for frequent costume changes lead to one conclusion: There's far more to Moretti and the weekend than the launch of a new album. Everything's been planned well in advance, to what end or endgame remains a mystery. Moretti's narcissism, as well as his tendency toward sociopathy and leveraging the cult of personality he's created around himself, however, isn't one.

 

Opus stumbles, however, not in its premise or underlying themes, both worthy of critical exploration and examination, but in periodically wobbly execution and the all too frequent reminders of its influences to earlier, significantly better films (they won’t be named here to avoid spoilers). Unfortunately, the wobbly, uncertain execution also extends to Opus's horror-themed set pieces: Too often, they end abruptly seconds after they've begun, whatever tension and suspense Green injects into the proceedings dissipates almost as quickly as they're introduced, and the faux-finale, intentionally meant to raise more questions than it answers, fails to deliver anything approaching a meaningful endpoint to Moretti's machinations.