Opus Review: A Dissonant Thriller That Plays All the Wrong Notes

In his feature directorial debut, Opus, writer-director Mark Anthony Green attempts to craft a psychological thriller laced with mystery, artistic obsession, and cult-like devotion. Starring Ayo Edebiri as an ambitious writer lured into the twisted world of a reclusive pop star (John Malkovich), the film sets itself up as an eerie, paranoia-driven descent into madness. Unfortunately, Opus stumbles in execution, failing to strike the right chord between suspense and coherence. Instead of the cerebral, layered horror it aspires to be, it ends up feeling like a cheap and clumsy knockoff of Get Out—without the wit, depth, or finesse that made Jordan Peele’s film so effective.

A Premise Full of Potential:

The setup for Opus is undeniably intriguing. Ayo Edebiri’s Ariel Ecton, a bright but skeptical writer, is handpicked to visit the secluded compound of Alfred Moretti (Malkovich), a pop icon who vanished three decades ago. His return is shrouded in secrecy, and his compound is filled with obsessive devotees, cryptic rituals, and a sinister undercurrent of manipulation. The film hints at themes of creative exploitation, artistic legacy, and the blurred line between genius and madness.

Yet, instead of methodically unraveling these ideas, Opus gets lost in its own stylistic indulgences. It throws together eerie imagery, unsettling performances, and a moody atmosphere, but none of it amounts to a coherent, meaningful narrative. There’s an overwhelming sense that the film is more concerned with appearing enigmatic than actually being compelling.

Ayo Edebiri Tries Her Best:

Ayo Edebiri, fresh off The Bear and multiple acclaimed performances, does her best to anchor the film, but even her talents can’t salvage a poorly constructed script. Ariel is supposed to be a sharp, observant journalist, yet she often comes across as frustratingly passive, reacting rather than investigating. The script forces her into the role of an audience surrogate, meaning she spends most of the film asking questions or looking confused as the absurdity around her escalates.

John Malkovich, on the other hand, delivers a performance that teeters between eerie and laughably over-the-top. As Alfred Moretti, he embodies the archetype of the enigmatic recluse, spouting cryptic monologues about art, immortality, and devotion. However, instead of being unsettling or hypnotic, his character feels like a caricature—less of a menacing genius and more of a melodramatic theater actor chewing the scenery.

A Cult That Lacks Any Real Sense of Dread:

A film like this hinges on the atmosphere of paranoia and the believability of the cult-like followers surrounding Moretti. Unfortunately, Opus never makes them feel genuinely menacing. While Juliette Lewis, Murray Bartlett, and Amber Midthunder all deliver committed performances, their characters are too thinly drawn to be truly terrifying.

Instead, Opus settles for repetitive sequences of Ariel wandering through dimly lit hallways, overhearing cryptic whispers, or watching Moretti’s followers engage in surreal, slow-moving performances. The result is a thriller that never truly unnerves. It wants to be a psychological maze of manipulation and suspense, but it lacks the necessary intensity.

A Cheap Knockoff of Get Out Without the Subtext:

The most glaring issue with Opus is how desperately it wants to echo the success of Get Out—but without any of the thematic depth or originality. Jordan Peele’s 2017 film succeeded because it was layered, subversive, and built tension with precision. Opus, on the other hand, borrows the surface-level elements—a protagonist trapped in a cult-like scenario, eerie followers, and an all-powerful figure pulling the strings—but completely fails at crafting a meaningful allegory.

Where Get Out cleverly dissected racial anxieties through its horror framework, Opus feels thematically empty. It flirts with ideas about the price of artistic genius, but it never commits to saying anything profound about creativity, fandom, or manipulation. It merely gestures at these concepts, assuming that ambiguity alone will make the film feel profound.

Style Over Substance:

Opus is drenched in stylistic choices that feel more forced than effective. The cinematography favors disorienting close-ups, slow-motion sequences, and lingering shots meant to evoke unease. The problem is that these stylistic flourishes don’t add to the story—they only draw attention to how little is actually happening.

The editing is similarly frustrating, frequently cutting away just when a scene starts to build momentum. Instead of letting tension naturally develop, the film relies on jarring tonal shifts and abrupt scene transitions, making the pacing feel disjointed.

Even the score, which is meant to heighten the sense of dread, ends up feeling heavy-handed. It frequently overpowers the dialogue, forcing emotions rather than letting them emerge naturally. Instead of enhancing the atmosphere, the music often distracts, signaling that something eerie is supposed to be happening rather than letting the audience discover it organically.

A Climax That Falls Flat:

If Opus had built up enough intrigue, a satisfying or shocking finale might have redeemed some of its flaws. Unfortunately, the climax is just as messy as everything that precedes it. Instead of delivering a revelation that ties the film’s ideas together, the ending feels rushed and ambiguous for ambiguity’s sake.

The final act tries to escalate into full-blown horror, but it’s too little, too late. The stakes never feel real, the twists are predictable, and the resolution leaves more questions than answers—not in a thought-provoking way, but in a way that makes the entire film feel pointless.

Overall:

Opus is a frustrating experience because it clearly has the potential to be something greater. The cast is talented, the premise is compelling, and the film aims to be a stylish, cerebral thriller. But in execution, it collapses under the weight of its own pretensions. It mistakes vagueness for depth, confusion for suspense, and eerie aesthetics for genuine horror.

If you’re looking for a psychological thriller that genuinely unsettles, there are far better options (Get Out, The Invitation, or Black Swan). Opus ultimately plays like an unfinished symphony—full of dissonant notes, lacking structure, and leaving you wondering what the point was in the first place.