Cultlike celebrities of a certain size sometimes cross the line between unsettling narcissism and unsettling narcissism with top notes of pathology. This may not be news, even if they make the news fairly regularly, but the frustrating new film “Opus” treats the toxic intersection of fame and infamy as a big reveal unto itself.
It’s a sleek enough experience visually, and the songs composed for “Opus” by Nile Rodgers and The-Dream are pretty tasty. This is the first feature from filmmaker Mark Anthony Green, who wrote and directed and undoubtedly pulled a few ideas for “Opus” from his ego-navigation experience as a celebrity journalist.
Premise: After a nearly 30-year hiatus shrouded in mystery, the ’90s pop legend known throughout the world as Moretti — bigger than Dylan, a pale white Prince with a wardrobe inching toward the interstellar — has produced his magnum opus, an album so major it’s almost too special for human ears. Moretti launches this album by way of a lavish but exclusive junket held at his remote Southwestern compound, which is staffed by serenely puttering acolytes in thrall to the Scientology-esque religion Moretti subscribes to, known as Leveling. (His followers are Levelists.)
The half-dozen who were lucky enough to be invited include five media poseurs Moretti has known a while, including the sycophantic editor of a Rolling Stone-type music magazine. For reasons unknown, a low-mid-level staffer of that same magazine, Ariel, has been invited as well. She’s played by Ayo Edebiri (of “The Bear”). Moretti is played by John Malkovich, because who else?
Consigned to providing her boss with a few atmospheric details for his story, Ariel can’t help but notice just how strange the goings-on appear. Cellphones are collected from everybody, with the promise of a return later. Moretti likes his guests unshaven, all over, so there’s a non-negotiable grooming policy enforced.
From there it’s one small step to the first disappearing-guest act, and “Opus” lurches from a satirically insufferable album-release party to a bloody nightmare. It does this while letting the audience get dangerously ahead of the narrative developments. Malkovich certainly holds his own, though there are times when his singular, sidewinding performance energy has a way of sapping a scene’s overall rhythm and pace. The supporting cast is a good one, with Murray Bartlett, Juliette Lewis and others filling in the blanks of their thinly conceived characters. Edebiri’s the anchor here, but the material is the material, and the material only goes so far.
It’s a familiar set-up by now: take a swank, remote compound, add an ultra-exclusive guest list and an escalating barrage of bloodletting, a la “The Menu” or last year’s undervalued “Blink Twice.” “Opus” has its moments. But even the surprises aren’t especially surprising.
“Opus” — 2 stars (out of 4)
MPA rating: R (for violent content including a grisly image, language, sexual material and brief graphic nudity)
Running time: 1:43
How to watch: Premieres in theaters March 13
Michael Phillips is a Tribune critic.
Though not quite wild enough. Malkovich plays a reclusive music superstar, but the cult-of-celebrity satire of “Opus” never quite sorts out its thriller elements.
Cultlike celebrities of a certain size sometimes cross the line between unsettling narcissism and unsettling narcissism with top notes of pathology. This may not be news, even if they make the news fairly regularly, but the frustrating new film “Opus” treats the toxic intersection of fame and infamy as a big reveal unto itself.
It’s a sleek enough experience visually, and the songs composed for “Opus” by Nile Rodgers and The-Dream are pretty tasty. This is the first feature from filmmaker Mark Anthony Green, who wrote and directed and undoubtedly pulled a few ideas for “Opus” from his ego-navigation experience as a celebrity journalist.
Premise: After a nearly 30-year hiatus shrouded in mystery, the ’90s pop legend known throughout the world as Moretti — bigger than Dylan, a pale white Prince with a wardrobe inching toward the interstellar — has produced his magnum opus, an album so major it’s almost too special for human ears. Moretti launches this album by way of a lavish but exclusive junket held at his remote Southwestern compound, which is staffed by serenely puttering acolytes in thrall to the Scientology-esque religion Moretti subscribes to, known as Leveling. (His followers are Levelists.)
The half-dozen who were lucky enough to be invited include five media poseurs Moretti has known a while, including the sycophantic editor of a Rolling Stone-type music magazine. For reasons unknown, a low-mid-level staffer of that same magazine, Ariel, has been invited as well. She’s played by Ayo Edebiri (of “The Bear”). Moretti is played by John Malkovich, because who else?
Consigned to providing her boss with a few atmospheric details for his story, Ariel can’t help but notice just how strange the goings-on appear. Cellphones are collected from everybody, with the promise of a return later. Moretti likes his guests unshaven, all over, so there’s a non-negotiable grooming policy enforced.
From there it’s one small step to the first disappearing-guest act, and “Opus” lurches from a satirically insufferable album-release party to a bloody nightmare. It does this while letting the audience get dangerously ahead of the narrative developments. Malkovich certainly holds his own, though there are times when his singular, sidewinding performance energy has a way of sapping a scene’s overall rhythm and pace. The supporting cast is a good one, with Murray Bartlett, Juliette Lewis and others filling in the blanks of their thinly conceived characters. Edebiri’s the anchor here, but the material is the material, and the material only goes so far.
It’s a familiar set-up by now: take a swank, remote compound, add an ultra-exclusive guest list and an escalating barrage of bloodletting, a la “The Menu” or last year’s undervalued “Blink Twice.” “Opus” has its moments. But even the surprises aren’t especially surprising.
“Opus” — 2 stars (out of 4)
MPA rating: R (for violent content including a grisly image, language, sexual material and brief graphic nudity)
Running time: 1:43
How to watch: Premieres in theaters March 13
Michael Phillips is a Tribune critic.
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