Opus 2025 Review: What Happens When Fans Worship Too Deeply?

Thirty years gone by. One invitation. Some fans will do anything for an encore... even disappear. How far would you go for your idol? In Opus, fame becomes a deadly symphony.

Something is tempting about a mystery that revolves around someone we once worshipped. Opus, the psychological thriller written and directed by former GQ editor Mark Anthony Green, taps directly into that temptation—a debut film that suffocates us in fame's shadow and the warped rituals of devotion. Green sets up an eerie tale of idolatry, isolation, and manipulation, where the cost of meeting your hero might just be your life.

This unsettling dynamic begins in a remote Utah compound. The film follows Ariel Ecton (Ayo Edebiri), a young journalist who receives an invitation of a lifetime to interview the elusive Alfred Moretti (John Malkovich), a legendary pop star coming out of a 30-year retirement. But what happens when that career-making opportunity leads to deaths and radicalism, where nothing is quite as it seems?

Alfred Moretti's reappearance is staged like a mythic return. Moretti hasn't been seen in decades. The mega pop star once captivated a generation in the early 90s and is finally coming out of retirement, launching an exclusive listening party at his secluded compound. The lucky six guests are: Ariel and her editor Stan, a talk show host Clara, social media influencer Emily, paparazzo Bianca, and radio host Bill. From the outset, it’s clear this isn’t just a media event—it’s a controlled performance. The compound is sealed off, and they’re soon met by Moretti’s eerie fanbase, the Levelists, clad in identical denim blue, grinning and unsettling in their devotion.

Left: Social Media Influencer, Emily (Stephanie Suganami), Talk Show Host, Clara (Juliette Lewis), Stan (Murray Bartlett), Ariel Ecton (Ayo Edebiri), and parazzo Bianca (Melissa Chambers)

What follows is a slow unravelling, where the façade of glamour begins to crack. Guests disappear, motives blur, and Ariel starts to realise the story she came to write is being rewritten around her. The Levelists aren’t just fans—they’re zealots, willing to bleed for their icon. Their clam-opening ritual becomes central to the film’s metaphor, searching for pearls as a twisted form of penance. Green doesn’t just critique fame, he exposes the performance of worship and the pain it demands.

Opus builds a layered critique of celebrity culture, but it's not just the stars but the act of worshipping them. Green peels back the curtain on the psychology of obsession and the performative nature of devotion. The Levelists serve as a chilling metaphor for stan culture gone rogue, their rituals - including slicing open clams to hunt for pearls - symbolising the pain of pursuing fame and never finding it.

The physical scars on their hands are emotional reminders of the sacrifices people make for fame, even vicariously. The fenced-off compound becomes a metaphor of the divide between icons and the ordinary, while Moretti himself is both prophet and predator—weaponising, feeding on desperation.

Alfred Moretti (John Malkovich)

Green also forces us to question artistic ethics and manipulation. Ariel brings a journalist desperate to be seen for her work. But her proximity to Moretti's madness blurs the lines of authorship, integrity, and complicity. She is used to spread his ideology, but also uses the trauma to gain her own acclaim. Who's exploiting who?

Ayo Edebiri is magnetic as Ariel - ambitious, awkward, and a little green. Known for her deadpan brilliance in The Bear, she brings a grounded vulnerability here, though the psychological horror setting sometimes feels too far removed from her comedic strengths.

John Malkovich devours the screen as Alfred Moretti. It's the kind of role only he could play - half Prince, half cult leader, dripping with artifice and madness. The film is clearly written around his theatrics, allowing Malkovich to lean into the absurd and sinister with serpentine ease.

Supporting characters, though heavy-hitter actors, are matched with underdeveloped characters, leaving them more one-dimensional. Green's arsenal of supporting actors comprises Murray Barlett's as Stan and the raw and intense style acting of Julliet Lewis as Clara. Ariel's editor exists mainly to steal her writing credit and drink whiskey. In one baffling moment, he's shot with an arrow in the shoulder - then later lounges on the couch as though nothing happened. The rest are more trope than person: influencer, the cynic, the opportunist.

What Green lacks in character definition, he makes up for with visual style. His background in fashion and editorial work shows in every carefully composed frame. The desert landscapes feel biblical and isolating, the Levelists' uniformity unnerving. There's symmetry and surrealism to the staging that's evocation of A24's best.

But tension, once built, is squandered. The third act rushes its revelations, turning mystery into melodrama too quickly. The film wants to be profound about art, ego, and devotion, but gets tangled in its own aesthetic. Green's direction is promising, but he struggles to balance genre tone. It's psychological, but not quite horror; stylised, but not fully satire.

Opus wants to sit at the table with Get Out, The Menu, and Blink Twice - films that use remote settings and social commentary to reflect power, privilege, and manipulation. All explore a central idea: exclusivity can be dangerous. The promise of "special access" hides a darker trap. But while those films maintain thematic control, Opus feels scattered. Where Get Out uses precision and The Menu bites with satire, Opus wanders. It tries to copy the homework but puts the answers in all the wrong places. Though ambition is there, and for a debut that matters.

Opus is an ambitious, flawed debut that dares to explore the uncomfortable truth behind our relationship with fame. What happens when admiration tips into obsessions? When art becomes gospel? When a fan become a follower? It's messy, it's inconsistent, but it sticks with you, especially in its closing: Ariel, now successful, on a book tour. Finally becoming the published writer she aspired to be. Has she escaped, or has she simply changed uniforms?

Fascinated by the intersection of the rich and danger? Read my review of Blink Twice - Zoe Kravitz's directorial debut that flips the Cinderella tale on its head and dives into the nightmare of elite escapism.

Looking for the darker side of fame and what one actor would do to stay under the Hollywood spotlight, read my review on another A24 hit - Maxxxine.

---

Behind the Scenes: A Masterclass in Method, Music, and Mood

There’s something deeply fascinating about watching a first-time director throw everything they’ve got into a film—and that’s exactly what Mark Anthony Green does with Opus. Known more for fashion and cultural commentary during his time at GQ, Green steps into the film world with surprising precision. Behind the scenes, what unfolds is a layered production built on control: visual control, sound control, and psychological control. Shot in the eerie stillness of the Utah desert, the crew built the compound almost entirely from scratch to create a world that feels both real and uncanny. Green worked closely with his DOP to lean into symmetry, wide framing, and lingering shots that trap the audience in the same unsettling grip that holds his characters.

John Malkovich, playing the god-like pop star Alfred Moretti, brought a level of dedication that borders on obsession—in the best way. Not only did he perform all of Moretti’s music himself, he actually recorded the tracks in character. The man didn’t just play a washed-up icon—he became one. The original music, composed by Nile Rodgers and The-Dream, isn’t just window dressing. It pulses with theatricality and arrogance, perfectly matched to Malkovich’s performance. On set, Malkovich reportedly stayed in character between takes, sometimes refusing to answer unless addressed as Alfred. It sounds dramatic, but it shows in the film. Every movement, every word, feels lived-in and slightly unhinged.

Then there’s the score—creepy, minimalist, and absolutely vital to the film’s atmosphere. Composers Danny Bensi and Saunder Jurriaans went full experimental here. They recorded reversed piano notes, metallic echoes, and ambient hums that sit just under your skin. What’s clever is how the score blends with the diegetic sound, like the repetitive opening of clamshells by the cult-like fans searching for pearls. There’s something ritualistic about it, both in the film and on set. The sound design doesn’t just set the mood, it is the mood. For film students and sound designers alike, it’s a strong case study in how score and story can reinforce each other without ever competing.

For anyone working in film—or just deeply in love with it—Opus is a brilliant behind-the-scenes study of vision and tone. It’s not perfect, but it’s bold. The production design, costuming, and sound all work together to build a world that feels oddly familiar yet entirely off-kilter. It shows how much can be achieved when every department is tuned into the same frequency. Green may still be finding his voice as a filmmaker, but his debut is packed with lessons in atmosphere, world-building, and how to coax out a performance that walks the line between brilliance and madness.