Opus Was Underrated
The 2025 thriller Opus, directed by Mark Anthony Green, follows Ariel, an up-and-coming journalist who gets invited to cover a long-anticipated performance by legendary pop artist Alfred Moretti. The performance is slated to be Moretti’s first public appearance in 30 years after going completely off the grid at the height of his fame. In celebration of his big debut, Moretti invites a select group of reporters and influencers—Ariel among them—to attend a retreat at his private compound.
The retreat, complete with workshops, meditations, spa treatments, and wardrobe fittings, is as lavish as it is mysterious. But while the other guests seem unconcerned with the cult-like customs and rituals they are compelled to participate in, Ariel quickly realizes something is not right about the place and that Moretti is more than just a run-of-the-mill Hollywood pop star. As more and more unsettling occurrences take place in the compound, Ariel must make her escape before it’s too late.
The film was met with swift backlash from audiences and critics alike, ringing in at a disappointing 39 percent on Rotten Tomatoes. I generally avoid checking reviews until I’ve already watched a movie myself. And good thing I did. At 39 percent, I probably would have steered clear of Opus (although my appreciation for Ayo Edebiri might have been enough to convince me to watch anyway despite the poor reception).
So, why all the hate for Opus?
Before I get into the negative reviews, let me make my own case for why this film was a fun summer watch and why it deserves more credit than it’s getting.
From the very beginning, the cinematography is impressive. The opening credits show a series of people dancing in slow motion as if at a concert, but they are each shown individually in front of a black background, accompanied only by a pensive rock ballad. The expressions on each of their faces betray a trance-like state of wonder, or perhaps involuntary hypnosis. The way the dancers appear on screen one by one, and the bright light contrasting with the inky black darkness behind them, immediately sets a mysterious tone.
We then meet Ariel, a 27-year-old writer for an entertainment magazine. I felt a kinship with Ariel right away. As a writer myself, and perhaps the last millennial still dreaming of a career in print media, dropping into Ariel’s character and living vicariously through her for an hour and 47 minutes was a cathartic experience.
We also get a quick appearance from Young Mazino as Ariel’s platonic-ish friend Kent. I really liked the constructive criticism he gives Ariel on how to approach her writing career, and I haven’t stopped thinking about it since watching the film:
“Your problem is that you’re middle. Which is okay. Most people are. But it’s experience that gives people perspective, and it’s perspective that gives opinions their value, and yours is middle as fuck.”
Opus offers a glimpse at what it’s like to live life as a young female writer struggling to make her mark in a male-dominated field. Despite her fresh ideas and can-do attitude, Ariel is constantly undermined by her older male boss. During one scene, she pitches a story idea to her team. Her boss enthusiastically praises the pitch but then immediately assigns the story to another male writer.
Gender politics aside, the film is full of stunning visual imagery, from the exterior landscapes of Moretti’s sprawling compound to the rich colors and patterns in the textiles and interior design of the set. Most of the film’s outdoor scenes were shot in rural New Mexico, lending to the remote desert aesthetic that perfectly underscores both the physical and spiritual isolation of the property from the rest of civilization.
One of the first indications that something is off at the compound is the First Roll tradition at the welcome dinner. One by one, the guests each take a single bite of a large dinner roll, then pass it down to the person next to them until everyone has taken a bite. Ariel is visibly offput by the ritual while everyone else goes along with it. This and other scenes accentuate Ariel’s status as an outsider among the other journalists and influencers. She is uncorrupted by the years of experience and reputational clout possessed by her colleagues.
This is also Ariel’s first formal introduction to the spiritual identity shared by Moretti and his followers, who call themselves Levelists. One of the leaders describes the religion as “the one and only holistic path to prevent the obstruction of creativity and ensure the protection of those divinely burdened to wield it.”
Ariel is later introduced to Moretti himself, and when she asks him to tell her about the beliefs of the Levelists, he takes her to a tent where a man is feverishly slicing oyster shells open with a sharp knife in search of pearls. Moretti explains how this ritual reinforces their fundamental belief system:
“The Meditations of Level teaches us that the worth of a single pearl surpasses the value of all empty shells, and that balance, true balance, exists not in the notion that all things are equal, but in the realization that all things are not equal.”
The metaphor of the oyster shells feels strikingly relevant in modern America, where leaders on the right have propagated the idea that Democrats are NPCs (Non-Playable Characters) and essentially the equivalent of empty shells. But with that being said, I don’t think Opus promotes any kind of partisan agenda.
Right before shit hits the fan, the kids of the compound put on a puppet show called The Tragedy of Billie. It’s a commentary on Billie Holiday’s career and the media’s role in undermining her art and tainting her legacy. The puppet show perfectly underscores the film’s broader objective of condemning the media for criticizing art and thereby silencing its creators, who Moretti perceives as being endowed with a divine mandate.
Opus is an indictment of the media as the antithesis of creative expression. So it’s ironic, though perhaps to be expected, that the media didn’t have the nicest things to say about it. If there’s one common thread among critical reviews, it’s that the movie can’t decide what it’s about. I disagree, and the reviews leave me wondering: did these critics even watch all the way to the end?
In the film’s final scene, Ariel visits Moretti in prison, where he is serving his sentence for the murders he was convicted of. Ariel, now a best-selling author of a book about her encounter with the Levelists, discovers that her breakout success as an author was all part of Moretti’s plan and that she played right into his hands. Moretti explains that he needed someone like Ariel, someone with journalistic talent but still uncorrupted by the culture of the media, to serve as their vessel.
Moretti: “You should know your masterpiece, Ariel, is also the introduction to our story.”
Ariel: “No one will condone murder.”
Moretti: “But if it’s scandalous enough, they’ll never stop talking about it.”
On its face, Moretti’s final statement might read as hypocritical. But Moretti’s ultimate measure of divinity is creativity. The Levelists’ belief system is not about love or saving lives or anything like that. The journalists he killed were the antagonists in his version of the story, and they got the punishment he thought they deserved. You could even take it a step futher and say that they were complicit in creating a culture that is defined by the media’s storytelling, and now Moretti is hijacking that system for his own gain.
Every good villain has an Achilles heel, and Moretti’s is his vanity. He admits that the other reason he selected Ariel to be the unwitting messenger of the Levelists—apart from her uncorrupted nature—is because he knew she would portray him in a flattering light.
If there’s one thing about the film that didn’t quite work for me, it was Moretti’s portrayal as some sort of sex god. On one hand, I get why they made that creative choice. It’s salacious. It adds to the general sense of debauchery and extravagance among the rich and famous, and it’s another mechanism by which Moretti exercises his power as a cult leader.
John Malkovich is 71 years old, after all, and while he appears to be in great shape for his age, it’s hard to square the circle of someone in that decade of life as the ubiquitous sex symbol the film’s creators intended him to be. In one scene, Moretti performs a percussive electropop song with sexually explicit lyrics at the retreat and the women are all losing their minds over him in a lustful hysteria. Frankly, I didn’t buy it.
Apart from that, Opus was a fun movie, just scary enough to qualify as a horror and relevant enough to give us something to talk about. Maybe we’re doing exactly what the Levelists wanted us to do.
