The only mildly enjoyable aspect of Opus is Ayo Edebiri, who blends her The Bear persona with a hint of “final girl in a horror movie” energy, never taking herself too seriously. Even in a performance that stays well within her comfort zone, she’s far more engaging than anything else happening in the film. The rest is an unoriginal, unfunny, and utterly unsuspenseful mash-up of Blink Twice, The Menu, Rock of Ages, and Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, with John Malkovich delivering a performance so embarrassingly over-the-top it reaches Nicolas Cage in a bad movie levels of cringe.
Edebiri plays Ariel, a sharp reporter clearly smarter than the men she works for. She’s invited by Alfred Moretti, a globally famous musician who vanished from the public eye 30 years ago, along with her boss and a group of forgettable side characters, to hear his long-awaited new recordings. Once inside Moretti’s compound, the group learns more about the enigmatic musician while strange things begin happening.
The premise itself isn’t bad—far from original, but still workable. The idea of an eccentric, out-of-touch genius, revered by all but disconnected from reality, has potential. Opus flirts with a thematic comparison between celebrity and cult leadership, but don’t expect any sharp insights. The film never really commits to its ideas in a meaningful way.
And what about the music, you ask? Well, there’s a decent early song that establishes Moretti’s lingering popularity among audiences (“Dina Simone”). But his big new song is excruciatingly bad. Whether intentional or not, it’s painful to sit through, and Malkovich’s performance reaches its lowest point here. Not quite as embarrassing, but still misguided, is an overly long monologue about Chuck Norris killing flies—one of several moments where the film seems convinced it’s far cleverer than it actually is.
None of that would be a dealbreaker if the film delivered on its suspense. But when it comes to actual tension, scares, and creative deaths, Opus is a no-show. The film barely establishes who in the group is left standing and who’s been eliminated, and when something does happen, it’s never executed with the impact required for this genre. Worst of all, there’s never a moment where we actually fear for the characters.
By the end, there’s a passable twist, but the motivations behind it are laughably simplistic. There are a few small world-building touches that work—like the explanation for why certain characters have scars on their hands—but nothing that lingers if you’ve seen similar films before.
Opus had the potential to be an eerie, sharp satire of celebrity worship or at least a stylish thriller, but it never commits to anything beyond surface-level theatrics. Instead, it meanders through weak tension, uninspired horror elements, and a script that mistakes indulgence for depth. Ayo Edebiri does what she can with the material, but even she can’t elevate something this dull and directionless. And as for Malkovich, his performance isn’t that of an enigmatic genius but an actor lost in his own eccentricity.
A thriller that fails to thrill? Opus perditum!