In Latest True Crime Fad, Thriller ‘Opus’ Presents A Shallow Portrait Of Cult Fascination
(REVIEW) The biggest pop star of the 1990s, Moretti — known for hits like “Dina Simone” — has been in retirement for almost 30 years. More than retired, he’s been radio silent, cut off from the world completely.
His return to the scene with new album “Cesar’s Request” is music history; there’s no other way to look at it. Moretti knows this, too, which is why he’s releasing the album at an exclusive launch party on his compound. From a young journalist’s perspective, being one of the six selected guests is an opportunity almost too good to be true — the chance of a lifetime to make career strides.
That’s all fictional, of course. Moretti — played by John Malkovich — is merely the antagonist of the new A24 cult thriller “Opus.”
Yep, cult: If words like “radio silent,” “compound” and “too good to be true” didn’t give it away. In the cult setting, “Opus” explores celebrity worship, creativity, culture as a mouthpiece of movements and the public fascination with true crime.
It explains all the reasons why we love consuming cult content — it’s just ultimately an unfulfilling watch on its own.
The young journalist Ariel Ecton (played by Ayo Edibiri) does view her exclusive (and unexpected) invitation to Moretti’s launch party as the opportunity of a lifetime; determined to prove herself to her editor, she’s a devoted reporter and notetaker. She begins learning about Moretti’s cult, who call themselves “Levelists,” at the first event of the weekend and, despite repeated insistence of their importance to the narrative of the weekend, is ignored by the rest of the guests — all of whom have more personal connections to Moretti’s past.
The Levelists, admittedly, have a really compelling cult mission statement: Not sex, drugs and rock and roll, but instead a devotion to creativity and the arts, of educating younger generations and encouraging artistic expression.
It makes it all the more disappointing that their execution on-screen is painfully lackluster, a mere amalgamation of traits that stereotypically appear cult-like.
In fact, the Levelists and “Opus” overall feel like a droll Mad Lib — if they made Mad Libs for cult stories. Every narrative beat is quirky for the sake of being quirky or, presumably, drawing an audience reaction: it’s revealed, for example, that Moretti has a preference for shaved pubic hair, standards he demands his guests follow. The cult’s most sinister insider practice is shelling oysters looking for pearls; members are required to do it, and they all bear scars on their hands as a result of accidents with the knife.
There are some pleasant aspects that make the movie worth sitting through: Malkovich is phenomenal as the aged, eccentric pop star, and the original music is catchy enough that it’s believable they were once at the top of the charts. His chemistry with Edibiri in their cat-and-mouse game of cult leader and young protégé is palpable, and with a better script they would have really been allowed to shine. It’s just too much of a slog otherwise.
The movie reeks of — and often has explicit references to — cults that have been explored in documentaries and other movies. It wants to be a trendier “Midsommar,” a modern-day Jonestown, a more bizarre Cult of Mother God. It doesn’t really achieve any of these things, too self-referential and confused to accomplish anything successfully.
The fact that there is such a jumbled mess of inspiration speaks, if anything, to the prolific nature of cults in modern media. They’re the latest true crime fad, the trendiest morbid hobby to pursue.
There’s nothing inherently wrong with that — I’m here writing about cults and cults as portrayed in entertainment, aren’t I? They’re an endlessly fascinating facet of culture and religion both, speaking both to the way we respond to power figures and the presence of community; additionally, there’s no true understanding of religion without understanding religion on the fringes.
It’s just clear that “Opus” is meant to represent what people at large think of cults at the present moment — and that paints a somewhat bleak picture.
Naturally, as the weekend on Moretti’s compound progresses, the invitees begin to mysteriously disappear — until, of course, the incredibly predictable “reveal” and subsequent chase and murder ritual. Ariel is the only survivor, and, seizing her opportunity, writes a best-selling book based on the experience. She sees Moretti once more after the events of the weekend, as he’s finally agreed to let her interview him in prison.
During their meeting, Moretti reveals that the cult is still alive and well, operating in plain sight everywhere that members have disappeared. The harsher blow, maybe, is this: Ariel’s book is helping spread the word of the Levelists and helping them recruit new members. Gasp.
It’s a contradictory presentation that ultimately proves no real knowledge of how cults work, attempting to combine the truths that these groups exist under the radar in plain sight and sensationalizing them often only gives them momentum to continue.
I hesitate to say that “Opus” sensationalizes cults, because it honestly doesn’t have anything sensational enough to be memorable. It does, however, present a shallow and silly story about what cults are and the harm they cause. It shows that the fascination with cults is surface level, for shock factor, when the reality should be much deeper.
Jillian Cheney is Religion Unplugged’s Senior Culture Correspondent. She writes about film, TV, music, art, books and more. Find her on Twitter @_jilliancheney.