Fame is a fickle beast, and one that is truly impossible to tame. Once someone has lived inside the spotlight, it is often difficult to escape – you either remain a celebrated and beloved (or perhaps even controversial) public figure, or are viewed as being formerly at the peak of your popularity, a shadow of your former self that has receded from the public eye, but yet still remain a notable figure, usually for reasons many would prefer to ignore. As Andy Warhol famously quipped, we are all going to have our fifteen minutes of fame – but it’s those that come after that are usually most intriguing. This is a subject that is covered extensively in Opus, in which Mark Anthony Green (making his directorial debut) introduces us to Alfred Moretti, who we are told was the biggest pop star of his generation, but who disappeared from the public eye for three decades before finally re-emerging with a new album, which he invites a select group of journalists and media personalities to experience first through the form of an all-inclusive weekend at his remote compound in Utah. Amongst them is Ariel, a quiet young writer who is bewildered that she is selected to attend such a prestigious event (considering she has not made much of an impression in terms of her own career yet) – but once she arrives, she immediately begins to notice something is amiss, especially when it becomes increasingly clear that Moretti is involved in practices that far exceed simply making music. A film that takes quite a daring approach to a common subject, albeit in a way that certainly could have benefitted from a few editorial decisions relating to its core themes and how they manifest, Opus is certainly a fascinating work, taking on some broadly intimidating themes in a way that does imply some kind of originality was behind its creation, which does create quite a daring examination of concepts with which we are all familiar, becoming a film that takes aim at society through some harsh but insightful satirical jabs, blurring the boundaries between genres and becoming deeply compelling in surprising and insightful ways.

For about as long as we have maintained the concept of celebrity, in which certain members of society are positioned as perpetually in the public eye, we have told stories about fame, either broad celebrations of the luxurious lives of those who achieve wealth and influence, or cautionary tales of the challenges that come with consistently living in the spotlight, where every movement, word and decision is heavily scrutinised and subjected to analysis by those who are certainly not in any position to make such judgements. Opus is a film that centres squarely on these ideas – perhaps to the point where it actually becomes slightly detrimental, but we’ll discuss that in due course – through following the relationship between a young, inexperienced journalist and the world-renowned musicians, becoming a pawn to assert his own anger and frustration with those who have made it their life’s vocation to curate the idea of celebrity, determining what counts as success and acclaim and essentially being the ultimate adjudicators of fame. The ideas at the heart of this film are fascinating but still very obvious, and we find that Green has a clear image of what he intends to say – whether or not it all comes across entirely effectively is a matter of personal opinion. The film itself is certainly fascinating – structured as a darkly comedic psychological thriller that quickly descends into a violent horror film in its final act, it draws on many genre-based elements to tell its story, using familiar themes to explore the relationship between artists and those who follow them, through an often brutal take-down of the people who exist in the middle, the public figures who have built their entire careers of the creativity and artistic pursuits of others. The film contains some fascinating observations (and is extremely well-made, with Green clearly being a much better visual stylist and curator of tone than he is a writer), and joins a lengthy set of films that tackle the subject of fame with a keen, satirical perspective and some very intriguing ideas that are almost too good to be contained in a film that is often slightly too one-dimensional and limited to be effective.

My reservations on Opus are quite clear, and one of the most frustrating aspects of this film is that it is burdened with some genuinely fantastic elements that are entirely mishandled, which is in many ways more troubling than a film that is simply poorly made across the board. The primary merit of this film, and perhaps the only reason to watch it, comes in the form of John Malkovich, whose deranged performance as the enigmatic musician who stands at the heart of this film is amongst his greatest work to date. There is nothing quite as disorienting as an extraordinary, generational performance being contained in a film that is mildly amusing at best, and credit has to go to Malkovich himself more than anyone else, since it is his commitment to the material that makes the performance so incredible. He’s a peculiar choice, considering he has not previously played this kind of archetype in the past, with very few of us ever expecting him to so effectively capture the spirit of this character, a blend of several of the most influential musicians in history, which he does through finding a unique approach to defining the character and bringing him to life with the precise kind of madcap intensity we’ve grown accustomed to seeing from him as an actor. Unfortunately, despite being central to the story, Malkovich is still a supporting player, with the focus being on the character played by Ayo Edebiri, who is a gifted actor but someone who has not quite been able to find her niche, especially as a dramatic performer. While performances in The Bear and The Sweet East do indicate that she’s got the skill to handle more weighty material, they do tend to draw on her inherent eccentricities, which are entirely extinguished in this film, which ultimately doesn’t quite know how to use her to the extent of her abilities, and simply does not present her as being particularly memorable or interesting. The rest of the cast (consisting of actors like Murray Bartlett, Juliette Lewis and Amber Midthunder) are nothing more than plot devices, and don’t add much to the film, making it a wasted opportunity to highlight its ensemble, which had the potential to be the strongest and most memorable element of this entire film.

To its credit, Opus is a film that wears its heart on its sleeve and ensures that the viewer is entirely aware of what it is aiming to say. Green leaves very little room for ambiguity, which would be worth celebrating had the surrounding film not been so outrageously obvious in its message – from a contemporary perspective, there shouldn’t need to be films entirely constructed around the conflict between artists and the media, since this is a subject that has already been discussed extensively and often with much more precision than we find here. Whether or not the director thought he was creating something entirely original or instead simply adding his perspective remains to be seen, but there are moments in Opus where we have to question the effectiveness of its premise, particularly in the final act. The film starts well (we can ignore some of the more blatant lapses in logic, such as the lack of explanation as to why the protagonist would be one of only six people globally invited to attend this event, especially when her editor from the same publication is also present), and builds to quite a tense climax before simply falling apart, becoming incoherent by the time we are given the explanation for the events. Very rarely have we seen a film that squanders its potential so massively that turning it off before the third act would actually be an ideal scenario, since the final portions of the film lack any consistency and are the product of someone who had a good idea, but lacked the ability to tie everything together neatly. It doesn’t help that the film is tonally quite challenged, never quite achieving the kind of consistency that we would expect, and ultimately being quite one-dimensional in terms of how it follows through on its core ideas, becoming mostly quite limited and never knowing the right approach to deconstructing its fundamental themes beyond the most obvious, heavy-handed commentary we could ever imagine. Opus is certainly not a film that needed to be this overwrought, especially considering it had more than enough potential to achieve greatness without relying on a message that weighs the entire project down.

The irony of writing a review of a film like Opus, in which the central theme is about the tensions between critics and artists (and how their contentious relationship is often perceived as stifling creativity and normalising conformity) is certainly not lost on me, especially considering it is slightly more critical of the film and its core ideas. Yet, it is ultimately a work that takes some very bold swings and has a fascinating approach, only faltering in certain areas that could have easily been resolved through a few small but essential rewrites and a slightly more concise approach. This is not a bad film – the worst we can truly say about it is that its dull, and that it has an ending that feels like a cheap attempt to resolve a story that actually could have been left ambiguous and still be viewed as mostly quite effective and engaging without needing to make such broad, unnecessary allusions. As a whole, Opus is a solid film with good ideas that falls apart when it comes to the execution, which is not at all strong enough to match the ambition with which this film is presented. It has promising ideas and it is entertaining enough – but outside of Malkovich’s monumental performance (it is such a terrific reminder of his skills, and makes us wish more directors would make use of him in such abstract, unconventional roles), it just doesn’t stir too much enthusiasm, being reliable more than it is innovative, when the latter was within reach and could have been achieved with only slightly more attention to detail and the willingness to take a few more risks, which is the primary reason Opus never quite achieves the brilliance it was fervently seeking, being a solidly entertaining thriller more than the scathing, cutting-edge satire it was aiming to become in the process.