Opus

I kind of enjoyed it.

All is very much what it seems from another one of these all-is-not-what-it-seems thrillers — but there are fun, enjoyably unhinged performances from Edebiri and Malkovich.

This empty nonstory about a reclusive pop star played by John Malkovich is told through a series of deafening bum notes.

Opus proves a shakily paced and altogether hackneyed media satire spiked with wilful eccentricities (a puppet show about Billie Holiday, a yurt full of oysters).

It’s all very random and, in terms of its metaphorical intent, extremely strident, and eventually Green struggles to give Moretti an interesting motivation for his big return to the scene.

It has the “salient themes”: celebrity worship, the media, the rise in cult-like behaviours. But this is all superficial stuff. There’s not much about Opus, really, that fully convinces.

“Opus” says plenty but lacks the lasting impression necessary for its points to be decisive.

Green’s screenplay is too self-consciously contrived to be predictably unpredictable. Ultimately, we’ve heard this song too many times before.

Come to watch [Ayo] Edebiri remind us why we can’t quit her. Stay because you can see the traces of more interesting stories lying in wait behind the finished product.

Malkovich is on sinister "bad egg" autopilot as the supposedly charismatic musician, while the various media types in attendance are far too one-dimensional to care about.