Opus

It’s rare these days to see a truly rotten pairing of performer and role, but it is on display in A24’s Opus, a lousy movie in every respect, but worthy of a “what the hell were they thinking?” in its most grievous mistake.

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.

Overall, it's also meant to be a critique of what people will allow if it involves them being close or closer to a big-time celebrity. It could be an examination of sycophancy...

A film that wants to explore themes like celebrity worship, vulturous journalism, and the distortion of self through cults should say something about any of these subjects because, if you’re not attempting to convey a message, what exactly are you doing?

“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.