To start this review, I want to address the “Don’t Worry About the Menu, Darling, Get Out!” phenomenon. While I can understand being annoyed about the recent uprise in “man vs. cult” films in modern horror, it’s not fair to use it as some sort of universal criticism to imply that any of these movies are inherently unoriginal or lesser for using one of the main seven types of conflict in literature (man vs. society), especially since it’s to the detriment of the genre’s broader history.
It’s especially frustrating because horror, more than many other genres, moves in cycles: paranoia-driven films like Invasion of the Body Snatchers (1956) flourished during the Cold War, vampire movies dominated the ‘80s in the shadow of the AIDS crisis, and The Blair Witch Project and The Ring embodied growing anxieties about technology in the early 2000s. Dismissing this ongoing trend of “man vs. cult” horror movies as nothing but an annoying trope and ignoring the cultural implications feels short-sighted; an individual fighting against a seemingly unstoppable group of brainwashed individuals reflect our contemporary anxieties about power imbalances, social control, politics, and systemic abuse.
It’s also hard to ignore that the films receiving the most dismissive criticism in this category tend to be directed by people of color. Where The Menu (dir. Mark Mylod) and Midsommar (dir. Ari Aster) were largely embraced despite releasing years after Get Out, Blink Twice (dir. Zoë Kravitz) and Opus (dir. Mark Anthony Green) are written off immediately, often before audiences even see them. The reason Get Out resonated like it did was because of its powerful themes about racism and white supremacy—completely recontextualizing the man vs. cult perspective—so to automatically dismiss other movies made and starring Black women feels like the very people complaining about these movies are completely missing the point of them.
To dismiss them all as repetitive is to ignore the way that each of those films recontextualizes those power dynamics to focus on different themes. The real question shouldn’t be whether these films resemble Get Out or The Menu, but whether they successfully innovate within their own thematic frameworks.
On its own, Opus is a film vying for a last minute twist, but in doing so, sacrifices the narrative and thematic integrity of the rest of its runtime.
It follows aspiring writer, Ariel (Ayo Edebiri), after she gets an invite to an exclusive listening party for the new album from elusive pop star Alfred Moretti (John Malkovich). She quickly picks up on the strange behavior of his cult-like following but struggles to convince the rest of the guests of her suspicions. While it flirts with biting satire, psychological horror, and dark comedy, it never quite finds a cohesive rhythm.
Ayo Edebiri definitely brought a lot of light to this movie, her charm carrying even some of the its more awkwardly written dialogue into jokes that actually land among audiences. I also particularly appreciated that her character was immediately tuned into the cult’s strange behaviors, even before arriving at Moretti's compound. Her everyman-style reactions were definitely the most consistently humorous part of the movie, but her varied strengths shined through in its thrilling moments. Her ability to carry a script, however, at times draws more attention to its weaknesses, especially with the serviceable but uninteresting performances from some of the others involved.
Beyond the performances, Opus bites off a lot in terms of themes: celebrity worship, artistic obsession, the dangers of blind admiration, cancel culture, and maybe even true crime. However, it doesn’t address any of them with any nuance until the film's final scenes. Where other movies in this subgenre rely on tension and a descent into madness, Opus makes no effort to conceal the cards in its hands.
This issue might not have affected the movie if it had a stronger script, but as it is, most of the reveals, deaths, and other plot beats are so unsurprising that when they actually happen, they feel unnecessarily drawn out. It doesn’t help that Ariel and Maretti are the only characters in the movie that are even slightly developed; the supporting characters are so oblivious that their behavior veers into absurdity, so frustrating and baffling that it undercuts any tension Opus attempts to build.
I’m not one for superficial comparisons between movies, but Opus does seem to borrow from both The Menu and Under the Silver Lake, with the same themes of sycophantic celebrity culture and the search for a fame-based conspiracy. However, it seems to fall apart in places where these movies showed their strengths.
The Menu made even its side characters feel human. While the majority of the plot and the screen time was given to Anya Taylor Joy’s Margot and Ralph Fiennes’ Chef Slowik, enough narrative care was given to the rest of the ensemble that their resignation to their own deaths made sense and was treated with the heaviness it deserves, even when it happened in such a bizarre fashion.
Opus treats its ensemble as disposable; they not only act as if they’re completely outside of reality, but their deaths are both predictable and random. In a story like this one, it’s clear that the rest of the guests are going to be picked off one by one, but these deaths happen at random sporadically and then all at once, shining a glaring light on the back-loaded pacing. It also makes the other characters feel like pure meat fodder instead of valuable players in the story, especially when the twist makes them feel even more useless than before.
Opus also shares Under the Silver Lake’s conspiracy-driven paranoia. Sam (Andrew Garfield) is investigating a mystery about a fame-themed conspiracy in Hollywood, down to paranoid theories about subliminal messages in music and/or the whole concept of pop stars being fake.
These themes about power and celebrities being “above” the average person permeate both movies, but where Silver Lake was layered in ambiguity and an eerie dream sort of logic, Opus is entirely too blunt. The vast majority of the movie is full of characters explaining their feelings and the meaning of the plot aloud for the audience instead of allowing them to meaningfully engage with it themselves until the very end. Even in the context of the cult, most of these situations come across as contrived and stilted rather than emerging naturally among the characters.
It seemed that Opus was a movie with an identity crisis, unsure if it wants to lean more into dark comedy or slasher horror, sweeping wide shots or zany editing. It isn’t committed to Ariel investigating the conspiracy or Moretti’s Tahani Al Jamil from The Good Place type of humor. The comedic timing is often off, deflating into awkwardness rather than enhancing absurdity, but any dread and tension from the horror side is quickly undercut by the wacky choices with editing and cinematography, distancing you from any building fear.
As it leans more into horror in the latter half of the movie, it becomes disappointingly predictable. Every major plot beat unfolds exactly as expected, and the supposed late-game “twist” is less of a shocking revelation and more of an excuse to patch up narrative weaknesses.
All in all, despite being a visually stylish and intermittently clever debut, it lacks the clarity and precision to stand out among all the great horror coming out this year. It feels unfocused, a collection of intriguing ideas that never fully come together. However, if you are an Ayo Edebiri fan, it is well worth it to watch just for her great performance (and beautiful wardrobe)!
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