Opus

Or: Find the Pearl

What would it take, dear reader, to tempt you into a desert compound, into an isolated community with peculiar practices, a group color scheme, and a somewhat fanatical devotion to a single messianic figure. Quiet a bit, right? Still for journalist, Ariel Ecton (Ayo Edebiri) gamely enters the isolated country of the Levelists, a community dedicate4d to creativity, for a chance to meet Alfred Moretti (John Malkovich) a reclusive musical icon, who has invited her to the release party to his first album in 27 years.

To be sure, Ariel is not chasing Moretti himself (who seems to have inspire fanaticism even before he fell in with the cultist) but rather the idea of fame, and a chance to make her own name. Unfortunately her chance at stardom is usurped by her boss Stan (Murray Bartlett) who is more interested in schmoozing with the other invitees. Fortunately (or perhaps very unfortunately) Moretti seems to have big plans for her as he prepares to set his mark upon the world.

Ariel is the ideal character to follow in a horror film. Edebiri’s gift for expressions mirror our own perplexmxent and horror as the Levelers plan unfolds, and she makes all the right moves in trying to dig to the bottom of the weekend and avoid the constant threat of her “24 Hour Concierge” Belle ( the marvelously intimidating Amber Midthunder). Malkovich’s Moretti is inscrutable, a constant showman (Tim Curry would have captured the flare better, but would have been entirely too lovable) whose rambling monologues and strange dances are laughable. The actor is having a ball with the rock star, but what menace he exudes is largely up to his setting and his backup. A far more compelling character is Soledad Yusef (Tony Hale), Moretti’s publicist, who only appears for five minutes but gets the most laughs.

It’s the cult itself who present a more compelling villain. You might even start to be drawn in to their zany philosophy before being helpfully reminded that, oh yes, they kill people. And have a weird fascination with pubic hair (which, honestly, is more off-putting). The attendant gore (stabbings, severings, and, worst of all, swellings) is a tad much, and nothing so close to disturbing as the oyster ceremony, or the weird radiance that lights in the eyes of Moretti’s beholders. It’s common enough now to say you’d die for your favorite celebrity, how far of a step is it to kill for them?