What Opus is REALLY about

Cult Leaders and Entertainers - different titles, same playbook

CAUTION: SPOILERS AHEAD

A24 strikes again with the subtle social commentary. Few movies peel back the curtain on entertainment culture as boldly as Opus. What seems like a straightforward exploration of an artist’s meteoric rise morphs into an unsettling critique of the world we live in - a world where fame, power, and influence are wielded with cult-like fervor.

Entertainment has a strange effect on us. We trust performers with an almost religious devotion, placing them on pedestals where normal rules of morality seem to bend. Scandals, betrayals, even blatant abuse of power - any entertainers manage to walk away unscathed. Why? Because the audience feels like they know them, like they have a personal stake in their rise and fall. It’s the same psychological phenomenon that allows cult leaders to maintain power despite glaring red flags. It’s why we don’t even question safety when in their presence; our defenses are down, lulled by the illusion of intimacy.

Opus is laden with “nods” to famous cult leaders, from Charles Manson (who was a musician and got his followers to commit murder with no remorse) to Jim Jones (who led a mass-suicide by poisoned Kool-Aid in Jonestown, NY), and the cult of other celebrities - Taylor Swift, Michael Jackson, Tom Cruise. The film showcases how artists cultivate unwavering loyalty by leveraging charm, artistry, and spectacle to mold their audiences into devotees. The protagonist's journey mirrors Julius Caesar’s - a figure whose charisma and genius made him indispensable until his ambition threatened the very system that empowered him. When Moretti let Ariel Ecton escape and be free but then write her book is another chilling reflection of this cycle: the moment someone breaks free, they become the storyteller, ensuring the legend persists. This is how cults, and Hollywood, continue their reign.

Hollywood and media are inextricably linked; one cannot survive without the other. Entertainers thrive off exposure, and the press thrives off spectacle - thus resulting in “freakshow effect” society is “entertained” by. Opus underscores this dynamic, which is known all too well by Director Mark Anthony Green, a former journalist at GQ, and Stephanie Shepard Suganami, once Kim Kardashian’s assistant, playing the role of influencer, Emily, in the film.

But media figures aren’t just observers; they’re participants. The film plays with the idea of journalists complicit in the spectacle they claim to report on. Even when they seek to expose the system, they inadvertently contribute to its mystique. The director depicted this by only inviting journalists, media personnel, and influencers to the Levelists’ compound/retreat and depicting them as rats in the children’s play about Billie Holiday while Moretti tells the story of the rise and fall of Julius Caesar.

One of the most chilling aspects of Opus is how it illustrates the strategic placement of loyalists in every facet of society - mirroring how cults operate. Whether in politics, fashion, social media, or entertainment, these individuals shape public perception, reinforcing the same ideology: that artists, as the ultimate conduits of divine inspiration, deserve to rule the world. This echoes the Jonestown massacre’s underlying philosophy: only a select group truly understands and should dictate reality.

The movie is applicable to more than just the cult of celebrity. Everything - from fandoms to political movements - operates like a cult. Tribalism runs rampant in all spheres of life, driven by the need to belong, to be on the right side of history, or simply to be part of something bigger than oneself. Opus’ Levelists’ beliefs suggest that we are all just vessels, filled with whatever doctrine our chosen leaders feed us.

And then there’s the ultimate question: if we deify entertainers, why wouldn’t we put one in the highest position of power? We’ve already seen this play out in real life, where celebrity and politics blur together, eroding traditional qualifications in favor of media mastery. Opus doesn’t just hint at this possibility—it declares it inevitable. If artistic perfection equates to godliness, then isn’t it only natural that the most talented among us should lead?

In the end, Opus isn’t just a film—it’s a mirror. It forces us to confront our blind reverence for celebrity, the ways we enable their power, and how, despite all warnings, the cycle continues. Whether it’s an entertainer, an influencer, or a politician, we keep creating figures to worship - and writing off any wrongdoings.