Opus & Spun: a GOOD FRIDAY

Christ on his way, y'all

Apr 19, 2025

April 18, 2025

I just woke up tired. And the first thing on my mind was the opening lyrics to Les Fleurs sung by Minnie Riperton. I don’t know why—it’s just been in my head. That, and the recent Frank Ocean teaser where he says, “I read your diary every night.” I like shit like that. Neurodivergent love. Cause yeah, fuck it—I’d be honored if someone read my words every night or wore me to the fair.

Right now, though? I’m just tired.

Usually I reserve the deep cuts and sloppy writing for my journal, but I’ll bite. I started the week chill, then Monday night had a family emergency and found myself at a hospital I’d never been to. It’s funny—after all these years dealing with my mom’s health, there still ain’t a hospital that doesn’t make me wanna hurl. The fucking smell. I do my best not to show it, though. Shit could always be worse. I could be more than just visiting.

That night, I witnessed something I never had before: someone die. Not someone I knew, so I have no claim to the pain that comes with that kind of loss. But as I stood in that hallway—the only nigga not related to them or working there—I just kept thinking. I tried not to look. Shit already bad enough, you don’t need some stranger watching your grief unfold. You know what—I was gonna write more, but nah. Monday was Monday.

Yesterday, though, I finally watched Opus. I think it was the last showing in NYC, and at a theater I’d never been to, which hasn’t happened in a minute. I thought it was gonna be scary. It wasn’t. It was random, laugh-inducing what-the-fuckery—but not scary.

I took notes (they’re in my photo dump below if you’re curious), but my main takeaways were:

Ayo’s hair: sheesh.
That Julius Caesar fun fact? Adding it to my mental rolodex.

Ayo is relatable in a fellow Black film-nerd with an affinity for button downs kind of way, but damn, ma. The scene where she’s in the yellow dress with the blue Prada toes and pube dust? Mmmhmmm. Matter fact, shootouts to wardrobe. Having her survive in a Radiohead tee after being held captive by a self-absorbed musician with a cult following? Funny.

There were a couple easter eggs. Actually, I don’t even want to call them easter eggs—it was just folks doing their jobs. And those who peeped, peeped:

The wallpaper had little swastikas nod to the cult of nazism.
The line about the kids being the future was almost bar-for-bar from Mein Kampf.
Cyanide mention? Nod to Jim Jones.
The use of natives in the cult? Very “colonizer prey on the land they settle” vibes. Again, Jonestown.
And the most obvious nod: casting Kim K’s ex-assistant, Stephanie. I know she was a riot on set.

I fucked with Opus, even though it felt underwhelming at first. The puppet show could’ve hit harder. But I loved that he picked her because of the way she wrote about a chin. That’s the best part of being a writer—getting to describe a chin in a way only you can, because of how that chin makes you feel. That kind of passion probably made him think, “Yeah, this the one. This the one I want to see us shucking oysters in a yellow tent to the point of bleeding. She’ll tell the story right—whether she understands it or not.”

Good shit, Opus. But it wasn’t the best thing I saw this week.

That honor goes to Spun.

Really fucking good. Way better than expected—even though I didn’t expect shit going in. I don’t even know how to get into it but yeah…fuck yeah. More movies like that, and less of this “take a group of people to the middle of nowhere and make them suffer at the hands of a cult leader” shit.

Oh! And more movies like As Above, So Below (2014), cause yeah.

What made Spun even cooler? Each main character had their own logo/typeface. Fuck yeah ×2. The soundtrack was cool too.

The third movie I watched was Confessions of a Teenage Drama Queen. Need I say more? Classic.

I counted five times Lumidee’s “Uh Oh” dropped in a scene—each time Megan Fox and her cool girl posse showed up. This movie was my shitttt growing up. Lowkey part of the reason I think you need a little bit of delusion in everything you do.

Funny thing? Both of those movies—Spun and Drama Queen—are rated under 40% on Rotten Tomatoes. Niggas hate performance art. They ain’t got no freak geeks on payroll. Honestly, they should make a “40% and Under” category. Watch it be nothing but bangers. Shit always hits when it’s weird, quirky, or “too much.”

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Next week is my cousin’s birthday—she’s been in her bag. When it hits midnight, I’m calling to serenade her with Superhuman by Chris Brown & Keri Hilson. She’ll get it. Performance art.

This post’s been up and down like a sine curve, so in true form, I’m gonna pivot again and say what I’ve been telling myself all week, if not longer: Pain visits, but joy returns. Sit with both. It’ll help you walk the line the wave sits on, instead of getting caught in the wave itself.

Without further ado, here’s this week’s music video. This one’s for Ayo. And that yellow dress. I, too, am tired of using technology.