More people wrote about Megalopolis (2024) then actually saw it, or so it seems, and no wonder. Francis Ford Coppola’s long-gestating passion project, which he pursued with Quixotic zeal while plagued by controversies, distribution struggles, and funding issues, has finally seen the light of day. Given the perversity of its concept and approach, it’s not shocking that it has attracted almost zero audience. But the main problem is that for all its grand intentions, the film is a hot fucking mess.
How does one summarize the smeared pallette of this creation? It proclaims itself a fable, which seems accurate, and it’s laced with surreal fantastical elements and wacky science fictional concepts. Enter Laurence Fishburne to provide weighty narration that, along with History of the World: Part I title cards, renders the analogy explicit: Megalopolis is basically the collapse of the American experiment, considered as a tragic repeat of the fall of the Roman Empire. As such, it gleefully furnishes its contemporary U.S. setting with the the anachronistic tropes of historical Roman excess: elaborate circuses with chariot races, drug-addled bacchanals, back-stabbing political rivalries. Central to the action is Cesar Catilina (Adam Driver), the brilliant chief architect of “the Design Authority.” Cesar’s vision for a new society is powered by his invention “megalon,” and while his ideas have made him an enemy of the old guard — such as the mayor of New Rome, Franklyn Cicero (Giancarlo Esposito) — they have also wooed legions of excited followers. Among them is Cicero’s daughter Julia (Nathalie Emmanuel), who goes against her father’s wishes to become Cesar’s assistant, and eventually his lover. Their romance plays out against the backdrop of messy, elaborate political maneuverings as Cesar’s efforts to build an egalitarian megacity meet with opposition from the powerful, elite forces who have long benefited from the status quo, and have no interest in change.
There is something to the idea of Megalopolis. It’s a wild experiment with a bold aeshetic, and its allegorical angle might have worked with a more eloquent script and elegant structure. But erratic, off-putting execution sabotages the project, its narrative random and disjointed. It’s quite a feat, the way Coppola manages to make the film’s overarching metaphor so jaw-droppingly on the nose, even as the supporting details are so jarringly incoherent. Somehow, this makes the blatant political messaging both groaningly obvious and poorly articulated. In a roster of characters who feel more like symbolic stand-ins than people, it’s Driver’s Cesar who may be the most elusive; perhaps he is meant to be the empire’s Great White Hope, the savior who will rescue his land from dysfunction, but since he’s not especially impressive or sympathetic, he plays like one more problematic product of that same society. Elsewhere, Esposito represents dithering status quo government, Aubrey Plaza represents an eyeballs-driven media, Jon Voight sociopathic billionaire-level finance, and so forth. By the time Shia LaBeouf makes a speech atop a literal stump carved in the shape of a swastika — aha, here comes the emblem of deranged far-right populism — it almost feels like Coppola is punking us. Is he suggesting that America, like his film, is a chaotic, divided shitshow? Is that why he mixed liberal heart-throbs and canceled reactionary right-wingers in his film, to lob in a meta twist? Well, message received, if anyone still needed it. Unfortunately, for all the grandiose, admittedly eye-catching visuals, there isn’t much artistry on display.
That said, I didn’t hate it. Megalopolis is never uninteresting, and in its own reckless way, it swings for the fences, frequently whiffing but occasionally making the game worth watching. One has to conclude, however, that the director’s stubborn, extended persistence pursuing this impossible dream led to a tragically over-baked result.
