Megalopolis (2024)
Francis Ford Coppola’s long-awaited passion project Megalopolis finally hits the screens, but boy, does it land with a thud. Set in a futuristic New York-esque metropolis called New Rome, the film follows visionary architect Cesar (Adam Driver) as he clashes with the conservative Mayor Cicero (Giancarlo Esposito) over the city’s future. Throw in a love story with the mayor’s daughter Julia (Nathalie Emmanuel), and you’ve got the makings of an epic. Or so one would think.
Let’s cut to the chase: Megalopolis is a burning mess. It’s as if Coppola, in his quest to create something groundbreaking, forgot the basics of storytelling. The plot, if you can call it that, is a labyrinthine jumble of ideas that never quite coalesce. One minute we’re deep in urban planning debates, the next we’re watching Cesar inexplicably stop time. It’s enough to give you whiplash.
Driver, usually a powerhouse, seems lost at sea here. His Cesar is meant to be a brilliant dreamer but comes across as a pompous bore. Emmanuel fares slightly better, bringing some warmth to Julia, but she’s fighting an uphill battle against the clunky dialogue. Esposito, bless him, tries his best to inject some gravitas into Mayor Cicero, but even he can’t save this sinking ship.
The film’s visual style is, well, something. Coppola’s New Rome is a hodgepodge of futuristic elements and classical architecture that never quite gel. The CGI is surprisingly subpar for a project of this scale, with some scenes looking more like a video game cutscene than a big-budget film. There are moments of visual splendour—a sequence in the “Urban Purgatory of Injustice” stands out—but they’re few and far between.
Thematically, Megalopolis bites off way more than it can chew. It wants to tackle urban planning, political corruption, technological progress, and the human cost of utopian dreams. Noble intentions, sure, but the execution is about as subtle as a sledgehammer. The film’s attempts at allegory often veer into the realm of the painfully obvious.
The pacing is all over the place, alternating between frenetic info-dumps and glacial philosophical musings. The editing doesn’t help, with scenes often feeling disconnected or abruptly cut short. As for the dialogue, well, let’s just say it’s not Coppola’s finest hour. Characters spout pseudo-profound platitudes that sound more like fortune cookie wisdom than actual human speech.
To give credit where it’s due, the film’s score is actually quite good—an electronic odyssey that pulses with energy. If only the rest of the film could match its vitality.
Look, I get it. Coppola’s trying to bat for a six, and there’s something admirable about that. But ambition without execution is just hot air, and Megalopolis has enough of that to float a gigantic advertising blimp. It’s a film that’s simultaneously overstuffed and underdeveloped, a cinematic paradox that’s more frustrating than fascinating.
In the end, Megalopolis feels like a relic of a bygone era, a passion project that might have worked decades ago but now comes across as hopelessly out of touch. It’s a shame, really. Coppola’s given us some of cinema’s greatest masterpieces, but this isn’t one of them. Not by a long shot.
For die-hard Coppola fans or those curious about cinematic train wrecks, Megalopolis might be worth a watch. For everyone else, you’re better off revisiting The Godfather or Apocalypse Now. Sometimes, the classics are classic for a reason.