Sometimes calling a movie “good” or “bad” doesn’t feel appropriate. Certain films just don’t fit such binaries. Francis Ford Coppola’s long-awaited Megalopolis is one of those movies, a picture with all the highs and lows of a rambling fever dream.
It is all over the place. One minute, it’s a glorious testament to the human imagination, and the next minute, there’s the comedic pleasure of Jon Voight playing Jon Voight (I kid, I kid—he’s kind of great in the movie).
Some will rightfully say this whiplash makes the movie a mess. In my eyes, the jumbled tones, visions, and thoughts make it a tangible dream from Coppola, flaws and all. Forget boundaries, the norm, good or bad taste. It’s chaos, not a mess.
These are the times we are living in, and Coppola simply reflects that with one bizarre choice after another. We are bombarded all day with the failings of the world, our leaders, our dreamers, all of it expressed to us at 200 mph. It’s sometimes an intensely overwhelming feeling of confusion and disorientation that Coppola’s operatic vision nails. It’s all too much—the characters, the story, the plot, the drama, and the fantastic gags—but that’s the point.
Megalopolis gains a sense of peace and calm, narratively speaking, only in the last twenty minutes or so of the journey. This happens when hope wins. Empathy, kindness, and real vision—not money—succeed in shaping our future. Idealistic, sure, but that’s what’s so endearing about the finale of the film.
Coppola pleads for a brighter future, again and again. There’s a desperate, painful yearning for better days in Megalopolis that’s inspiring and heartbreaking. Confounding too, but Coppola’s dream for the children of the world is beautiful. This man is screaming his heart out on screen, his anger and hopefulness tangible in every perfect and imperfect frame.
There’s genuine magic happening in Megalopolis. There are some genuinely spectacular, practical sights steeped in cinema’s past to show one man’s hope for the future. Coppola hasn’t lost his sense of awe. If anything, it’s only increased, which is, love or hate Megalopolis, inspiring. At this stage in his career, he still sees beauty in humanity and the world, even when both lose their ways.
Through the rubble and loss—something Coppola is deeply familiar with—lies inspiration. Again, he’s not subtle about it, but why should he be? These ain’t subtle times. In the case of Megalopolis, yes please, shout away. The film stumbles, rambles, and flails and fails, like drunk Caesar (Adam Driver) at the big party, but it’s all done with such grandiosity, optimism, and style. Even the failures are beautiful in Megalopolis.
Megalopolis is now playing in theaters.
