Review: ‘Megalopolis’ is Puny in Scope and Dishearteningly Derivative

By Kayleigh Donaldson | Film | September 30, 2024 |

The chances are you’ve already formed a few opinions on Megalopolis before seeing it. Francis Ford Coppola’s long-gestating passion project has been the stuff of myth for decades, then it became a trainwreck-in-waiting thanks to endless speculation in the trades. Coppola started writing this film in 1983. He sold his vineyard to partially self-finance its production. He’s suing Variety after a blundered report accusing him of sexual harassment, but there’s also another woman who has accused him of being handsy on-set. Watching Megalopolis carries with it a lot of baggage, and you can practically hear critics straining under that weight in their reviews. One wishes it was for a film that was truly worth it.

New Rome is a grand American city that is half New York, half Rome of ancient times. Mayor Cicero (Giancarlo Esposito) is a skeptic of change, eager to bolster his dwindling popularity in the face of protests and petty power struggles. He directs most of his ire towards Cesar Catilina (Adam Driver), a hyper-ambitious architect who dreams of turning New Rome into his dream-like metropolis of the future, a place of hope and growth for all. Watching this battle ensue is a cavalcade of supporting players: Cicero’s daughter Julia (Nathalie Emmanuel), who goes to work for Cesar; bank owner Hamilton Crassus III (Jon Voight) who supports his nephew Cesar’s plans financially and societally; Crassus heir in waiting Clodio (Shia LaBeouf), who reinvents himself as a populist rabble-rouser; and Wow Platinum (Aubrey Plaza), a sultry Wall Street reporter with plans to move up the career ladder in record speed.

I wanted to admire Megalopolis more than I did. Coppola’s earnestness is evident, and his grand ideas for an optimistic future of artistic and societal evolution are certainly admirable. It’s rare to see someone with a truly utopian vision get to bring it to life on this scale in a film unconcerned with mass appeal. Hell, we don’t really get bloated vanity projects like this anymore, and frankly we’re poorer for it. But what we’ve ended up with is something so maddeningly incoherent that you’re left wondering what the point of it all was. Coppola is no stranger to overcrowded narratives or juggling massive ensembles. He’s done impeccable work with stories of feverish intensity that revel in technical experimentation, like Bram Stoker’s Dracula. Here, however, he seems lost, unconcerned with giving these characters anything of substance to say or do beyond portentous declarations. The ideas he espouses are smothered under a confusing execution, and the endless promises of the seductive but corrupting grandeur of New Rome seldom pay off.

For a film that claims to want an egalitarian future for the tired and unwashed masses, Megalopolis is enthralled by its elites. Cesar is a brilliant genius who will push through his plans at any cost, even if that means knocking down tens of thousands of people’s homes. Coppola has no interest or sympathy for these people, who are depicted in asides as angry protestors or easily brainwashed goons who fall for Clodio’s rants about making New Rome great again (yes, really.) All it takes is one semi-stirring speech for these people to change their mind.

It’s not simply that you never doubt the narrative’s conclusion; it’s that you’re never allowed to doubt Cesar himself. Yes, we all know he’s Coppola’s obvious stand-in, but stories of mad genius tend to work best when they face opposition with more force than ‘but change is bad, see?’ Any obstacle in his way is quickly disposed of or rendered pointless, and it weakens moments of potential thrill. In one scene, the flaming remnants of a Soviet satellite rain down over New Rome and destroy huge swaths of the city. We see dramatic silhouettes of residents in pain and shock, enlarged across the sides of skyscrapers like a shadow play. But we don’t see any real pain or consequences from this disaster. It just cuts to Cesar explaining how he can make everything better again. F**k the poor, I suppose.

Coppola’s thematic scope is limited, but so is his visual one. New Rome is largely just New York. The Chrysler building gets more screen-time here than about 40% of the cast. Flourishes of Roman aesthetic pop up here and there (often in cheap-looking CGI) but not enough to create a sense of this city being something of an alternate timeline as the set-up promises. One welcome exception comes with a grand party, complete with chariot races and a popstar version of a vestal virgin. It’s pompous, decadent, and creates a believable world with parallels between classic and modern. Outside of that, however, there’s a disheartening sameness to Megalopolis. Even Cesar’s experimental city of tomorrow looks derivative, the stuff of many a ’90s sci-fi novel cover but the colour palette of a perfume ad.

It’s clear that Coppola was more interested in his ideas than his actors, which leaves us with a film where every performance feels like it was intended for a totally different project. Adam Driver, one of our most reliably charismatic actors, struggles with the duff dialogue and deified character. Nathalie Emmanuel is saddled with the bland love interest role and has no idea what to do with it. Shia LaBeouf is embarrassing. Jon Voight is mugging for the cheap seats. Only Laurence Fishburne can make this script sing, and at least Aubrey Plaza is having fun vamping it up Janet Snakehole-style with a staggeringly sexist character. Wow Platinum desires power largely to screw over her former lover Cesar, because women be evil, right? There are some characters that I swear Coppola just forgets about, like Dustin Hoffman’s political fixer (at least that’s what I think he was. He really didn’t get much to do.)

Also, Cesar can stop time. I feel like I need to mention that here. How does it do it? Don’t expect answers from Megalopolis. We’re told this film is a fable but that feels like a cheap excuse to wave away its illogicality and its mess of script.

Clearly, Francis Ford Coppola made the movie he wanted to. He put tens of millions of dollars of his own money into bringing to life that which nobody wanted to make. That’s a nervy move, but for him to do all of that for something so lifeless and derivative is a shame. This film needed the Coppola of The Godfather and Bram Stoker’s Dracula or even the Coppola of One From the Heart, the man who was known for bringing clarity to chaos. In Megalopolis, he seems lost but refuses to ask for directions.