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The best way to summarize Francis Ford Coppola’s two-hour, 13-minute and 18-second-long golden-tinted outdated turd of $120 million is by simply saying “It’s just ‘Atlas Shrugged.’” I have never seen such an unnecessary film (aside from “Joker 2”) of such lofty visions and scope yet so little to say and so little to back it. This was clearly Coppola’s last push as a filmmaker and, honestly, I wish he kept his $120 million.
“Megalopolis” is about changes in society and the visions of great men. Or at least it’s supposed to be; that would be the case if it didn’t wander off on side plots every few seconds. Enter the character Catalina Cesar, played by Adam Driver, who is a clear reference to two major revolutionary figures in Roman history: Cataline and Julius Caesar, both of whom rebelled against the system they were in. Cataline rebelled to create a new management under his rule; Caesar, ostensibly, rebelled to protect his legal rights, but also to cement his position from an increasingly fractured and hostile Roman Republic. Facing Driver’s Cesar is Giancarlo Esposito’s Franklin Cicero, another unsubtle nod to Roman history — this time referencing Cicero, the orator who stood in both Cataline’s and Caesar’s paths. Esposito’s Cicero, however, can barely even give a friendly wave to the masses whenever he appears before being pelted with jeers and boos. This is not a film about the struggles of two visions and how a good verbal performance can convince the masses, as it seems the audience is meant to think; this is a journey-less plot where Driver’s character already motivates so many of New Rome’s population while Esposito’s Cicero basically flails in the wind, hated by all. Did I mention they’re not in New York, but “New Rome?” Because America is Rome, says the introductory exposition.
Anyways, this film tries to hammer in that Cicero is the face of the old guard, a society of hedonism and luxury contrasted with injustice and decay in the less affluent areas. Cesar, meanwhile, depicts a contrasting idea: Megalopolis, a (stereotypical, futurist, seemingly AI-generated) utopia where everyone would be enlightened, cared for and hard-working, designed by Cesar’s great and never-ending transcendentalist vision. He has time-stopping powers, too, although the movie seems to forget about this the moment the concept is introduced.
The society portrayed before the movie’s conclusion is a combination of the most glamorous aspects of the Roaring ‘20s, contemporary society and some of Rome’s high society — dazzling, flashy, hedonistic and crumbling from within. Most of the female characters are scheming prostitutes, ambitious social climbers or party tourists — usually a combination of the three — and most of the men are scheming social climbers, sex-addled hedonists … and sex-addled hedonists. There’s really not much to go off of here besides the usual criticisms of the ultra-rich and vapid extravagance. There have been plenty of other media that tackle this with far less budget wasted and far less preachy tones.
So, Cesar moves in to save the city he lives in by changing it to his vision, Megalopolis, built by the wonder supermaterial Megalon (which also happens to be the name of a Japanese movie monster). What is Megalon? No explanation. Where does it come from? No explanation. Is it actually longer-lasting than concrete and steel? No explanation. It’s just that wonderful superconstructive substance that just so happens to exist because Cesar is a glorious, benevolent supergenius … because the film said so. Driver’s Cesar often sounds unsure of his own lines, which seem to have been written to portray him as a man who sees further than just decades, but centuries, even millennia, yet he comes off more as a confused con artist trying to bluff his way through acting school. (“Does that give you credence to plough into the depths of my Emersonian mind?” is one truly egregious example of the terrible dialogue.) I put more blame on the writing than Driver himself for this bizarre characterization of the supposed supergenius hero Coppola wants Cesar portrayed as.
What’s even funnier is that the film seems to be incapable of deciding whether such a plot-armored, always-right supergenius like Cesar is genuinely sympathetic or not. His ending speech, cloaked by ominous music, intercuts between footage of Hitler, Mussolini and post-9/11 wreckage. What Coppola or the editors were trying to convey, I have no idea. If this was to allude that Megalopolis would end up in disaster much like the promised utopias of the German New Order or Italy’s new Roman Empire, it has done a truly horrible job at that task, for absolutely nothing in the film up to the ending has indicated that Cesar is in any way, shape or form, in the wrong. Is Cesar’s genius hubris or a sign of worse things to come? It doesn’t say, aside from this thesis speech scene, because the entire film has congratulated itself on showing that Cesar is, in fact, a genuine, all-seeing visionary with absolutely nothing flawed or deviant about him. It ends with Cicero, his heart of old-world steel melting to Cesar’s golden Megalon-fueled superparadise; to the sounds of grand orchestral music, old and new merging as one for Megalopolis.
I have completely skipped over a murder mystery subplot regarding Cesar, as well as all the major side characters, because besides being star talent on the screen, they serve zero purpose to the actual message or themes of the plot. There are too many ideological platitudes and not enough actual character work. The Michael Corleone and Walter Kurtz of Coppola’s previous fame have faded to Jon Voight saying, “Take a look at this boner” (an actual line from the film). Too much of the budget was spent on near-AI-generated visual effects and not enough on getting competent editors for both the cinematography and the ego-addled screenplay.
In a prophetic foretelling of the shallowness of Megalopolis, the marketing team used AI-generated quotes using real and deceased critics’ names. Coppola may think Megalopolis is the earnest expression of … something, but that “something” is nothing more than offensively inoffensive rewinds of Shakespeare quotes cloaked in “Great Gatsby” fedoras and Roman togas, desperately trying to believe it is the future of human thought.