For decades, Francis Ford Coppola has been one of the most invaluable contributors to cinema, revolutionizing the medium during his imperial phase in the 1970s. His work during that period transformed the art form, and tracing his filmography—from his debut feature, Dementia 13, to The Rain People and, finally, The Godfather—is an experience I can’t recommend enough. It captures the evolution of a good filmmaker into a true master. After The Godfather’s release in 1972, Coppola went on to make two of the greatest films of all time, The Conversation and The Godfather Part II, both released in 1974.
However, Coppola’s legacy stretches far beyond that golden era. Films like Rumble Fish, The Cotton Club, Bram Stoker’s Dracula, and even later works like 2009’s Tetro showcase how, even after Apocalypse Now in 1979, Coppola has remained a vital voice in cinema.
I say all this to highlight that while Coppola’s latest (and possibly last) film, Megalopolis, is hailed as a self-funded comeback, his creativity never really left. This context is crucial for any audience watching Megalopolis because it is as much a film from the director of The Godfather as it is from the director of 1996’s Jack. And while opinions may differ on Coppola’s eccentric passion project, that’s a beautiful thing.
Megalopolis is unlike anything you’ll see in theaters this decade, let alone this year. From its stunning opening frames, Coppola establishes a profound sense of time, space, and verisimilitude that permeates the entire film. It immediately communicates its sincerity and open-heartedness, letting viewers know just how out of step it is with contemporary cinema. This quality, however, is a feature, not a flaw. The film’s deliberate abrasion against modern sensibilities provokes deeper questions and reactions.
This is accomplished through every element of Megalopolis, from its handcrafted effects to its mythic storytelling and eccentric performances. For example, I found Shia LaBeouf’s performance grating and shallow compared to the other cast members. Yet, in an inexplicable way, the bluntness of his role enhances the film’s overall impact. A more nuanced portrayal might have dulled the effect that LaBeouf’s performance—however abrasive—brings to the story.
It would be easy to label Megalopolis as a film stuck in the past, considering Coppola’s age, the decades-long development process, and its obvious classic influences. But that would miss the point. Megalopolis takes seeds from the past and plants them in an undefined future. The film’s very title recalls Fritz Lang’s Metropolis, and Coppola incorporates old-school cinematic techniques like irises and intertitles, yet nothing feels outdated. Quite the opposite: Megalopolis bursts with an independent spirit rarely seen in a project of this scale.
Coppola’s direction is entrancing, drawing influences from across the history of cinema—from Georges Méliès to Sergei Eisenstein to avant-garde pioneers like Kenneth Anger and Stan Brakhage. The result is a cinematic language that reinvents itself as it progresses. Just as the film’s narrative merges historical Rome with modern America, Coppola’s film techniques blend the old with the new, creating a dynamic visual experience that is paired with an experimental score by Osvaldo Golijov. This multimedia approach enhances the film’s grand themes and ideas.
Megalopolis is filled to the brim with ambition. It reminded me of other large-scale, personal passion projects from mythic filmmakers, like George Lucas’ Star Wars prequels or Stanley Kubrick’s Eyes Wide Shut. Like those films, Megalopolis feels like a filmmaker responding to both timeless influences and the events that have unfolded during his absence. The result is a work overflowing with ideas, from Roman history to particle physics to the emotional fallout of the COVID-19 pandemic.
Explaining Megalopolis’ narrative is almost futile. It’s a film where text, subtext, and metatext are intertwined into one cohesive experience. The film’s use of metaphor and subtext doesn’t attempt subtlety, but that bluntness serves a larger point. It’s about the clash between optimism and pessimism, art and commerce, and the tension between the eternal and the ephemeral.
Through its messy and wondrously chaotic presentation, Megalopolis stands as a testament to Coppola’s artistic freedom. A prime example of this is during the Grand Colosseum setpiece, where a cat-and-mouse chase between Adam Driver and Nathalie Emmanuel suddenly transforms into mimed actions. These surreal moments cut through the artifice of filmmaking, contributing to the film’s raw, living quality.
It’s clear that Megalopolis won’t be for everyone. Some will absolutely hate it, and I understand that. But for me, I found it captivating from start to finish. Coppola could have easily coasted into retirement, reflecting on how the world and cinema have changed during his time away. Instead, Megalopolis is a film about looking forward. Its purpose is to incite conversations about the future of America and the future of cinema.
Trying to assign a letter grade to Megalopolis feels impossible because it’s a film designed to start a conversation, and the first viewing is just the beginning. I look forward to seeing it again in IMAX, simply to experience its scope and ambition on the big screen. I’ve never seen anything quite like Megalopolis, and I love it for that.
RGM GRADE
(B+)
For all of the densely layered storytelling, the interweaving of classical and modernist elements, and the eccentric creative choices both behind and in front of the camera, Megalopolis culminates in one of the most simplistic yet genuinely affecting frames of the year. In this single moment, the film distills everything from its runtime into a single beautiful image that speaks volumes: about how art can influence culture, the role of the artist in mass media to augment a sense of time both for themselves and their audience, how the future can be as bright as we allow it to be, and how the art we create today will serve as the foundation for the lives of our children and the next generation of culture. It was here that Megalopolis—the film itself, and the story of how Coppola invested his own fortune to create this as one final artistic gift to the world—washed over me, and I was overcome with awe.
