The primary aim of a filmmaker is to communicate a message. While entertaining audiences is often a byproduct, it’s crucial not to confuse emotional engagement with a filmmaker’s actual intent. Artists, in any medium—be it film, painting, sculpture, or dance—are first concerned with expressing their vision in a setting free from scrutiny. The value we attribute to art lies in the connection we form with it.
A poignant moment from D. A. Pennebaker’s documentary on Bob Dylan, Don’t Look Back, continuously resonates. During Dylan’s pivotal 1965 tour, a concert-goer shouted “Judas,” and a journalist remarked on Dylan’s choice to perform folk music, which he deemed more artistically valid than rock. Dylan countered, “Do you think anybody who comes to see me is coming for any other reason than entertainment?” This statement captures the essence of the artist-audience relationship, where both parties engage in a contract of understanding.
This theme emerged in my mind while watching Francis Ford Coppola’s ambitious new film, Megalopolis. This mammoth project has been four decades in the making, and it represents Coppola’s personal investment, both financially and creatively. The film presents a wealth of ideas, often overwhelming its audience. Rather than aiming solely to entertain, Coppola invites viewers to trust him on an intricate journey, and one’s enjoyment of the film hinges on navigating this dynamic.
Megalopolis, as indicated in its title, is a fable set in a reimagined New York City dubbed New Rome. It depicts the downfall of an empire and the populace’s aspirations for a brighter future. The narrative centers on Cesar Catalina, played by Adam Driver, an architect intent on creating a utopia in a dilapidated city. The ambitious project faces opposition from Mayor Cicero, portrayed by Giancarlo Esposito, despite Cicero’s daughter, Julia, falling for Cesar. Additionally, the story weaves in Wow Platinum, a power-hungry TV host played by Aubrey Plaza, and Cesar’s ambitious cousin Clodio, played by Shia LaBeouf, who stirs unrest among disenchanted citizens.
With its overt Roman allusions and dialogue that ranges from Shakespearean to overly earnest, the film is laden with heavy themes. The performances are driven by a shared faith in Coppola’s vision, with Plaza and LaBeouf particularly standing out. Driver’s portrayal shows dedication even amidst the film’s convoluted nature, as he grapples with grand ideas and visions while conveying depth without revealing his character’s motivations.
While the film presents as chaotic, it captures attention as it unfolds. The climax leans toward an unusual, preachy monologue, which may feel out of place by contemporary standards. Yet, it astonishingly resonates.
Some have likened Megalopolis to Ayn Rand’s The Fountainhead, a work that champions individualism and self-interest. However, Coppola’s film diverges with a more hopeful perspective, portraying Cesar not as a messianic figure but as an embodiment of idealism. Unlike Rand’s narrative, which centers on the notion of the “enlightened” deserving all credit, Megalopolis aligns closer to Fritz Lang’s Metropolis, where the working class collaborates with the business elite for constructive change.
Coppola reframes the narrative, suggesting that the idealist artist can guide the bureaucrat or politician towards progress. His aim isn’t personal accolades but rather for his art to endure long beyond his lifetime.
The film paints a stark contrast between the indulgent lifestyles of the rich, depicted through lavish imagery, and the bleak existence of the underprivileged, who navigate a world dominated by political games. While the themes may come off as heavy-handed, they also echo the nature of fables.
This approach demands a significant suspension of disbelief from viewers. A striking moment occurs when Julia, played by Nathalie Emmanuel, asks to see a model of Cesar’s utopia, only to be presented with a pile of trash. Driver’s character invites her to visualize beyond surface reality, a metaphorical appeal to the audience to engage with creative works on a deeper level.
Such demands may test audience patience, and one shouldn’t feel compelled to embrace it if they seek mere entertainment. However, the leap of faith may yield greater rewards.
I find it challenging to recommend Megalopolis, nor can I assign it a rating. To appreciate the film, an understanding of its context is crucial—knowing how Coppola devoted decades to a script that faced rejection, risking his vineyard at 85 to finance the project. This ambitious undertaking explores the search for utopia, questioning the role of vanity in art. I found it compelling enough to consider a second viewing, but consuming it without awareness may lead to misinterpretations of its intentions. Those choosing not to embrace Coppola’s invitation may face a tedious 140 minutes.
For adventurous film enthusiasts willing to traverse unconventional narratives, Megalopolis may resonate. If films like the latter works of Godard or Lynch’s Inland Empire appeal to you, then this may be worth exploring. Others may wish to prepare before delving into this complex cinematic experience.