“When does an empire die? Does it collapse in one terrible moment? No, but there comes a time when its people no longer believe in it.”

These haunting words appear towards the middle of Megalopolis, the most recent offering from legendary filmmaker Francis Ford Coppola, who redefined the term “passion project” with this film, which was entirely self-funded, having spent over forty years in development before the director took it upon himself to finance the film, going against the studios that saw it as being a poor investment, despite Coppola’s track record as one of the great artists of his generation. Initially having the idea in the 1980s (which many consider to be the start of the director’s experimental phase – his 1970s run remains unmatched in terms of quality and cultural cache, so it only makes sense that he’d follow it with a decade filled with gonzo, off-the-wall experiments), the film is set in the fictional metropolis of New Rome, a contemporary empire where only the most powerful yield any influence, and the masses of working-class people are essentially invisible. The film follows an audacious young architect who belongs to one of these families as he gradually begins to reveal his plans for a utopian version of the city, known as Megalopolis, fashioned after the Garden of Eden and being a place where everyone is equal and the tyranny of the city’s megalomaniacal leaders are a distant memory. The film examines the efforts to battle against the social and political elites that stand in the protagonist’s way, while also being a fervent examination of societal structure and how it influences culture, whether in a positive or negative manner. Bold and unique in the way that we would expect from Coppola, while still having his distinctive mark of sheer audacity that has always factored into his work, Megalopolis is quite an achievement, being an off-the-wall existential odyssey handcrafted by a director who has never been anything less than committed to exploring every facet of his craft, even if it means unsettling the artistic status quo, which is precisely why this film has earned the status of an acquired taste, both for what it represents and how it unearths certain conversations that challenge every one of our perceptions.

For decades, artistic theorists and philosophers have been attempting to pinpoint the precise moment the American empire began to crumble – the most common opinion is that it correlates with the economic crisis caused by the Wall Street crash of 1929, which brought an end to a period of prosperity and blind confidence in a bright future, from which many argue the country hasn’t fully recovered. Others believe it was earlier than this, going back to the colonial era, while some argue it is a more recent development. The reality is that it is very likely not a single event, but rather a series of occurrences that have gotten us to this specific point. Coppola joins this conversation by crafting Megalopolis, a film built entirely around the crumbling of an empire, and using both his fascination with history and political theory to develop a film that acts as a firm allegory for the decline of the American empire, both physically and philosophically. Situated in the city of New Rome (an intentional and perhaps even blatantly obvious name for the fictional city in which the events take place), and seemingly occurring in contemporary times, rather than being entirely futuristic, the film is a scathing indictment of power and how it tends to corrupt those who allow themselves to fall victim to what is essentially the most addictive drug known to our species, and one that only causes our desire to become more insatiable the more we succumb to its deceptive pleasures. The correlations between this story and the fall of the Roman Empire are numerous, woven together in a tightly-compacted series of moments that are the product of four decades of pondering by the director, who infuses every frame of this film with a sense of complexity that is far deeper than whatever surface-level analysis we may have expected from such a narrative. As the quote that opened this discussion stated, Coppola is fascinated by the concept of empires and how they function – but rather than having the more optimistic view around examining how they are constructed and maintained, he is far more intrigued by how they can collapse, which forms the foundation for this audacious, wildly bizarre science fiction odyssey. 

One of the several benefits of being a filmmaker whose career has lasted for well over half a century and involved collaborations with several of the most acclaimed and celebrated actors of their generations is that any performer would be more than willing to take the time to participate in whatever project Coppola was developing. His late-career offerings tended to be quite small in terms of casts, and he usually went with actors that existed off the beaten path. This is not the case with Megalopolis, which is filled to the brim with some of the most recognizable actors of the past few decades. Adam Driver continues to participate in wildly ambitious passion projects for directors who many have considered past their prime (having done the same for the likes of Terry Gilliam and Michael Mann in similarly long-gestating works) and proves that he is an unforgettable screen presence. He abandons all sense of subtlety and instead surrenders wholeheartedly to the madness that enshrouds this film, which allows him to hold court as the resident lunatic who acts as the anchor for this already peculiar film. He’s joined by a sprawling supporting cast, which includes some gloriously off-the-wall work from the likes of Aubrey Plaza, Giancarlo Esposito and Talia Shire (collaborating with her brother after several years), as well as Shia LaBeouf, Jon Voight and Dustin Hoffman, all of whom have recently become personae non grata as a result of questionable words and actions, with Coppola intentionally casting them based on how they were shunned by the industry that had previously fawned over their talents – its not a choice everyone will agree with, but still has its purpose, even if it can threaten to overshadow the film as a whole. The ensemble is quite large, and as a result, there’s not enough time to unpack every character – but the Pynchonian names and Kafka-esque characterisation of each one of them, coupled with each other’s efforts to do something ambitious with the roles, makes them valuable components of Megalopolis, a film that makes good use of its actors, often in unexpected but fascinating ways that only make it an even richer and more compelling experience.

Conceptually, Megalopolis is quite an achievement and we find ourselves getting gleefully lost in the layers of theoretical discourse that are infused into absolutely every frame of the film. Yet, what truly does draw us into this narrative more than anything else is the style. Coppola is an old-fashioned craftsman who understands that images are just as important as the story, and one simply cannot exist without the other being as impactful as possible. This film may not be the most profound science fiction film of the past few decades, but it’s certainly one of the most original solely because of its attention to detail and willingness to challenge conventions in ways we didn’t expect, but are more than enthralled to see manifesting. This film doesn’t resemble anything we’ve seen in recent years, which is essentially a common trait of many of the director’s late-period works, all of which orbit around his efforts to push the boundaries of his craft, not being too concerned about the borders that exist around the medium, knowing that he has done more than enough to redefine what cinema should represent over the years. Megalopolis is one of his most visually ambitious films, precisely because it doesn’t strive for realism – some astonishing works of science fiction provide stunning depictions of their worlds that feel authentic and plausible. Coppola has very little interest in this approach, instead choosing to embrace the excess that has often been integral to his work, creating a film that would be gaudy and unwieldy had it not been helmed by the kind of artistic madman that we are rapidly losing as a result of the industry not being willing to fund their visions. There aren’t many artists who allow themselves to be defined by maximalism, despite the results always being fascinating and worth watching, regardless of the quality of the narrative. The garish colours and lighting, over-the-top setpieces and somewhat tacky special effects would be a shortcoming under any else’s direction, but with Coppola it isn’t only intentional, it is entirely meaningful. Megalopolis looks and feels unique from its very first moments, becoming an immersive experience defined by its unhinged madness, a valuable commodity possessed by so few artists nowadays, which only makes us appreciate Coppola’s deranged vision even more.

While it is tempting to wax poetic about Coppola’s ability to defy the obstacles in his efforts to realize this film, that is ultimately only a trivial footnote to a film that deserves to be discussed as an artistic statement rather than a peculiar novelty that manifested only as part of the director’s persistence, which does factor into the conversation but not in a way that should eclipse the more interesting merits simmering beneath the surface. Some are bound to view Megalopolis as the senile ramblings of a director far past his prime, others will view it as a delightfully vulgar experiment in which an acclaimed filmmaker chooses to throw caution to the wind and embrace a new kind of absurdism that has previously been quite absent from a lot of contemporary cinema, especially with the movement towards more polished filmmaking. Regardless of where one sits on this film, it’s undeniable that Coppola was driven by nothing but ambition and pure passion, doing whatever possible to realize his vision, which is certainly admirable, even if the film can sometimes be somewhat scattered and lacking in clarity of intention. The results speak for themselves, and while this is somewhat unwieldy and could have easily been whittled down into something more neat and compact, it’s the rough edges that give Megalopolis its unique sheen, with its unconventional narrative, overt audacity and willingness to take as many risks as possible to be unique making it a fascinating document. This film is likely going to age well, since it is ahead of its time and misunderstood to a degree, so only time will reveal whether it will be viewed as one of Coppola’s masterpieces, or simply a bold vanity project that shows his desire to provoke and unsettle was as prominent in his later years as it was at the start of his career. Daring, unconventional and thrilling from start to finish, Megalopolis is an experience like no other and a film that will earn much more credibility and grow in estimation over the years.