It’s only right that a review for the most perplexing film of 2024 took months after the film’s release to finally come together. Megalopolis is damn near impossible to properly discuss, categorize, or make sense of. But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try! Let’s make the attempt. Let’s sift through all of hoopla both around and within the film to try to find some nugget of meaning here. We owe Francis Ford Coppola and Cesar Catalina at least that much.
Few movies have arrived into the public conscious with such earth-shatteringly loud bombast and fizzled away with equally quiet indifference. Coppola has famously been trying to make Megalopolis since the late 1970’s. More than 40 years later, and over 10 years since his last feature (I bet you can’t even name his last three films prior to Megalopolis), Coppola’s passion project finally came to fruition.
Much of the allure of the film is the mythology around the making of it. One of the great American directorial auteurs of his time making the film he always wanted to make, after multiple stops and starts, and inabilities to find studio financing. In that regard, he’s not totally unlike the film’s protagonist.
Above all else, Megalopolis is a deeply aspirational film. Not just in what it can be as a fictional text, but in what fictional texts can do for society at large. Megalopolis does not want us to forget the arts – how they can inspire us or reshape our understanding of the world around us.
In many ways it serves as a plea to uphold all that we want cinema to be as an art form. It’s okay to be provocative. It’s okay to challenge and confuse. Movies can be objectionable in their content and still serve a worthwhile purpose. Megalopolis proves all of that.
At its best, the medium is not one that exists simply to please us. It’s much more than the quick dopamine hit of a recognizable reference or the easily agreeable plot progressions that so much of modern cinema has become. Megalopolis is aggressively dedicated to combating these trends. Sometimes to its own detriment, but the effort is there, nonetheless – and it is valiant.
Beyond the mostly admirable intention of Megalopolis is the question of how it actually works as a film. The answer is…maybe. There are moments of sheer brilliance. Singular shots that inspire awe and exist amongst the most timeless images from recent memory. But there are also moments of nonsensical meanderings and goofy proclamations. Part of the exhilaration of watching is not knowing from moment to moment which end of the artistic spectrum you’re going to get.
Some of the most curious construction of the film is in its casting. For starters, there’s the lead in Adam Driver. After his turn in the Star Wars franchise, he could have taken the easy route – chasing Oscars, making safe crowd and critic pleasing films, or using his celebrity status to produce his own movies and control his public image.
Instead, he’s decided to seek out working with the best living directors; giving himself over to their visions; and becoming one of the most fascinating working actors in doing so. Megalopolis might just be the ultimate example of that methodology. Here he embodies Francis Ford Coppola’s bizarre creation that is Cesar Catalina. Despite the role being anything but conventional, Driver is fully committed to what Coppola is asking of him.
The rest of the casting is just as intriguing. Between Shia LeBeouf, Dustin Hoffmann, and Jon Voight, Coppola is allegedly making some statement about “cancel culture”. However, it’s unclear what that statement is exactly, as all three actors play characters who are generally reprehensible. Perhaps just another example of Megalopolis’ sheer incoherence (a quality I don’t necessarily see as fully being a negative here).
The rest of the cast falls anywhere between formidable and strong. Laurence Fishburne and Aubrey Plaza are both standouts, although for vastly different reasons. Ultimately the whole cast comes together to perfectly capture the absurdist yet totally self-serious mood of the movie.
What would typically be seen as spastic or messy in another film is where Megalopolis finds its charm. We cane excuse grand, sweeping thematic gestures or a narrative that lacks the focus to see through every plot point it decides to introduce. The intent here is beyond the scope of a typical film. 
Megalopolis is far from typical, and it ought to be assessed accordingly. What it is, however, is a reminder of the medium’s capabilities and ultimate purpose as an art form.
Cinema is supposed to be an expressive medium. Its purpose or desire should not simply be to create a coherent narrative. That would be to ignore all is possible with the art form. In all of its ramblings, inconsistencies, and perceived shortcomings, is a beautiful lesson about artistic compassion – something that has been a constant throughout civilization, and as long as we’ve had art.
Catalina and Coppola both want to create art where their compassion can live eternally through it. A testament not only to their genius, but to the communities and societies who get to experience it.
Although it’s far from wholly lovable, Megalopolis is indeed a testament to Coppola, film, and art as a whole. It’s radically constructed and unapologetically bold. It would be foolish to do anything besides embrace its kooky existence.
