Megalopolis
James Brown
Francis Ford Coppola’s Megalopolis is an audacious vision, a film that unapologetically revels in its ambition, leaving little room for middle ground. It is either a triumph of cinematic exploration or an indulgent misstep, depending on how deeply you’re willing to engage with its dense layers. One thing is clear—this movie is not for the typical popcorn and Raisinets, thrills, chills, and excitement crowd. It’s the kind of film that demands patience, close attention, and, most importantly, a love for cinema as an art form.
Set in a near-futuristic New York-ish city, Megalopolis imagines a world grappling with the tension between tradition and innovation. Architect and visionary Cesar Catilina (Adam Driver) is determined to rebuild the metropolis as a utopia. His dream, however, comes into direct conflict with the powers that be, most notably from the city’s authoritarian mayor, played with chilling precision by Giancarlo Esposito. The film’s central conflict—between a utopian ideal and the harsh realities of governance—sets the stage for an intellectual exploration of politics, philosophy, and class.
Coppola leaves it all on the field with Megalopolis in a way that makes one feel like this is his last film (I sincerely hope it isn’t). The narrative is sprawling, the pacing often passive, and the dialogue at times seems more suited for a philosophy class than a Hollywood film. There are moments when the story feels almost suffocated by its lofty ideas, which will be a problem for many moviegoers. The film is not interested in conventional entertainment and rarely offers the instant gratification that modern audiences crave. But Megalopolis is a buffet for those who appreciate films that challenge rather than comfort.
It asks difficult questions about the future, about human nature, and about the unintended consequences of building a utopia.
Visually, the film is stunning. Cinematographer Mihai Malaimare Jr. (The Master, Jojo Rabbit) paints the screen in a palette that shifts between the cold, steel tones of the city’s decay and the warm, vibrant hues of Cesar’s imagined utopia. The contrast is visually arresting, driving home the thematic struggle between what is and what could be. The visual storytelling here is as significant as the dialogue itself, with Coppola using the city’s architecture to reflect his characters’ inner turmoil.
The performances are similarly layered. Driver delivers a deeply introspective portrayal of Cesar, a man torn between his idealism and the compromises he must make to realize his dream. Esposito, in turn, embodies a complex antagonist—not a villain in the traditional sense, but a man burdened by the pragmatic concerns of governing a city on the edge of collapse. Supporting performances from Nathalie Emmanuel and Laurence Fishburne and an almost unrecognizable Shia LaBeouf add depth to the ensemble. However, the cast sometimes feel underused in service of the film’s more prominent themes.
Megalopolis is not a film that will leave audiences cheering as the credits roll. Instead, it is the kind of film that sticks with you and will have you asking questions long after you’ve left the theater. It asks difficult questions about the future, about human nature, and about the unintended consequences of building a utopia. For some, this film will be maddening; for others, it will be invigorating.
Megalopolis is Coppola’s love letter to cinema itself. It is a film made by a cinephile that perhaps only cinephiles could love. Maybe this is the next Seven Samurai, and fifty years from now, we will be able to point out dozens of familiar tropes and techniques that we saw for the first time in Megalopolis. This film is definitely not for everyone, but for those willing to take the ride, it may be a journey worth taking.
Final Thought
Francis Ford Coppola's love letter to cinema. An audacious and visually stunning film that's a challenge to watch.