Francis Ford Coppola’s urban sprawl
In a single decade Francis Ford Coppola made not just one but four cinema-defining films: “The Godfather” (1972) and “The Godfather Part II” (1974); “The Conversation” (1974); and of course “Apocalypse Now” (1979). It’s a feat hard to beat, but since “Apocalypse Now,” which riveted audiences upon release and garners the adoration of each new generation of cinephiles, Coppola’s output has been less iconic. It’s varied from well-crafted S.E. Hinton adaptations (“The Outsiders” and “Rumble Fish”) to the purposefully idealistic (“Tucker: The Man and His Dream”), some lighthearted comedies (“Peggy Sue Got Married,” “Jack”), a megaselling John Grisham lawyer yarn (“The Rainmaker”) and of course his “Bram Stoker’s Dracula” (1992), all receiving middling receptions. Later in his career, there was work (“Tetro” and “Youth Without Youth”) that piqued interest but never quite went the distance. His latest, “Megalopolis,” is an ambitious, convoluted mess – pretty much a full-frontal mega-flop. To say so comes with great sadness.
Coppola allegedly pawned part of his vineyard and leveraged himself financially for this project, one he’s been incubating for nearly 40 years. From the insightful documentary “Hearts of Darkness: A Filmmaker’s Apocalypse” (1991), which chronicled the ruinous challenges surmounted to make “Apocalypse Now,” we know Coppola is an incredibly passionate and resourceful filmmaker. He’s bucked trends and gone it alone without studio funding before; in this case, maybe getting other eyes and thoughts involved could have salvaged something.
What’s the movie about? Platitudes and posturing on the future of and control over an urban micro-universe in the near, slightly dystopian future – something the current streaming series “The Penguin” does a much better job of. In this case it’s not Gotham, but New Rome, a city that’s closer to New York City now than any Batman-related project. Everything the camera homes in on is 1920s art deco, with much cinematic worship of the Chrysler Building.
In the opener, Adam Driver’s Cesar Catalina, a master architect and something of a nihilist Leonardo da Vinci, steps out on the ledge of the Chrysler Building to observe the activity below. When it looks like he might tumble off or jump, he shouts, “Time! Stop!” And it does. Everything but Cesar freezes – all the cars like ants below, birds in the air, the wind-pushed clouds and so on. With a snap of his fingers everything returns to normal. But even with such a gift, Cesar is not omnipotent, and he has many detractors, especially Mayor Cicero (Giancarlo Esposito), who wants to rebuild crumbling New Rome with casinos, corruption and cronyism. Cesar, head of the Design Authority, wants to build the utopia of the title, something that will “evolve alongside its people.”
Aside from his neat party trick, Cesar has a Nobel Prize for creating Megalon, a substance that can channel one’s dreams and make desires into reality. In an origin myth, one could see it leveraged by god or the gods to build Earth. In this case Cesar uses it to build an organic, ever-evolving city.
That seems to promise cool special effects, but the riveting cinematic renderings arrive too occasionally. More often it’s done with excessive character-spouted exposition that’s stilted, inane and overblown. There are a few scenes in which Jon Voight, playing Cesar’s bazillionaire uncle, Hamilton Crassus III, and Dustin Hoffman as a mayoral bagman known as “The Fixer,” gum away like old lions fighting over a hambone. The most egregious, however, is Shia LaBeouf as Clodio, Cesar’s jealous cousin, a horny toad of a ne’er-do-well who’s something of a Proud Boy posing nonbinary. At one public confrontation, Cesar actually jumps into the “To be or not to be” soliloquy from “Hamlet.” Does it fit? I’m not sure, as the whole movie plays like “Caligula” (1979, same year as “Apocalypse Now”) without the spectacle (and porn).
Keeping with Shakespeare- and Old Rome-style machinations, in the mix too are Cicero’s daughter Julia (Nathalie Emmanuel), acting as a go-between but ultimately becoming Cesar’s confidant and lover; Aubrey Plaza, wasted here as Wow Platinum (yeah, she’s blonde), a tabloid reporter and Cesar’s mistress (despite him not being married); and Grace VanderWaal as New Rome’s supposedly 16-year-old pop star, Vesta Sweetwater, whom Clodio ropes into making a sham statutory-rape charge against Cesar. (Coppola, 85 and likely making his last go-round behind a camera, was brought up on allegations of sexual misconduct during the making of the film and is suing Variety, which broke the story, for damages. Talk about channeling life into art.) As with Rome and the Bard, it’s all about sex and politics. There’s also the matter of Cesar’s dead wife: Cicero, then a district attorney, prosecuted Cesar for murdering her with poison, but when the body disappeared he was exonerated. There’s a suggestion that the wife may be a component of, if not the very essence of, Megalon.
As for the city’s Roman authenticity, there are bad haircuts, a colosseum with chariot races and all in Madison Square Garden and toga parties at Club 54. It’s a strange reimagining that you can see Coppola and his set designers drool over, but the actuality just isn’t that impressive. It’s kind of cheesy.
At certain Imax screenings labeled “The Ultimate Experience” there’s a live component in which the lights go up, Cesar addresses the audience and a hired actor in the theater replies with scripted lines. That person has to sit through show after show of “Megalopolis.” I don’t envy them one bit.
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