A stick-figure drawing on the refrigerator

Into Megalopolis I went in believing the hype; believing Coppola’s self-proclaimed five-star rating on Letterboxd; ready to embrace all I heard about this supposed dumpster-fire and train-wreck forty years in the making. Everything I could have possibly wanted with this film I got, and I wouldn’t tell Francis to change a single frame. Did I find its commentary on utopia and dystopia, rise and fall, and civilization and evolution to be a work of such original, staggering thought on literary par with the very ancient texts and minds it so evidently is borrowing from? Not really, no. Could I name a film in the entirety of cinematic history as directionless as this one? Possibly, but at this moment in time, the crown Megalopolis holds for that. Is it, despite its unintentional, perhaps intentional, oddness, and dullness, and its mind-boggling boldness, a work of great entertainment? Yes, yes it is, and I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t. Is it one of the worst films ever to have come out of cinema? Far from it, there’s absolute worse cinema has put out, and Megalopolis is not one of them. It’s no Godfather, Or Godfather Part II, or Conversation, or Apocalypse Now by any means as Coppola so tries to drill repeatedly that its on par with. Its good. Maybe fine is the better word. There’s nothing remotely new or profound Megalopolis has to bring to the table on the ideas of class, society structure and architecture than what Metropolis, in silence, said almost a hundred years ago in every way better and refined so that no one else could tell such a story again. Megalopolis is easily the greatest conundrum in film ever made where better is to experience it with your brain completely switched off, both for the right and wrong reasons. Just go for the ride, embrace it, don’t look back or even bother to question it until you reach the end. Maybe there is a bit of a bias here, considering I caught a showing of Megalopolis still unbelievably jet-lagged which, to me, only heightened the enjoyment of the breezing Inherent Vice marijuana haze that is this film. Except Inherent Vice sucks and Megalopolis is fine. Megalopolis is that stick-figure drawing of, “me, mum and dad”, which as kids we all drew and gave to our parents, who declared it a masterpiece then proceeded to stick it right on the refrigerator for all to see for the sanctity of our feelings. Its a mess, it definitely needs a few touches up on the facial and bodily features here and there, but all in all, the more you look at it you can’t help but love it, and respect the effort, and the thought that at least went into it. Everything Francis wanted to say and show, he showed and said.