Francis Ford Coppola’s Megalopolis is a film decades in the making, a passion project fueled by the kind of ambition only a cinematic titan like Coppola could muster. Envisioned in the late 1970s and shaped over forty years, it represents the director’s desire to create a sprawling sci-fi epic with profound ideas about society, power, and utopia. The intent behind the project is admirable—Coppola set out to bring his deeply personal vision to life, one critical of mainstream society and boldly conceptual in its approach. Yet despite his immense personal investment—reportedly $120 million of his own money—the film ultimately emerges as a muddled, incoherent mess that struggles to justify its existence.

Set in a reimagined New York known as “New Rome,” Megalopolis follows Cesar Catilina (Adam Driver), a brilliant architect determined to rebuild the city into a utopia using his groundbreaking building material, Megalon. Opposing him is the corrupt mayor, Cicero (Giancarlo Esposito), whose vision for the city is more aligned with preserving the status quo—and lining his own pockets. This central conflict is meant to serve as a metaphor for challenging societal norms and embracing change, but the execution is so clunky that it barely resonates.

While the film deserves praise for aiming to address weighty themes about progress, societal decay, and the cost of ambition, it struggles to articulate these ideas in a cohesive manner. Coppola’s critical eye toward mainstream societal structures and his attempt to craft a conceptual narrative that challenges convention are commendable. However, the story becomes weighed down by its many half-baked subplots, eccentric characters, and a barrage of ideas that Coppola fails to weave into a coherent narrative. The romantic subplot between Cesar and Cicero’s rebellious daughter, Julia (Nathalie Emmanuel), feels like an afterthought, offering little emotional weight. Meanwhile, side characters like Shia LaBeouf’s cross-dressing Clodio Pulcher and Aubrey Plaza’s absurdly named Wow Platinum chew up scenery in performances that verge on parody. These characters, while occasionally amusing, feel like distractions rather than integral parts of the story.

Technically, Megalopolis looks far cheaper than its $120 million price tag suggests. The heavy reliance on green screen, paired with an unflattering yellow-gold filter that saturates every frame, makes New Rome appear artificial and lifeless. For a film rooted in the visual possibilities of a futuristic utopia, the production design is shockingly uninspired. The sci-fi elements, including Cesar’s inexplicable ability to stop time, are presented without depth or exploration, leaving the audience to simply “accept” them without explanation or intrigue.

Adam Driver, usually a commanding screen presence, gives a disappointingly flat performance as Cesar, whose passion for his dream project never translates into charisma or emotional depth. Giancarlo Esposito fares slightly better as the scheming Cicero, but the script’s lack of nuance leaves him with little to do beyond generic villainy. The ensemble cast, which includes Jon Voight, Dustin Hoffman, and Laurence Fishburne, is largely underutilized, with most of their characters feeling irrelevant to the overarching story.

Coppola’s intentions are clear—this is a deeply personal film that mirrors his own struggles as a filmmaker trying to realize an ambitious vision in an industry that often plays it safe. There’s something inspiring about Coppola’s refusal to conform, his willingness to use his resources to tell a story that critiques societal norms and pushes conceptual boundaries. But ambition alone cannot save Megalopolis. The film is bloated with ideas yet fails to develop them into anything meaningful. The narrative collapses under the weight of its own grandiosity, never finding the balance between intimacy and spectacle that defined Coppola’s greatest works, such as The Godfather trilogy and Apocalypse Now.

Even on a thematic level, the film stumbles. While it gestures at important questions about progress, societal decay, and the cost of ambition, these ideas are buried beneath overwrought dialogue and heavy-handed symbolism. The result is a movie that feels both pretentious and hollow, as though Coppola is grasping for profundity but never quite reaching it.

As someone who deeply respects Coppola for his contributions to cinema, it pains me to say that Megalopolis is a profound disappointment. And yet, there is a sense of admiration for his tenacity and vision. It’s rare in today’s film landscape for a director to attempt something so personal and daringly conceptual, even if the result falls short. While some may eventually view it as an underrated or misunderstood masterpiece, it’s difficult to imagine a future where Megalopolis is remembered as anything other than a well-intentioned but deeply flawed experiment.