Megalopolis is a bloated mess that feels like Francis Ford Coppola handed a blank check to ChatGPT and said, "Make me a masterpiece." The result? A pretentious, self-indulgent disaster that could've been directed by an overzealous art student with too much cash and zero oversight. Hollywood should take note — AI-generated scripts are looming, and Megalopolis feels like the first casualty.
The film reaches its creative low when Nathalie Emmanuel wanders through a heap of random scraps and hallucinates a perfect city. I'm convinced Coppola wants us to hallucinate that we're watching a masterpiece when, in reality, we're stuck with this pile of incoherent garbage. It's a prime example of what happens when a director is left unchecked, à la Terrence Malick post-Tree of Life—except even worse.
Visually, the movie is downright ugly. The sunset-yellow hues, overused in the cheapest blockbusters, create a nauseating backdrop. The acting? Atrocious. Even good actors deliver performances so stilted and awkward that you start to wonder if the director was asleep behind the camera.
The plot? Characters do random, nonsensical things. By the end, you'll be drained of your time, your patience, and your will to watch anything Coppola touches ever again. Megalopolis? More like Megacoppolas, because this movie is an ego trip that never should have left the driveway.
Megalopolis is a bloated mess that feels like Francis Ford Coppola handed a blank check to ChatGPT and said, "Make me a masterpiece." The result? A pretentious, self-indulgent disaster that could've been directed by an overzealous art student with too much cash and zero oversight. Hollywood should take note — AI-generated scripts are looming, and Megalopolis feels like the first casualty.
The film reaches its creative low when Nathalie Emmanuel wanders through a heap of random scraps and hallucinates a perfect city. I'm convinced Coppola wants us to hallucinate that we're watching a masterpiece when, in reality, we're stuck with this pile of incoherent garbage. It's a prime example of what happens when a director is left unchecked, à la Terrence Malick post-Tree of Life—except even worse.
Visually, the movie is downright ugly. The sunset-yellow hues, overused in the cheapest blockbusters, create a nauseating backdrop. The acting? Atrocious. Even good actors deliver performances so stilted and awkward that you start to wonder if the director was asleep behind the camera.
The plot? Characters do random, nonsensical things. By the end, you'll be drained of your time, your patience, and your will to watch anything Coppola touches ever again. Megalopolis? More like Megacoppolas, because this movie is an ego trip that never should have left the driveway.
Source: https://chatgpt.com/share/671556d3-c174-8003-87ae-d138c6d8fef6