When the maestro behind The Godfather channeled Fellini, he gave us a film nobody knew what to do with — and maybe that’s the point. With all the elegance of a wingless bird, Francis Ford Coppola’s Megalopolis debuted at the box office in an era dominated by franchises, superheroes, and safe, bankable storylines. The picture, which took four years to make and is a combination of a passion project and a cinematic experiment, has been referred to as “a beautiful disaster” and “an indulgent mess.”

Many claim that it completely failed, creating almost no reverberation before fading away in the tide of popular disinterest. The problem is that Megalopolis isn’t your average movie. It felt like sliding into an unwelcome dream while watching it. It was more reminiscent of Fellini’s 8½, a wavy, surreal meditation on creation, society, and individual failure, than it was of The Godfather.

Critics were equally harsh, with headlines like “Coppola’s Last Stand” and “An Overreach of Mythic Proportions.” Box office analysts were blunt: a $120 million budget against a $14 million opening weekend spelled disaster. Many claim it completely bombed, barely making a ripple before disappearing under the waves of public indifference. Did Coppola attempt to mimic Fellini? That question looms large and inevitably long after the credits have rolled. The quick response is both yes and no. The fascinating part is the more profound answer.

A Movie Out of Time: Megalopolis has no discernible past, present, or future. It is set in a dystopian, disintegrating New York, now called “New Rome,” where public buildings crumble in slow motion and officials wear togas. As if they were old gods disputing over a dying planet, philosophers, architects, and dishonest senators yell over the ruins about the destiny of civilization.

Adam Driver portrays Cesar Catalina, a visionary architect who is driven to recreate society using a philosophy known as “Chronosophy,” which combines time theory, morality, and spiritual idealism. The corrupt status quo is represented by his adversary, Mayor Franklyn Cicero (Giancarlo Esposito), who clings to riches, power, and inciting fear.

Another characteristic of Fellini is that the characters are more concepts wrapped in flesh than actual individuals. Catalina is more than simply an architect; he is the embodiment of the future, attempting and failing to transcend the past. Cicero represents every petty tyrant and compromised leader in history, not only dishonest mayors. Scenes abruptly shift from grandeur to absurdity; a political rally may dissolve into a dreamy montage of floating debris and whispering statues; a public debate may become a silent dance sequence; it’s a chaotic, kaleidoscopic experience that requires viewers to let emotion guide them and give up reason. It’s little wonder many didn’t know how to respond. In a cinematic society that celebrates unambiguous protagonists, fast-paced tales, and crisp endings, Megalopolis delivered none of that.

Fellini’s Shadow: Coppola unabashedly displays his inspirations throughout Megalopolis. The sarcastic portrayal of society is reminiscent of Fellini’s La Dolce Vita, in which glitzy exteriors conceal decaying interiors below. The dream scenes, fragmented narrative, and inner uncertainty are reminiscent of Fellini’s examination of creative paralysis in 8½. The ridiculous politics and exaggerated personalities may have easily been taken from Satyricon or Amarcord.

Coppola, like Fellini, is more concerned with emotional truth than reality. He is fascinated by the fall of a world that is too inflated to support itself and too naive to see the fissures that are developing underneath it. Coppola had America, but Fellini had Rome, which was timeless and old, a city whose splendor and decay were inextricably linked. Furthermore, subtlety is of little relevance to America in 2025. Profits, quickness, and clarity are its main concerns. Thus, at contemporary multiplexes, what may have been a sensation in Italy in the 1960s hit with a thud.

Was Coppola Trying to Be Fellini? Fellini wasn’t just a man; he was a moment in time, a post-war, pre-globalized Europe where surrealism and cynicism could coexist. There can never be another Fellini. Coppola wasn’t so much copying Fellini as channeling him in an attempt to preserve a certain kind of cinema where ideas were more important than algorithms and where beauty and chaos were allowed to breathe. But that world is gone. Coppola, for all his genius, was struggling against history itself.

Why Did It Bomb? The commercial failure of Megalopolis was caused by a number of factors, including: Unmarketability: How do you sell a dream? Trailers hinted at spectacle but failed to convey the tone of the film, leaving audiences bewildered and disappointed. Changing Tastes: Megalopolis fails to deliver the clarity, tight plotting, and neatly resolved emotional arcs that today’s viewers are accustomed to.

No Familiar Blueprint: The movie lacks a comic book, franchise, or brand devotion to support it. A vast original epic is difficult to market at a time when even mid-sized dramas are struggling. Coppola’s philosophical reflections on time, memory, and civilization are ponderous and too intellectual. A two-and-a-half-hour philosophical opera is not for everyone. Self-indulgence: Even admirers acknowledge that the movie sometimes falters due to its ambition. In certain scenes, the filmmaker seemed to be speaking to himself rather than narrating a tale. Coppola made a huge, unyielding swing, but it was unsuccessful. However, what a lovely miss that was.

Personal Thoughts: Watching a Dream Die: I didn’t feel betrayed when I left Megalopolis. I was devastated. It’s uncommon to watch a movie that is so blatantly uncool and intimately personal. Coppola had no intention of pleasing anybody. He was attempting to preserve something from an era of art filmmaking that is quickly disappearing: a message in a bottle. At moments, I thought I was witnessing Coppola himself on screen — not just Catalina, but the filmmaker, aged now, dealing with time, decay, and memory. The picture wasn’t begging for our applause. It was begging for our understanding. But these days, understanding is a scarce commodity. Megalopolis urged forbearance, creativity, and patience. The majority of viewers just refused to provide it.

The Ghost of Cinecittà: One scene in Megalopolis, a solemn march of masked people through deserted neighborhoods, seems lifted straight out of Fellini. As I watched it, I was taken back to the sets of the great Italian masters at Cinecittà Studios, where ruins and dreams coexisted together. I grew up hearing about Fellini as a filmmaker and an artist since I am the son of Italian immigrants. I came to see that Coppola was pursuing that magic as well while watching Megalopolis, but in a society that no longer believes in magicians.

Coppola was working on more than simply a film. He was lamenting a quickly vanishing manner of perceiving the world. And even if Megalopolis flopped, maybe that’s why it mattered. It’s a fervent farewell to a kind of art that once dared to imagine without authorization.

In the End: Megalopolis may never catch on with many people. Coppola thought it would be “understood,” but it may never be. But it serves as a memorial to what film can be when an artist doesn’t give up, although it is shattered, beautiful, and terrible. Coppola didn’t just follow Fellini’s lead in that regard. He paid him respect. Megalopolis shouts to everyone who is still prepared to dream amid the ruins, even if the world isn’t ready to hear it.

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