After three decades occupied with for-hire work, viniculture, handcrafted “little” films, and experiments in live cinema, Francis Ford Coppola is swinging for the fences. Megalopolis, his paid-out-of-pocket, decades-in-gestation passion project, and his first in many moons to be visible outside involuted cinephile circles, picks up where his last big-budget auteur projects left off: its stylistic debt to German Expressionism and its Hollywood heirs connects it to Bram Stoker’s Dracula (1992); its depiction of a visionary prodigy hemmed in by the running dogs of the status quo to Tucker: The Man and His Dream (1988).
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