Megalopolis is the biggest piece of horse manure ever plopped onto the big screen by a supposed 'auteur.' Francis Ford Coppola, once a legend, has seemingly thrown every ounce of his reputation into creating what can only be described as a $200 million exercise in torturing his audience. For a movie so obsessed with the concept of time, it’s an astonishing irony that Coppola chose to waste so much of it - both his own and ours.

The film doesn’t merely flirt with pretension, it dives headlong into a pit of bloated, pseudo-intellectual nonsense, grasping at existentialism and philosophy like a desperate student who skimmed the reading. Each line is delivered with the subtlety of a sledgehammer, as if Coppola thought dropping random 'deep' quotes and clunky monologues could somehow mask the absolute hollowness of his vision. Instead, it’s like watching an ego trip in slow motion, the cinematic equivalent of being trapped at a dinner party where the host insists on quoting Nietzsche to show how 'profound' they are.

Make no mistake, Megalopolis isn’t just bad; it’s a spectacular failure on every level - a towering, cringe-inducing monument to unchecked vanity and ambition gone haywire. If you’re looking for insight or innovation, steer clear; this movie’s biggest revelation is how even the best of reputations can be sacrificed on the altar of pretentious self-indulgence.