by Luxman Aravind
In Megalopolis, Francis Ford Coppola doesn’t just create a film; he constructs a towering narrative that forces viewers to confront the fragility of human dreams, the collapse of idealism, and the brutal realities of political power. The city of Megalopolis itself is not simply a setting but a living, breathing organism—a complex intersection of hope, ambition, greed, and decay. Through this dystopian lens, Coppola challenges the very essence of civilisation, asking whether we are condemned to repeat the same cycles of creation and destruction. Much like the ancient cities that came before it, Megalopolis is both a dream and a nightmare—a vision for the future built on the ashes of the past.
The film’s central character, Serge Catiline, emerges as a deeply charismatic yet dangerously flawed architect of this future. He embodies a contradiction that is at the heart of the movie’s psychological and philosophical landscape. “He’s very attractive—so, so magnetic, charming… I think he’s evil,” says one character, describing Catiline’s allure. His charm is undeniable, yet it is matched by a dark, almost sinister ambition. This characterisation sets the stage for Megalopolis‘s broader examination of the clash between grand visions and the perilous consequences of unchecked power. Catiline’s ambition is not to merely build a city but to construct a new world order—an idealistic vision that, like all idealism, is ultimately doomed by human nature itself.
Megalopolis, as Catiline sees it, is not just a city; it is “the city of tomorrow.” This phrase is a blueprint for the utopia he wishes to create—a place free of the corruption and failures of contemporary society, where technology and human ingenuity will erase the flaws of the past. But just as with any grand project, the devil lies in the details. Catiline’s vision is seductive, promising a perfect world where every citizen thrives in harmony, untouched by the blight of inequality or suffering. Yet, as the film progresses, it becomes clear that this utopia is built on fragile foundations—foundations that crumble under the weight of ambition, debt, and societal decay.
One of the key themes in Megalopolis is the tension between utopian ideals and the practical necessities of life. Catiline’s dream is lofty, but as one character points out, “People can’t live on dreams. People need jobs, housing, schools—vital city-world services we need. Income we need, the jobs we need.” This line reflects the harsh reality that even the most visionary projects must contend with the mundane but essential needs of life. Dreams, no matter how beautiful, must be anchored in the practicalities of survival, and the film forces us to ask whether any idealistic vision can truly address the very real demands of society.
The material world, too, plays a crucial role in the narrative, as Catiline’s vision for the future comes into conflict with the gritty, imperfect reality of the present. “Garbage, yet, I got confidence from something made from garbage,” one character remarks. The materials that Catiline believes will construct his utopia are themselves waste—symbols of a world already on the brink of collapse. The juxtaposition between the promise of something grand and the reality of its creation is central to Megalopolis‘s critique of idealism. The vision of a perfect city is nothing more than a projection of human aspiration, and yet it is built from the detritus of a broken society.
Financial responsibility is another theme that haunts Megalopolis, and it is embodied by Gene, a character who represents the pragmatic, conservative side of the narrative. “Cut the deficit, Claude. Debt is wicked, whether the debtor is a nation or an individual. Cut that and lean is lean. Now I’ve been around a long time,” Gene warns, emphasising the importance of fiscal discipline in a world drowning in debt. This line strikes at the heart of the political and economic structure that governs Catiline’s dream. As much as Megalopolis critiques grand utopian projects, it also acknowledges the very real forces of financial power that shape the world we live in. Debt is a constant spectre in the film, a force that undermines even the most noble of ambitions, rendering them fragile and vulnerable to collapse.
Yet, for all its ambition, the city of Megalopolis is not universally embraced. Frank, a vocal opponent of Catiline’s vision, sees the project as a siren song—a dangerous temptation that will lead the city to ruin. “It’s a siren song, to lure the city onto the rocks!” he declares. For Frank, Catiline’s vision is not just an unrealistic dream but a seductive, destructive force that will tear apart the social fabric. The metaphor of the siren song accentuates the tension between idealism and pragmatism, between hope and the grim reality of human limitations. Like the sirens of Greek mythology, Catiline’s vision promises beauty and salvation, but it is ultimately a trap that leads to destruction.
Frank’s opposition to Catiline is rooted not just in political ideology but in his own personal ambition. “How am I going to go down in history as the best Mayor since Fiorello La Guardia if I can’t handle this… out of its financial mire?” Frank asks, revealing his desire for power and legacy. His willingness to fight for the city’s survival, despite his opposition to Catiline’s methods, demonstrates the complexity of human motivations. Frank’s ambition is no less self-serving than Catiline’s, but it is framed within the context of survival—survival of both the city and his own political career.
Catiline’s quest to create a perfect city is inextricably linked to his own inner turmoil, his need to prove himself and overcome the ghosts of his past.
At the core of Megalopolis is the question of how history will remember the individuals who shape it. “It’s time you left Billy’s death behind you. I love you with all my heart, Serge,” one character says to Catiline, urging him to move past the personal demons that drive his vision. The film is deeply concerned with the personal and psychological toll that ambition and idealism take on the human soul. Catiline’s quest to create a perfect city is inextricably linked to his own inner turmoil, his need to prove himself and overcome the ghosts of his past. In this way, Megalopolis is not just a critique of social systems or political ideologies but a deep dive into the psyche of the individual who believes that greatness can be achieved through the sheer force of will.
The societal problem of debt is perhaps the film’s most unsettling critique. “Debt is the plague of our times,” one character states, highlighting the pervasive nature of this issue. For Catiline, debt is not just an economic problem; it is a spiritual one, a societal ill that holds people captive. “The only reality is DEBT. That is my revolution. In my world, debt is the shadow that blights every mind. Every hour of work is lost. Ever since it was invented, debt is the shadow beings endure. They’ll pay it off—they won’t owe. They’ll be free,” Catiline declares, framing debt as both a personal and political struggle. In his mind, freeing people from debt is the ultimate form of liberation, the key to building a better society. Yet, as the film shows, his vision is just as flawed as the systems he seeks to overthrow. In the end, freedom from debt does not equate to freedom from the systems of power and control that govern society.
Megalon, a material described as “a soft, almost pliable material made from garbage,” serves as a symbol of the brokenness of both the world and the dream of Megalopolis itself. It is an artefact of both destruction and creation, a substance that can be moulded into something new but that is also inextricably tied to the decay from which it originates. It is here that the tension between progress and destruction is most palpable, as the very materials used to build the future are grounded in the refuse of the past. “So, here’s a piece of Megalon—” says one character, offering a physical manifestation of the contradictions that run throughout the film. The material is at once a symbol of hope and a reminder of failure, offering a glimpse of what might be, while never letting us forget what was.
As the film draws to a close, Megalopolis leaves us with a haunting question: can we ever escape the cycles of creation and destruction that define our existence? The closing moments, where a child plants a tree amidst the ruins, offer a glimmer of hope but are equally ambiguous. Is this the beginning of a new cycle of renewal, or is it simply the latest iteration of an endless loop? The tree, like the city itself, represents both life and death, growth and decay. It is a symbol of what might be, but also of what inevitably will be lost.
Megalopolis is not just a film; it is a profound meditation on the human condition. It forces us to confront our own complicity in the systems of power and greed that shape our world. Through its complex characters, psychological depth, and political critique, it asks us whether we can escape the cycles of history—or whether we are doomed, like the city itself, to build and fall forever.
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