Imagine a Paco Rabanne perfume ad mixed with the voyeuristic lady-gazing of a Sorrentino film and that will give you a whiff of Francis Ford Coppola’s latest – and almost definitely last – film.
Just be grateful the dreadful Italian accent Adam Driver adopted in House of Gucci and Ferrari don’t make an appearance here. Megalopolis is epic in many ways: in its 40-year gestation period, in its 138-minute running time, in its stellar cast and in its abject failure to produce a coherent or remotely entertaining movie.
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