MOVIE MUSIC UK

Original Review by Jonathan Broxton

In February 1997 I went to see Jane Campion’s film The Portrait of a Lady at the cinema, and I hated the movie so much that I almost walked out of it. The only reason I didn’t was because I wanted to continue to experience Wojciech Kilar’s staggeringly beautiful score in context. I had not had that experience – of wanting to walk out of a film like that, but not actually doing so because of the music – again for more than 25 years, until I saw Megalopolis, which surely ranks among the worst films I have seen since the turn of the millennium.

On a core level, I absolutely understand what Francis Ford Coppola was doing here with Megalopolis. He’s presenting his commentary on the state of the world. He’s celebrating what he finds beautiful in art and architecture and, on some level, cinema. He’s making a plea for the world to change into something better, more caring, more generous, more conscious of itself. He’s making points about the rise of fascism and populism in politics, and he’s satirizing consumerism and societal vanity. He’s drawing parallels between the decadence and corruption of Ancient Rome just before the fall of the empire, and what he sees as echoes of that in contemporary American culture. I get it. These are heady, weighty topics for a filmmaker to tackle, and Coppola clearly wanted to get all this stuff out into the world before his 85 years properly catch up with him. I just can’t believe that what he made is such an incoherent, pretentious, slapdash film, considering that this was supposed to be his lifelong dream project.

The film is set in an alternate New York City, re-named New Rome, and explores the bitter power struggle between visionary architect Cesar Catilina and New Rome’s mayor Franklyn Cicero, something that intensifies when Cicero’s daughter Julia falls in love with Cesar. In a science fiction twist that is never fully explained, Cesar has the ability to temporarily ‘stop time,’ and he uses this ability to help design lavish, futuristic, utopian buildings that he thinks will save the city. Meanwhile, Cicero represents the stagnation and corruption of the New Rome regime, and constantly tries to undermine Cesar, even going so far as to accuse him of murdering his wife in an attempt to ruin his reputation. Other elements to the story include the relationship between Hamilton Crassus III (the elderly head of the national bank), and Wow Platinum (a money-hungry and manipulative TV reporter), plus a secondary story involving Crassus’s impetuous son Clodio, who sees himself as a potential populist political agitator. The film has an astonishing cast – Adam Driver, Giancarlo Esposito, Nathalie Emmanuel, Aubrey Plaza, Jon Voight, Shia LaBeouf – plus Laurence Fishburne, Talia Shire, Kathryn Hunter, and even Dustin Hoffman in supporting roles.

However, somehow, Coppola managed to make these genuinely outstanding actors turn in career-worst performances, across the board. The dialogue he makes them deliver is appalling, a bizarre concoction of clichéd aggrandizements, Shakespearean monologues, and unintentionally hilarious conversations that sound like they were written by a horny high schooler. The plot is borderline incomprehensible to the point of boredom, and the much-vaunted visuals – at which Coppola usually excels – are shockingly amateurish, with poor special effects rendering and green-screen work that would have looked shoddy in the 1990s. Not only that, but the actual filmmaking basics are also really poor. The editing is rough and haphazard, the narrative structure makes little to no sense, and the sound mixing is sometimes off, to the point where you can barely hear what some of the characters are saying. I can’t believe that the vital, vibrant director of The Godfather has somehow made this self-indulgent abomination of a movie.

One thing I have always appreciated about Coppola, though, is that he has always had an interesting and engaging relationship with film music, and Megalopolis is no exception. Several of his films, including The Godfather trilogy and Bram Stoker’s Dracula, contain all-time great entries in the history of the genre, and across his career he has worked with composers as varied as David Shire, John Barry, Michael Kamen, and Elmer Bernstein, in addition to the aforementioned Nino Rota and Wojciech Kilar, and his composer father Carmine Coppola. Of course, one of his most famous musical choices was to score large parts of Apocalypse Now with a combination of pop songs and Wagner.

In recent years, Coppola’s composer of choice has been Argentine classical composer and music professor Osvaldo Golijov; they first worked together in 2007 on Youth Without Youth, and then collaborated on two further films, Tetro in 2009 and Twixt in 2011, before coming together for a fourth time on Megalopolis. Ironically, Coppola and Golijov first started talking about Megalopolis over 20 years ago when the film was in its earliest stages of inception, but they had to abandon the project on several occasions as Coppola’s funding repeatedly fell through, before eventually reconnecting in 2023. I am really only familiar with one of their previous collaborations, Youth Without Youth, and to be honest I didn’t care for it at the time, but Megalopolis – well, this is a whole new ball game.

The somewhat fawning publicity material breathlessly describes how the film “prompted Golijov to deliver a soundscape as grandiose and far-reaching as the film itself.” Coppola had very specific requirements for what he wanted Golijov to deliver, notably a ‘big love theme’ that would permeate the film’s many layers, as well as specific references to Miklós Rózsa’s epic Roman music, Bernard Herrmann’s scores for Hitchcock, and the ‘geometric’ love themes in Sergei Prokofiev’s Romeo and Juliet. Coppola also specifically asked for certain instrumental ideas to be used in the score too – a musical saw, a glass harmonica, an organ, and a wide variety of percussion instruments – as well as sound design elements like ticking clocks to capture the concept of Cesar being able to stop time. It’s all quite fascinating.

And, as a soundtrack album, Megalopolis is an absolutely glorious experience. It was recorded in Hungary with the Budapest Art Orchestra, and features solo performances and additional music by jazz percussionist Cyro Baptista, electronic composer Jeremy Flower, jazz percussionist Jamey Haddad, saxophonist Jeremy Udden, and accordionist Michael Ward-Bergeman. It opens in staggeringly brilliant fashion with the “New Rome” overture, which as part of my first response I described as sounding ‘as if Miklós Rózsa and Elliot Goldenthal had a music baby’. It’s obviously and unashamedly inspired by all those great biblical epics Rózsa wrote in the 1950s – Ben-Hur, Quo Vadis, Sodom and Gomorrah – with its rousing fanfares and sweeping string romance, but it also has a subtle twist and a dangerous-sounding slur to the brass writing that makes it sound harsh and aggressive, which is where the Elliot Goldenthal influence comes in. Golijov wrote this overture on spec for Coppola several years ago, and used it as a source of inspiration for the sound of parts of the score, but the piece doesn’t actually appear in the film in its full form, instead being relegated to the last few minutes of the end credits crawl. Several other cues do reference it – more on them later – but most of the rest of the score is based on combinations of different sounds.

A lot of the score features film noir-inspired jazz numbers, as well as more low-key and textural music inspired by Bernard Herrmann’s scores for Alfred Hitchcock. Interweaving between this is an eerie motif for a musical saw intended to represent Cesar’s time-stopping superpower, as well as a related sound based around a glass harmonica which bleeds into the recurring love theme for Cesar and Julia. Many cues offer a blend of all these disparate ideas, and this is likely something that was determined by Coppola’s idiosyncratic editing and narrative structure, which often addresses multiple ideas and characters and concepts simultaneously. This means that Golijov’s internal musical architecture also leaps around from style to style; while this certainly showcases his dexterity and impressive control over his music, I can also see how this auditory schizophrenia could drive some listeners to distraction. It’s ironic, for a film that is so concerned with the aesthetic beauty of physical architecture, to be so haphazard that it affects the logic of its own musical building-blocks.

For example, the second cue “The Map of Utopia” sees Golijov combining some impressionistic writing for a solo violin with the sound of the musical saw, an extended interlude of moody saxophone-heavy jazz, delicately fluttering woodwinds, and finally some brassy Goldenthalian dissonance. “The Catilinarian Conspiracies” begins with a return to the Rózsa-inspired New Rome theme, but as the cue develops Golijov combines it with the vibrant sound of an electric organ, before ending with an extended sequence of ancient-sounding percussive rhythmic ideas. “Noir Love” is a sultry piece for saxophones and muted support from the orchestra, arranged in a way that seems to combine Vangelis’s score for Blade Runner with some of the stylistics often employed by Ennio Morricone.

“Kiss in the Heights” is perhaps the score’s most satisfying statement of the love theme for Cesar and Julia, quivering strings surrounded by the overwhelming tones of the glass harmonica and a church organ. “Saturnalia: The Unveiling of Megalopolis” – which is actually the score’s finale, underscoring the conclusive scene – embraces a sweeping, classic Hollywood sound, but is nevertheless full of unusual spiky chords that remind me in places of Alex North. Golijov’s orchestrations in this cue are notably outstanding, moving seamlessly between references to the main New Rome theme, and a gorgeous woodwind interlude with serpentine, vaguely Middle Eastern inflections.

Other cues I really like include the more contemporary-sounding “Rope,” a mass of hooting clarinets and glass harmonicas backed by synth patterns which at times come across as having a sort of Alexandre Desplat vibe. “Sunny’s Room” features elegant strings, glassy scales, and fluttery woodwinds, and offers the first instance of a recurring set of textures intended to musically depict Cesar’s late wife, Sunny Hope. “Time Shall Have No Dominion” is built around a set of dark, menacing, con legno strings and breathy woodwinds, giving the score a different and more intimidating dimension.

“The Wedding of Wow and Crassus” offers a vivacious variation on the New Rome theme in the style of a lush Hollywood romance, flamboyant and celebratory, but also intentionally overbearing, as Golijov acknowledges the nauseating decadence of the spectacle. “Catwalk” opens with a series of brassy references to the main New Rome theme, backed by impressive string flourishes, but then pivots into a beguiling dance that recalls Rozsa’s seductive Middle Eastern exotica sound. There is yet another huge statement of the New Rome theme at the beginning of “Nush the Fixer,” named for Dustin Hoffman’s character, but it ends with a fascinating diversion into dissonant metallic percussive textures accompanied by a wild accordion.

“Megalon Team” is a vivacious and upbeat Latin piano piece accompanied by hand clap percussion. “The Poison Letter” is one of the cues that wholeheartedly adopts the sound of Bernard Herrmann’s edgy thriller textures, and then “Insurrection” cleverly brings a dark, militaristic energy to the New Rome theme, where dissonant variations on the melody underscore Clodio’s disturbing flirtations with fascist populism, before he is strung up by his boot-heels, Mussolini-style. “Learning, Creating, Perfecting, Celebrating” has a sense of wholesome warmth to it, with a tonality that reminds me of 1980s James Horner, and then the conclusive “Esperanza” ends the score on a delicate note with some elegant and pretty writing for woodwinds and harp.

In addition to the score, the album also features several classical cuts, including Renata Scotto’s performance of a Puccini aria, and an un-ironic statement of Julius Fučík’s classic anthem “Entrance of the Gladiators,” which here is actually used in its intended context for warriors, rather than circus clowns. The album credits also indicate that the cue “Cesar Crosses the Styx” contains an adaptation of a piece by Franz Liszt, but I could not identify which one it was.

There are also two original songs written for the film by singer/songwriter/ukulelist and former America’s Got Talent winner Grace VanderWaal, who then performs them as her onscreen popstar character Vesta Sweetwater. “My Pledge” is pretty and innocent and espouses chastity and virtue; “No Turning Around” is the more sexual and rock-edged reaction to her virginal persona being revealed as a lie.

Here’s the interesting thing about Megalopolis, though. You know how people often say that a good score can make a bad movie better? Or how hearing a score in context can make you appreciate a score more than if you only heard it alone? There are hundreds and hundreds of examples of this. Well, with Megalopolis, I had the perhaps singular experience of a bad film making a score I liked as a listening experience seem worse. Hearing the Megalopolis score in context made me like it less. I don’t think that has ever happened to me before or, if it has, I can’t recall an example.

The problem, I think, is entirely to do with Coppola’s filmmaking. As I mentioned earlier, his idiosyncratic editing, poor dramatic impulse control, and lack of a clear narrative structure, resulted in Golijov’s score not coming across as a cohesive piece of music. Although some moments of musical power do shine through, especially in scenes where the main New Rome theme is allowed to raise its voice, quite a lot of the film seems to treat the score as an afterthought. There’s no real logic dictating what music appears where and why; you can certainly hear the music, and it’s mostly tonally appealing, but it doesn’t have a clear meaning a lot of the time. You’re never quite sure what the score is supposed to be doing in any given moment, and I think this is down to Coppola’s lack of focus. Contrast this with the brilliance of the Godfather scores, or Kilar’s Dracula, or even Michael Kamen’s Jack, for heaven’s sake.

There are also scenes where the bad acting, the bad directing, the poorly rendered special effects, and the sometimes hallucinogenic visual stylistics, combine in such a way that Golijov’s music in those scenes feels wrong, almost as if he was writing an unfortunate parody of film music rather than something that was sincerely intended to be a dramatic commentary on what was happening on screen. This is especially the case in scenes involving Jon Voight and Shia LaBeouf, who over-act so badly in a way that defies description. It’s also very apparent in many of the scenes in which Adam Driver over-delivers a Shakespearean monologue, and in several of the ‘romantic’ scenes between Driver and Nathalie Emmanuel where are they are forced to deliver some of the most juvenile and banal dialogue I have ever heard. Has there ever been a film where the acting has made the score seem worse in context? Megalopolis might be the first. It’s unfathomable how Coppola could be so excellent at this before, and be so bad at it now.

Ultimately, one has to look at the score for Megalopolis in two ways. As a soundtrack album, it’s a triumph, a superb homage to the Golden Age sound of Miklós Rózsa and Bernard Herrmann, blended with some fascinating explorations of contemporary jazz, and some truly unique touches in the instrumentation and orchestration. Osvaldo Golijov can rightly be proud of his achievements there; as a listening experience, it’s one of the best scores of the year. However, considering it in film context is another matter entirely. Francis Ford Coppola has made an unmitigated disaster of a film, and in doing so has entirely undermined what he seemingly wanted Golijov’s music to achieve.

Buy the Megalopolis soundtrack from the Movie Music UK Store

Track Listing:

• New Rome (6:02)
• The Map of Utopia (5:29)
• The Catilinarian Conspiracies (3:05)
• Suor Angelica: Senza Mamma, O Bimbo, Tu Sei Morto (written by Giacomo Puccini, performed by Renata Scotto) (1:14)
• Noir Love (4:34)
• Kiss in the Heights (2:02)
• Saturnalia: The Unveiling of Megalopolis (4:47)
• Sunny Descends (1:26)
• My Pledge (written by Grace VanderWaal, performed by Grace VanderWaal as Vesta Sweetwater) (3:53)
• Rope (2:24)
• Entrance of the Gladiators (written by Julius Fučík) (0:53)
• Breathing Statues (3:11)
• Sunny’s Room (2:33)
• Time Shall Have No Dominion (2:39)
• Cesar Descends (6:05)
• Cesar Crosses the Styx (written by Franz Liszt) (4:07)
• No Turning Around (written by Grace VanderWaal, performed by Grace VanderWaal as Vesta Sweetwater) (3:09)
• Julia Sees the Future (1:56)
• The Wedding of Wow and Crassus (2:14)
• Catwalk (2:38)
• Nush the Fixer (1:51)
• In the Bathhouse (1:52)
• Megalon Team (1:13)
• Mother (1:42)
• Julia Comes Home (1:08)
• The Golden Aleph (0:46)
• The Poison Letter (1:14)
• Cicero Versus Cesar (1:04)
• Insurrection (1:49)
• Learning, Creating, Perfecting, Celebrating (0:57)
• The Turn of the Seasons (1:21)
• Esperanza (2:56)

Milan Records (2024)

Running Time: 55 minutes 15 seconds

Music composed by Osvaldo Golijov. Conducted by Arturo Rodriguez. Performed by the Budapest Art Orchestra. Orchestrations by Osvaldo Golijov, Arturo Rodriguez, and Kris Kukul. Additional music by Jeremy Flower, Cyro Baptista and Jamey Haddad. Featured musical soloists Jeremy Flower, Cyro Baptista, Jamey Haddad, Jeremy Udden, Michael Ward-Bergeman, Dan Brantigan and Stephen Prutzman. Recorded and mixed by Gabor Buczko. Edited by Jeremy Flower. Album produced by Osvaldo Golijov.