Where to begin with the mess that is Francis Ford Coppola’s Megalopolis?

The latest Adam Driver enablement of a washed-up auteur is significantly better than Terry Gilliam’s abysmal The Man Who Killed Don Quixote, yet there’s a similar ineptitude behind the camera, rooted in piss-poor writing, that radiates throughout its all-star cast.

Though the fable of New Rome’s Design Authority chairman Cesar Catilina (Driver) bubbles with intrigue early on as the story unfolds and a host of colorful characters are introduced, the filmmaker’s long-gestating passion project struggles to provide a clear message as the writer/director abandons one plot line after another.

From Cesar’s obsession with building the titular utopia, to his inexplicable ability to stop time, Coppola layers Megalopolis with creative details, presenting a corrupt city with the potential to be saved, albeit by a genius who seems destined to destroy himself in the process. And it’s all achieved through striking visuals that keep one engaged to various degrees as the horrid screenplay starts to take over.

Coppola hasn’t made a good film since 1997’s The Rainmaker, so despite a script dusted off from a time when he still had his artistic mojo, it’s tough to expect his gifts to magically return. Indeed, viewers are in trouble from the get-go as the film’s narrator, Cesar’s mysterious yet faithful chauffeur/assistant Fundi Romaine (Laurence Fishburne), reads aloud the very visible foreshadowing words from a plaque affixed to a building.

The cringeworthy decision conveys both Coppola’s desire to be epic and his extreme lack of good taste, establishing an awkward yet still promising tone that becomes one of Megalopolis’ few constants — apart from the bad performances, that is. With the exception of Fishburne’s steadying presence, the film is full of unhinged turns by actors in desperate need of more competent directorial guidance.

Along with this rare miss from Driver, the household names playing Cesar’s conniving political rivals (Giancarlo Esposito), relatives (Jon Voight, Shia LaBeouf), and love interests (Nathalie Emmanuel, Aubrey Plaza) flounder to embarrassing ends as their characters remain mere sketches.

Furthermore, casting “canceled” actors Voight, LaBeouf, and Dustin Hoffman proves anything but provocative and instead suggests that these former stars simply aren’t being hired on a regular basis because, like Coppola, they too have lost what once made them great.

Amidst the filmmakers’ head-scratching decisions, memorable imagery continues to arise, yet the visuals lose their crispness in the final act, implying that the production ran out of money and/or shifted to a less gifted special effects team.

Even more frustrating, however, is the lack of a point. Though Coppola serves up half-assed scenes that wave a disapproving finger at MAGA politics and individuals who dare stand in the way of art, they’re such uncommitted potshots that one wishes the director hadn’t attempted these critiques.

It’s a confusing experience that leaves viewers wondering why Coppola was so intent on making Megalopolis and what he hoped to convey through this pricey, self-funded failure.

Grade: C-minus. Rated R. Now playing at Regal Biltmore Grande.

(Photo: Lionsgate)