A few months after its global debut, the speculative sci-fi noir film Megalopolis is still reigning supreme as a cult and conversation catalyst sensation, and its writer/director Francis Ford Coppola has many reasons to return to the stomping grounds where he completed this landmark production. While filming at Georgia’s Trilith Studios, the famed filmmaker simultaneously created a living and post-production space called the All-Movie Hotel located in the hamlet of Peachtree City where worldwide visitors can now stay in purpose-built suites for filmmaking and post-production. The curated curiosities at the hospitality complex include props and promotions related to projects such as The Godfather and Apocalypse Now, but for those dreaming of the Roman Empire on screen in his utopian fantasy, there’s quite a bacchanal. “There’s one serious critic in this world, and that’s the test of time,” the filmmaker told an audience for a screening of the film at Atlanta’s Tara theatre. “I’ve seen [the movie] more times than you, I suspect, and I’m very satisfied with it.” Coppola continues to cheerfully engage viewers about what societies they’d envision for the future if they weren’t living in the here and now. And if you have the opportunity to stay at his heralded hotel, be sure to look for these ten treasures from Megalopolis.
Columns, spires and background props from the film’s “New Rome” greet guests at the All-Movie Hotel lobby.
Location markers and props from “New Rome” abound on hotel grounds.
Adam Driver and Aubrey Plaza are among the actors who dined and drank from the plates and chalices of the All-Movie Hotel’s lavish room service place settings.
Building replicas line some of the hotel’s common areas.
You may recognize Jon Voight’s impressive statue standing guard before Peachtree City’s golf cart trails at the All-Movie Hotel.
The All-Movie Hotel has many “seals” of approval; this one is in the lobby.
A high-flying reminder of the arena sequence is perched near the hotel pool.
China patterns for in-suite catering hail Caesar.
You may even see gladiators celebrating the holidays.
Did we mention you can stay in the Francis Ford Coppola suite he personally designed while he directed the film? It was a great stay!
Malcolm Washington didn’t choose the easiest adaptation — nor did he make much cinematic sense of it — with his directorial debut, The Piano Lesson (C), based on the August Wilson play. Instead of simply or conventionally translating a work already imbued with storied drama, the new director experiments with form and frenzy to unearth a bevy of resonant themes, and the overstuffed result doesn’t strike a consistent chord. A family clash over the heirloom of the title pits brother and sister — he hopes to sell it, the she refuses to give it up — sets the stage for a story unleashing haunting truths about how the past is perceived and who defines a family legacy. Unfortunately abrupt tonal shifts, a decision to open up the story with ghost story and horror motifs and a veil of fussiness between flashbacks and dialogue scenes continually obscure the workmanlike skills of an impressive acting ensemble. There’s interesting craft on display in terms of cinematography and music, but the symbolism is often heavy-handed. John David Washington and Danielle Deadwyler are the standout siblings whose tense reunion is a catalyst to conflict and discussions centered on tradition and collective memory of historical trauma. Ray Fisher is also fantastic in a hard-working and stacked cast. The actors do an outstanding job even though the film’s awkward approach doesn’t always do them justice.
The ultimate musical about dorm room essentials and etiquette signals its inspirational intentions on a wondrous dry erase storyboard when an underground campus scandal threatens to silence outspoken professors, prompting two mismatched roomies to rally together for a common cause. It’s also the prequel to The Wizard of Oz about young witches at a crossroads of magic school Shiz University, the activist roommate going green while the other mindlessly revels in her pink bubblegum popularity. This tidy trapper keeper of Broadway-adapted bliss, John M. Chu’s Wicked: Part I (A) juggles the poppies, rainbows and yellow bricks of its spellbinding origin story while celebrating its vibrant cinematic connections to Victor Fleming’s 1939 classic with lavish set pieces, buoyant production numbers and, most of all, an iconic central duo metaphorically stepping into Dorothy’s shoes. The splendid odd couple at the heart of this tuneful tale represents no easy-bake coven; rather it’s a rarefied once-in-a-lifetime collision of talent. Cynthia Erivo as outcast Elphaba and Ariana Grande as populist Glinda slay their respective roles, their Stephen Schwartz songs such as “The Wizard and I” and “Defying Gravity” and the machinations of the mid-tempo melodrama. Splitting the film adaptation into two installments gives Chu a delicate opportunity to better excavate the characters’ relationships and showcase sequences faithfully fused from Gregory Maguire’s novel and L. Frank Baum’s The Wonderful Wizard of Oz. The adaptation experiment works brilliantly and brings the story full circle. It’s only half the story, and yet there is a complete movie arc in this single act with the young ladies discovering agency and friendship to a rousing conclusion and one-year intermission. The prequel to a prequel as it were shines equally in a near-silent moment of undeniable power and resilience as it does in its most elaborate song-and-dance sequences. There is also a stunning allegory afoot for those who seek a tonic elixir antidote to grim political poison in the air, with an undeniably prescient “rise up” drumbeat piercing the artifice. Jonathan Bailey is a charming supporting character as love interest Fiyero, bringing rizz to Shiz via a standout “Dancing Through Life” number with an inventive choreographed sequence within the university’s circular rotating library. The filmmakers have clearly thought through the best and most creative ways for each and every beat to come through, emotionally and sonically. The film’s crafts from the whimsical costume designs to the elaborate production environments and soaring underscore provide wall-to-wall wonder. Most of all, this musical fantasy is a genuine triumph of casting, with Grande acing her assignment as both comically oblivious but daffily lovable and Erivo offering a slow-burn reveal and belting to the emerald heavens. If I could pass Chu a note or two, it would be that some of the CGI could be less fussy and the choreography could be more Fosse. Nearly three quarters of a century after cinematic Oz world-building began, the Good Witch and the Wicked Witch conjure some rousing revisionist history and extend the franchise in one of the year’s most enchanting experiences.
A classic adage proclaims the art of writing about music is akin to dancing about architecture; conversely, critiquing a movie featuring a modernist minimalist designer upending conventions is a particularly apt parallel for unpacking Brady Corbet’s ambitious 215-minute period piece The Brutalist (A). Filmed especially for 7O millimeter VistaVision large-screen formats including narrative divided into two acts and a well-placed 15-minute intermission, this is a consummate cinematic banquet and in nearly all ways an absolute masterpiece. Like the iconic building style of its title, the film’s characters captured by Lol Crawley’s creative cinematography are angular and exposed, and the movie’s lens on the historic American immigrant experience bitingly bleak. Escaping postwar Europe, fictional visionary architect Laszlo Toth (Adrien Brody) emigrates to rebuild his life, his career and his marriage to Erzsebet (Felicity Jones) in the US of A. On his own in a strange new land (Pennsylvania), Laszlo encounters industrialist magnate Harrison Lee Van Buren (Guy Pearce) who recognizes his talent. There are twists and turns along the journey, which is consistently imagined in full. The film’s length and one-two punch structure adds to the epic nature of watching the main character’s vastness of experiences across decades. The production design by Judy Becker evokes authenticity in the story’s primary epoch of the 1940s through ’60s, and there are some stunning building and room configurations on display in the story, worthy of the titular architect. Daniel Blumberg’s urgent music adds to the intrigue and pageantry. The performances are roundly amazing with Brody in career-best mode as a complex man who is both optimistic and mercurial. This film is a grand experience, and even the loose ends from its labyrinthine plot will stimulate conversations. This will be a movie categorized with some of the great modern classics such as There Will Be Blood and The Power of the Dog.
The least interesting thing about famed opera singer Maria Callis is finding her usually wondrous soprano voice cracking and croaking during her final days living in 1970s Paris, and yet that’s exactly what Pablo Larrain chooses to dramatize in his impressionistic biography Maria (C). Angelina Jolie plays the Greek diva-as-artist as the film chronicles the temperamental behavior of her late career and flashes back to her tepid love affair with Aristotle Onassis, played charisma-free by Haluk Bilginer. Just like an opera, this psychological drama is structured in acts and culminates in tragedy. Larrain photographs the stately Jolie like she’s fresh out of a spring magazine shoot, but the glum persona she embodies is far from inspiring, despite her devotion to the role. And the lip syncing, even with multi-track blending, just doesn’t do the trick. Few actors in the ensemble including Kodi Smit-McPhee as a journalist make much of an impression, leaving Jolie in various poses within baroque rooms to sleep or stand and model. The third in Larrain’s film trilogy of important 20th century women in levels of distress (following Jackie and Spencer), this one is a considerable let-down, mainly mired in pathos with only a few arch lines to stir the soul.
Hugh Grant plays against type as a creepy arbiter of a horrific escape room where he mansplains to two female Mormon missionaries the limits of faith in Bryan Woods and Scott Beck’s Heretic (B-). It’s a strange little movie, ostensibly in the horror genre but often so talky and obtuse that it might as well be a three-hander play. Chloe East and Sophie Thatcher are superb and highly believable as their characters negotiate with the man who may be their captor. They make realistic moves and are whip smart against a crafty antagonist. As “Mr. Reed,” Grant leverages his romcom charm to diabolical effect; his character may be a bit more cultured than boogeymen in Halloween or hockey masks, but he’s just as intense. The film is an exploration of the lore and belief systems of religion, powered by a smart premise and solid acting, and makes for an intriguing watch. But those expecting wall-to-wall thrills will likely find themselves underwhelmed.
The palace intrigue and visual effects both get mighty upgrades — albeit with fewer iconic declarations of dialogue — as Ridley Scott returns to the ring for a highly enjoyable Gladiator II (B+). While many of the story beats represent a retread of the Best Picture winning 2000 original film, Paul Mescal steps comfortably into the sandals of the protagonist role and draws viewers in as his character watches Roman emperors (Pedro Pascal among the leaders) conquer his homeland before he endeavors to return a legendary land to glory. As an empire-adjacent antagonist, Denzel Washington is also a highlight as a complex power broker with constant surprises around every turn. His scenery chewing rivals Joaquin Phoenix from the first film. The sequel’s action set pieces including a clash of warriors on ships within a coliseum are stunning. After one questionable sequence involving fake CGI monkeys early on, the film’s visual effects are roundly glorious. There’s a lingering feeling of wanting just a little more emotionally from this film, but it’s hard to argue with the brutal bacchanal of pulpy violence and vengeance on display here. Overall the film is a marvelous and rousing adventure.
Political conflict within a family sets the stage for rage as an Iranian wife and her two modern daughters rebel against the husband and father promoted to a role as prosecutor for the government and whose gun is missing from within their home. It’s a crackerjack premise surrounding a charged object and a movie stylishly made and well acted, interspersing fictional narrative with real 2022-2023 cellphone footage of horrors against dissidents in Tehran’s revolutionary streets. In fact, writer/director Mohammed Rasoulof’s engaging Persian language family parable The Seed of the Sacred Fig (B+) is a work born of such urgency, it was created in secrecy and smuggled out of Iran to be released in Germany and around the world. The very existence of the film is a stunning work of protest; and at a near-three hour run time, it has a resonant and lived-in quality with a slow-simmering first act setting the stage for a shape-shifting battle as the conflict evolves. Rasoulof wisely shows how the teenage girls (especially the vocal Mahsa Rostami but also the expressionate Setareh Maleki) first become distrustful of government via the testimony of friends and evidence on social media just as the paranoid father (stoic Missagh Zareh in a rather thankless role) finds himself increasingly ensconced as an apologist for a brutal regime. Soheila Golestani is superb as the mom trying desperately and deliberately to maintain Intrafamilial peace in this tinderbox of a domestic drama. The talky opening reel is punctuated by a sequence of profound power as a young woman’s face uncovered by hijab undergoes cursory healing from a spray of bullets fired upon her in the name of religion. Soon dialogue boils to more conventional action underscoring the blistering broadside against the Iranian regime with varying levels of authenticity. It’s a searing portrait of straining relationships as society destabilizes against the backdrop of unrest, an effective glimpse at courage against oppressive rule and overall an insightful film worth finding.
There’s probably a brilliant movie to be lensed using a stationary camera affixed on one single room of a house and chronicling what happens in that space on earth from prehistoric to pandemic times. Director/co-writer Robert Zemeckis hasn’t landed on the brilliant part of his cinematic science project. His Here (D+) is a filmed carousel of progress with some occasionally lovely compositions but an absolutely inert set of artificial storylines. It has the effect of an old vacation slide show presented by your most cringe-worthy relative. The nostalgic object lessons, told out of order in a taxonomy of themes, include vignettes of Native American rituals, Benjamin Franklin’s relatives, a crackpot inventor, a greatest generation couple, boomers delighting and struggling with modern family life (Tom Hanks and Robin Wright in various dreadful levels of de-aging effects) and the African-American family of the here and now. The only surprises along the journey are the effective use of pictures-in-picture delineated by rule lines, a late-breaking mirror effect and clever dissolves. Sometimes windows gracefully overlapping with the wilderness of bygone times or a novel show running on the family TV provide a welcome distraction from the human doldrums. The punishing pageant of various still lives accompanied by soaring Alan Silvestri music are comprised of such basic tropes that any moments of genuine drama are robbed of their gravitas. Latter stage Zemeckis films have been preoccupied with visual effects to the detriment of story, and this particular film finds little focus except for that omniscient camera in the same damn place the whole time. The film manages to be maddening and melodramatic when it was meant to be meaningful.
French filmmakers prove more artfully attuned to both the transgender experience and crime in the Mexican milieu than the product of billions of dollars of American political ad spending in a bold and brilliant subtitled melodrama paced, plotted and performed with the zest and scope of an opera. On the surface, Jacques Audiard’s Emilia Perez (A-) qualifies as a musical with piquant original songs contributed by Camille, a rousing original score by Clement Ducol and tight, cagey choreography by Damien Jalet, but the tone poem aesthetic echoes a fascinating central character study and crime adventure. The plot centers on a Mexican lawyer (a never better Zoe Saldana), who helps a vicious crime lord fake his own death and transition to life as the female title character (a fascinating Karla Sofia Gascon). A delightfully unhinged Selena Gomez portrays the widow who, several years later, believes Emilia is aunt rather than father to her two children. Meanwhile Perez embarks on a crusade to shed light on the disappearing victims of the country’s cartels. Audiard’s audacious work as writer/director, backed by Paul Guilhaume’s stunning cinematography and Juliette Welfling’s deft editing, creatively chronicles the journey of the story’s trio of remarkable women. Saldana and Gascon in particular are riveting and empathetic in authentic pursuit of their lives’ calling, and Gomez sneaks up in the final reel with some genuine scene-stealing too. Anthony Vaccarello of fashion house Yves Saint Laurent designed costumes for the film, impeccable in all manners of craft. This import is distributed by Netflix, but be advised it is best enjoyed without distraction on the epic canvas of a big screen.
The behind-closed-doors election of a new pope plays out like a whodunit in Edward Berger’s superb drama Conclave (A-). Cardinal Lawrence (Ralph Fiennes), tasked with facilitating this secretive and ancient event and surrounded by powerful religious leaders from around the world in the halls of the Vatican, uncovers a series of deep secrets that could threaten the very foundation of the Roman Catholic Church. Stanley Tucci plays one of the most progressive papal candidates and Sergio Castellitto one of his most conservative rivals in a well curated ensemble of wonderful actors. Fiennes carries much of the weight of the dramatic narrative on his shoulders and is quite impressive in the lead role. Berger stages the story in orderly and disciplined fashion, allowing twists to naturally reveal themselves. He explores the nuances of human judgment without resorting to sensationalism or sentiment; it’s an intriguing story well told. This film is likely to have significant continued resonance with motivations and messages sure to ring true any time new power structures are sorting themselves out.
In the noble pursuit of elevating the dignity of workers in an often dehumanized profession, a talented writer/editor/director often loses his way in creating a captivating narrative. Sean Baker’s Anora (C+) starts and ends strong, beginning with you-are-there bravado in a NYC nightclub where we meet exotic dancer Anora “Ani” Mikheeva played by Mikey Madison and watch her hold court over a VIP backroom where she meets man-child Ivan “Vanya” Zakharov (Mark Eydelshteyn), frivolous son of a Russian oligarch who strikes a bargain with the private dancer to spend time with her outside of the club. But this is a fractured fable take on the “stripper with a heart of gold” trope: Ani certainly buys into aspects of the fantasy – Brighton Beach mansion, designer drugs, bountiful bling and more – while being fiercely defiant of forces encroaching on her newfound relationship. Much of the film focuses on existential threats swooping in to split up the central duo, and these series of episodes are increasingly tedious and unrewarding. Despite often strong acting by Madison, her title character actually wears out her welcome and becomes shrill in the subplots. Karren Katagulian gets a thankless role as an Orthodox priest and Vanya’s godfather charged with protecting him from his own impulses. Yura Borisov gets a few good moments as a seemingly sympathetic Russian henchman. The film’s pursuit of truth in storytelling is often swapped for jaunty jet-setting and messy mayhem, even if Baker largely sticks the landing.
