Kevin Costner always wanted to be a cowboy. His role was cut from Lawrence Kasdan’s The Big Chill (1983). He was the gifted fellow whose suicide reunited Glenn Close and Kevin Kline, William Hurt and Jeff Goldblum. All of these actors had brilliant careers, but Costner had the most brilliant: he starred in Kasdan’s late western “Silverado” (1985), in “No Way Out” opposite Gene Hackman, and in “The Untouchables” (both 1987) opposite Robert De Niro and Sean Connery, in Annie’s Men and Field of Dreams. He was our Gary Cooper.
In 1991, he made “Dances with Wolves,” a schmaltzy western that won seven Oscars, including best picture and best director. Costner had never directed a film before. He became Whitney Houston’s bodyguard. Then Costner directed massive epics, “Waterworld” (1995) and “The Postman” (1997), gigantic flops in which he invested money himself. Every time it was said: Costner won’t recover from this! But he always recovered.
“Horizon” and “Megalopolis” in criticism:
Since 2018, Costner has played a fierce rancher defending his land in Montana in “Yellowstone.” After four seasons, Costner ran out of time and was written out. Because Costner had three films to make, “Horizon: An American Saga”, an incredibly boring pioneer story. The first part is 180 minutes long and cost $100 million. Few people wanted to see Costner’s saga – that’s why the second part (191 minutes) probably won’t be shown in the cinema.
Francis Ford Coppola also had a dream: He wanted to make a film in which New York City was shown as a replica of ancient Rome, but apparently the director of the “Godfather” films couldn’t find a financier for 50 years.
Botch that is supposed to be a grand metaphor
When you see Megalopolis you understand why no one wanted to make this film. An unctuous narrator talks about the New Rome from the off. Adam Driver as Cesar Catiline, Nathalie Emmanuel as Julia Cicero and Jon Voight as Hamilton Crassus III spout off-color dialogue that you can’t believe the Patton screenwriter wrote.
“Megalopolis” is also about a, well, ethereal material that wraps around people like clothing. I can’t put it any better. Adam Driver invented it.
Coppola tortures us for 138 minutes with this made-up nonsense, which is supposed to be a grand metaphor. I suspect: for megalomania.