Screening at Venice: Mike Figgis’ ‘Megadoc’

From Leaving Las Vegas director Mike Figgis, Megadoc is a fly-on-the-wall documentary about the making of Megalopolis, Francis Ford Coppola’s white whale production, which he finally released last year. The response to Coppola’s mad utopian epic ranged from baffled to mixed, and while some, like myself, were awestruck by its ambition, there’s no denying that the $120 million self-funded saga makes for an enrapturing curio. However, it’s hard not to wonder if Megadoc is the right film to answer any burning questions, given its own troubles—which become a minor subject too, as Figgis is left with no choice but to turn the lens on himself.

There’s no denying that Megadoc has at least some academic value: it’s the kind of documentary students might watch in a Production 101 class to get a taste of the chaos of big movie sets. This might sound like a backhanded compliment, but as the 77-year-old Figgis narrates in the opening minutes (about the 86-year-old Coppola), he’s never actually seen another director at work. Megadoc is a mood piece and a process piece, shot up close with lo-fi video equipment, but it’s never allowed to probe deeply enough. With jagged cuts mid-scene, several unfolding threads are left feeling incomplete, while the movie’s two leads—Adam Driver and Nathalie Emmanuel—barely feature, which Figgis attributes to their reluctance to be filmed on set. Much like Megalopolis, Megadoc faces challenges while searching for its voice. However, where Coppola succeeds in his pursuit by the end, Figgis does not, despite the movie’s many gestures toward riveting topics.

The documentary not only chronicles the early days of Megalopolis rehearsals—during which Coppola plays theater and improv games, establishing his credo of having fun—but it also flashes back to earlier taped readings and screen tests from two decades ago, during which stars like Uma Thurman and Ryan Gosling were once part of the production. The long road to finally making Megalopolis just about fades into view, but the doc seldom seems to have enough footage to follow a single train of thought.

Figgis, on the occasions that he speaks to the camera, seems acutely aware of his role as a storyteller in search of on-set conflict, which he finds most often in the relationship between the experienced Coppola and the hot-headed former child star Shia LaBeouf, a pair whose respective playful and logistical philosophies make for an awkward fit. LaBeouf references the controversies that have made him persona non grata in Hollywood, and how his precarious employability informs his initially cautious approach. This care is eventually shed, leading to numerous intriguing and hilarious clashes between the duo, but the film either isn’t interested in expounding upon Shia’s life (and the way it informs his mindset) or isn’t able to get the right sound bites. Either way, it comes achingly close to finding its heart and soul in the oddball, pseudo father-son relationship between the director of The Godfather and the star of Nickelodeon’s Even Stevens, and what a joy that would have been. However, the numerous times they end up at loggerheads, with their diametrically opposed approaches to meaning and artistry, end up lost in the shuffle of the doc’s many other concerns.

There are tidbits about budgets, costumes, visual effects and so on, but Figgis’ record is too straightforward and too chronological (often in a literal, day-by-day sense) to capture the fraught process of filmmaking and how its challenges are overcome. Anytime the department heads are seen trying to pull off some practical magic trick, Megadoc seldom establishes what goal they’re working toward, in the form of either concept art or finished footage. Although we’re allowed to glimpse the finished product of certain shots, in the meantime, all we’re left with are scenes of people tinkering and working toward objectives that are rarely clear to even viewers who have seen Megalopolis.

Some interviews with more experienced actors like Dustin Hoffman and Jon Voight provide wise insight about Coppola’s process, while relative newcomer Aubrey Plaza forms an amusing bond with the director, based on sarcastic banter. But there’s never enough cohesion behind Megadoc to make it more than just a behind-the-scenes special feature. For a filmmaker like Figgis, whose 2000 four-way split-screen movie Timecode remains a landmark of digital experimentation—it was the first feature made in one take (that too four times over), even though Russian Ark wrongly gets the credit—capturing Coppola at his most wildly experimental ought to feel like a spark of madness burning through the screen. Whether or not it actually instilled these feelings in Figgis is hard to tell, but given Megadoc’s languid unveiling, the mad science on display rarely ends up felt, and is most often observed at a casual and disappointing distance.