"The mind is an attribute of the individual.
There is no such thing as a collective brain."
The Fountainhead

I was at a library with a friend recently, and happened upon a book of poetry by Federico García Lorca.  I opened the book, and was immediately inspired to recite what I read.  Whether it is strictly true that

"Behind each mirror
is a dead star
& a baby rainbow
sleeping,"
Federico García Lorca

Or not, is completely immaterial.  I am unconcerned whether astronomers have discovered that 

"Swarms of fountains
float through the sky.
In each fountain's a moon
lying dead."
Federico García Lorca

But because we live in a society in which films/books like The Fountainhead and Megalopolis are paradoxically both possible and necessary, my friend responded with the observation that whatever I had just read was completely unbelievable.  Apparently, it is physically impossible for rainbows to have babies, or for "swarms" of fountains to float through the sky, presumably like realistic superheroes, or clouds.  I stared at him with incredulity.  "It's a poem," I said.

A poem.

I watched Megalopolis for the first time today, and liked it instantly.  Nothing in the film dissuaded my opinion at any point.  I loved everything about it.

Megalopolis is The Fountainhead of our time.  It is the beautifully-conceived-and-executed individual vision of a cinematic genius.  I remembered the negative reviews of the film I have watched online, how they criticized it for being an anachronistic hodge-podge of cultural influences, from Ancient Rome to Nazi Germany by way of New York City, and was as incredulous to their myopic, legalistic take on the film as I was to my friend's legalistic take on the poetry of Lorca.  What's wrong with these people, I wondered.

Not enough scientific Batman for them?

I even watched an almost-favorable review of Megalopolis, which said it was destined to be a "cult film," a cinematic aberrance with an inexplicable-yet-massive underground following in the future.  What an absolute indictment of a culture's mediocrity, I thought.  It's almost like the film was made in advance about the people condemned to dismiss it when it was finally released.  Or perhaps it was inspired by them, if the collective brain of such vacuums of cultural intelligence and interest can be in any way inspiring.

A culture of broken wings and rag flowers, indeed.

"His heart was growing full
of broken wings and rag flowers."
Federico García Lorca

The question isn't what's right or wrong with Megalopolis.  The question is, are you aware that your aversion to an obvious work of visionary genius is proof of the cultural rot that (among other things, to be sure) inspired the movie in the first place?  Has it ever occurred to you that by demanding a work of art to conform to your fascistic need for unimaginative, mindless entertainment, you are unwittingly participating in the film in an inverse-meta way, and that the indictment you level against the film is in fact an indictment against your own hardened, artless sanctimony, which is projected into the film itself, and that you are proving the cultural rot depicted within, by your own apparently-adamantine inability to consider the possibility that what you believe is "wrong" with Megalopolis is in fact what's wrong with you?

I didn't think so.

I have been back in the U.S. for over 7 months, and have yet to see anything but broken wings and rag flowers.  It's discouraging.  We should embrace Megalopolis as one embraces a new fountainhead, an attempt to inspire us to break free from an anti-culture in which season 20,000,000 of Breaking Bad, or Breaking Boring, or whatever the tiresome serial about mediocre drug people is called is actually possible, and open our minds to the possibility that the arts do not exist to service our need for a linear superhero narrative like a prostitute performing an act of intellectual fellatio in the filthy, abandoned backalleys of what used to be our souls.

It's a poem, for pity's sake.  Get real.

Or unreal, if you can.

"Whenever I die
bury me with my guitar
beneath the sand."
Federico García Lorca

Thank you, Coppola, for what will perhaps be posthumously remembered as one of the best films of the 2020s.  Posthumously for the culture, of course.  Hopefully not you.  I know you're getting up there, but please don't leave us anytime soon.  We need you.  But when you do finally make your exit, know that those of us who appreciate your genius will bury you with your guitar beneath the sand, your camera in the clouds, and with our heavy hearts and open minds intact.

Thanks again.