I overheard the same question before and after seeing Megalopolis: What the hell is Megalopolis about?

In press for the film, director Francis Ford Coppola, of Apocalypse Now and The Godfather fame, has spoken at length about Megalopolis being a wake-up call for audiences to take up arms for the future of cinema and society as a whole — a bold act of optimism that envisions a road to utopia. But the film, out in theaters this week, is, in actuality, about history, and specifically about Coppola’s personal past.

The 150-minute fever dream of philosophy, politics, and Shia LaBeouf’s mullet isn’t subtle. Characters with names like Cesar Cataline and Wow Platinum deliver countless exhaustive monologues about the power of art, the calcification of bureaucracy, and the need for great, all-inclusive debates about the future. At one point, the antagonist delivers a speech from a tree stump that’s been sculpted into a swastika.

There’s nothing “sub” about the subtext here. It’s as blunt as a chain letter forwarded from your grandfather. And yet, all of these screeds are far more interesting and digestible than the sizable amount of time Coppola’s heroes spend defending Coppola’s actions.

Adam Driver’s Cesar, the city designer of Megalopolis, mourns his wife, whose life was figuratively and literally put into his work — the film suggests her DNA powers the film’s fictional construction material, Megala. Coppola notoriously blended his marriage and art in ways that led to bitter fights and affairs. Cesar takes extreme measures to build his dream city of the art, destroying buildings and arguing against public services. Back in the ’70s, Coppola hoped to obliterate the studio model through independent financing, and for his early films, fled Hollywood to avoid union labor.

The list of similarities goes on and on and on, to the point that Megalopolis feels less like a movie than a case for Coppola’s legacy — which makes sense, considering the filmmaker leveraged his wine empire, his fortune, and debt to tell his story. What better reason to spend your fortune before you die than to ensure you’re well remembered when you’re gone?

Megalopolis is an odd experience that can be “enjoyed” by anyone who wants to watch Driver recite Hamlet and Aubrey Plaza make a feast of some of the year’s most bonkers lines. However, for most viewers, much of the richer meaning will be lost without knowledge of Coppola’s story. Fortunately, that’s easier than ever thanks to a fantastic new biography from Sam Wasson, The Path to Paradise: A Francis Ford Coppola Story. Coppola and his peers participated in the book, and they provide a shockingly frank and expansive look into the personal life and career (the two often blended) of one of cinema’s greatest artists.

The book tells the story of a man who was willing to gamble everything on himself time and time again. For a time, that bet hit! Over and over! And then, his luck ran out. Did you see Jack?

Wasson’s book is special in its lack of judgment. The writer gives Coppola ample room to reflect upon his life, and, unlike Megalopolis, provides that history and analysis in a clear, relatively chronological, and humane fashion. Coppola comes across as a genius, a cod, a visionary, and a man grappling with his mental health in an era that lacked the tools and language of today. Where Megalopolis tells the story of a Great Man, The Path to Paradise tells the story of a man not so different than others who — at the expense of himself and those around him — accomplished great things.

As a standalone movie, Megalopolis is a mess — the sort of film that has audiences scratching their heads as they walk to their cars and forgetting the story on the drive home. But with a grasp of Coppola’s history, the film becomes something, if not good, then special. A scene in which Cesar’s enemies attempt to slander the artist with an affair, for example, takes on new meaning when you know Coppola once sent a heated memo to his staff and called for the termination of key team members as gossip spread across Zoetrope regarding his infidelities during the making of Apocalypse Now.

With the book as our key, we can open Megalopolis and find what’s inside: a $120 million autobiographical reckoning of an artist, in which he reflects upon his creations, his enemies, his dreams, and the question that haunts us all. Did I do enough to leave the world better than I found it?

With Megalopolis, Coppola makes a court case in his defense, as if the audience isn’t on earth but a divine bouncer in the great beyond.