Francis Ford Coppola's music in 1982 "One of the Heart" opens with a roulette pill over a black screen. The shouts, holes, hopes and the casino are nowhere to be heard. Just as the damn ball is knitted through that turning wheel, bold bets to choose a number and color. When the rotation slows down and the pill finds its slot, the red light logo of the Zotrope studio is cut through the darkness of the theater.

Coppola's betting? Everything. He was pushed on the comprehensive dream of an artist -controlled film studio, located in the heart of Hollywood. Anyone who bought a ticket to see the movie on the day of opening knew that the most famous director of the 1970s It risked all this to revolutionize the shutdown industry. He wanted every craftsman of every faith/color/class to rise as much as their talents, to know that people with money took more care of art than business. He wanted to democratize the most influential creative medium of the 20th century because the more obvious people of different origin are associated with their fellow human beings, the better we will understand. He wanted a utopia.

And every person who sat down in those rarely inhabited theaters 42 years ago knew that he would no longer go into a bust.

"One of the Heart" was fiasco. Critics used $ 26m production as a cold -hearted technical exercise. Why did the director who would help rescue Hollywood from his old school excesses did what was essentially the kind of gradual brand of music audiences over a decade ago? Moviegoers caught the stench and remained hell.

"One of the Heart" was quickly drawn from theaters after announcing one theaters in the United States in the United States in the United States in the United States after in the United States. Coppola's dream was kicked out. He will bet on red and spent the next two decades taking rental gigs to cover them to return to black. He found solvency in the wine business, but this one -off director's lion lost the roar. And this is a tragedy because "the one from the heart" was just a triumph, as many discovered when they experienced their beauty of Sui Generis in cinemas by publishing a restored director in January 2024.

"Director of the Director" may be the wrong term. Coppola has already shortened the film about its DVD release in the early 2000sAnd he was expelled about six minutes of this version. This new iteration is titled "One of the Heart: Replay". If you are the Fanbuil of the film, it is essentially the same movie except for a pretty significant change, the one that still hugs me.

Before I get into the weeds, let me assure the newcomers that "one of the heart: repress" works beautifully. It is still the awkward story of two Las Vegas lovers whose dreams have moved away. Frederick Forrest's Hank is a grounded mechanic who wants to set roots in the city of Son City, who is considering Terry Gar's travel agent, Frani, who longs to see the world (specifically Bora Bora). Hank believes that they can build their own little paradise in the modest two -story house they share; Friani sees him as an initial house you roll on the road to find the palace. When they cannot reconcile their world view of the anniversary dinner (at home, against Frani's wishes), they hit the Vegas lane in search of someone they get.

The conflict is inadvertently shop. Frani wiped her legs with a toy in a world -wide day singer (Raul Iaulia, who gets a great entrance to the same level with Omar Sharif, who drove a miracle in Lawrence of Arabia), while Hank goes Gaga to a stunningly beautiful circus. We've seen this film, and Coppola knows that. The difference is aesthetic.

Coppola was expecting pre-visualization of the future of big budget films with his concept "Electronic Cinema", which allowed him to map the film filmed through video recordings with video. This allowed him to set up visually complicated one-off, where Forrest and Gar could play moments together and, in a way, together against a semi-transparent script. It is a Brechtian notion that emphasizes the attention of the artifacement of film work, but the musicals of the backlot are artificial. Everything that artists create, including documentaries, employs some degree of hand. Coppola relies deep into this and attracts us to the erotic reverses of his characters.

Because unless you do "Umberto D", the photoreal is for Haki.

Those and zeros are not evil, but they represent non-talents with art code art; At some point during the next century, Oeo Rousseau's dream of dudes can swing Marilyn Monroe in their living room will become a reality. Wille feels close to real, which means it will be cheap and shameful. The handmade spectacle of "one of the heart", where talented performers sing and dance according to the capabilities of their characters-serious, unusual, without the key breaking of "You're My Sun" is an exalted-in films with high budgetary productive value was an impossible future. However, I will take it over those and Zeros on the "Jurassic Park".

But that dream is so dead.

"One of the Heart" may have been a better chance with mainstream film films, Iaululia and Kinski appeared earlier in the film earlier. Coppola refers to this issue in "Repris", but while his instincts are on the spot, there are only so much that he can do with available shots.

The big blow between Hank and Frani moves forward in the film. They came across their paramurs before their dinner anniversary, which energized the narrative. But this also highlights the basic lack of the script: Hank and Frani are never more than archetypes. The design of Dean Tavularis production is unusually lived for a back musical, but Forrest and Gar never feel a real home in the space they created. My feeling is that they needed more time for a rehearsal (and probably a dialogue nail polish) to settle this deliberately unreal world more comfortable. But you justify these shortcomings because, my God, this is a nice movie.

Cinematographer's neon-stone vision Vittorio Storaro, Vincente Minelli, would knock out Nicholas Ray in a sugar coma, which means "the one from the heart", after the formulation of Jeanan-Luk Goddard, Cinema. Tom Waits' music conveys the tired side of Vegas. The city appears if you spend a few days there, but living has a lie of 24-7. Then again, so is life, everywhere, all the time. Hank and Friani just want to carve the sliders of happiness here and there. Maybe the house will make the trick. Probably not. But you only go once, so what is the damage in dreaming?

Coppola sold its vineyard to dream of probably his last, extravagant dream. I don't care if Megalopolis, the $ 100 million epic he personally funded, is not an "apocalypse now". I care that Maestro has set the toughest bet to see if that pill can find the right slot last time.