Much has been made about the technical achievements of Brady Corbet's The Brutalist. Conversation about the film has been dominated by its filming on 35mm film stock, conversion to 70mm—which allows it to be projected in the highest quality and largest screen possible on film—and, of course, the 15-minute intermission that splits the 215-minute runtime into two acts. And while the filmmaking is, in fact, ambitious and remarkable, less has been made about how this epic and soulful meditation on the alluring promise of the American dream is profoundly affecting.
Spanning three decades and infused with so much well-wrought detail you could be convinced that it's a biopic—it's not—The Brutalist sketches a portrait of the American immigrant in László Tóth (Adrian Brody). Like many, he finds himself in the States after surviving the Holocaust. A Hungarian-born Jew with little to his name, Làzlo begins his journey in New York. The movie opens to a dark screen, save for flashes of people dashing through the frame grabbing luggage or running for an exit—or perhaps an entrance. The sounds of the chaos and score by Daniel Blumberg are overwhelming until it's broken by a disorienting but monumental shot of the Statue of Liberty towering overhead.
That scene sums up the immersive feeling that pervades through the rest of the movie as Corbet swirls us through a symphony of sounds, music and crisp saturated cinematography that is disorienting, but also has a musicality to it. That feeling pervades as we follow László to a small Pennsylvania town where he seeks shelter with his cousin Attila (Alessandro Nivola) and his wife Audrey (Emma Laird), the picturesque slice of Americana. Together they run a furniture store called “Miller & Sons.” When László questions the name, Attila says he's changed his surname to sound more “Catholic” and as for the “sons,” he chides, “People here like a family business.”
It's László's first experience with the country's melting pot. A melting pot that asks you to smooth over your differences and assimilate as a means for survival. Attila's newfound suave “American-ness” is starkly contrasted against László's thick accent and jagged edges.
Shortly after he starts working at the store, László is commissioned to a renovate the library of an ultra-rich industrialist. László, who was a lauded architect before the war, comes alive with the project igniting a passion in him we haven't seen yet. The result is a sleek, modern and powerfully simple room. Harrison hates it until he begins to receive notices for the gorgeous room. That's when he sees opportunity in László's skill.
Brody, who plays László with a steely exterior hiding an unbreakable spirit, brings the character through a complex journey that requires him to empathetically turn him inside out. He extraordinarily struggles with the complexities of being an immigrant in a land that both builds itself of them but can't quite seem to claim them as their own. By the end of the epic, László's broken out into a voracious brute whose genius is only matched by his own ambition who is still being crushed on all sides by everyone else's ambition.
Perhaps to match the architectural style's clear lines and overt imposing footprint, The Brutalist doesn't shy away from its themes. Its criticisms of American greed and capitalism tied in with the very narrow path that immigrants can follow to find success are starkly presented as the project brings László to the centre aristocracy, which exposes its many hidden dark truths. While László refuses to shy away from his Hungarian-ness, his Jewish-ness or his immigrant-ness, the systems in place ask him at every turn to turn away from those facets of his identity.
At the movie's halfway mark, and after the aforementioned intermission, The Brutalist takes a shift as László's wife Erzsébet (Felicity Jones) and Zsófia (Raffey Cassidy) finally find their way to the States. In a way, it becomes a mirror to the first act as Erzsébet, affected by her harrowing journey through the Holocaust and overseas, is taken aback by the changes in her husband. In some ways, it feels like the movie is repeating itself. In others, it's expanding its scope. The movie doesn't quite flow with the same unstoppable rhythm it had in its first act, but where it ends up is nevertheless moving.
There was clearly so much on Corbet's mind as he constructed The Brutalist. Its commentary doesn't just span the thirty years we follow its characters, but a century's-worth of well-trodden cultural and societal norms that still pervade today. That's not to mention László's own personal journey that takes him through even more struggles. The result is monumental, like that earlier shot of the Statue of Liberty. It's a shot in the arm and assault on the senses that is a wonder to experience, even when its story finds derivative corners. Its sheer ambition is something to marvel at. Maybe that's the point. Maybe it's just another piece of American excess built on ambition. Even so, it's a magnificent build.
The Brutalist screened at New York Film Festival 2024
