"The Brutalist" review — An ambitious journey into the hard core of beauty
“Last night I met God. He gave me permission to call him by his name.”
In 1947, a boat full of scared, hungry, war-weary Central European immigrants, armed with what little they had, made their way across the volatile waters of the Atlantic for the promise that was America. Among them is László Tóth, a Hungarian-Jewish man who speaks very little of himself, yet has a whole host of great accomplishments from his days before the war. A whistle sounds. Emerging from the darkness of the overstuffed hold into the early-morning light, László catches a glimpse of hope: the Statue of Liberty standing proudly over the Hudson River. For the next three-and-a-half hours, some thirteen years of László’s new life plays out in vivid detail, from his humble beginnings struggling to make a living as an assistant in a distant cousin’s furniture store, to his eventual trepidatious success under the employ of a Pennsylvania millionaire. The story is divided into two acts and an epilogue, interrupted by a fifteen-minute intermission, bringing the viewer through the euphoria of success and the pits of despair in a powerful ode to the vapid dream of post-war America.
To call Brady Corbet’s The Brutalist anything less than monumental would be a disservice. An American epic in the true sense of the word, the film is a sprawling achievement. An emotionally, personally wrought piece, bounding with high-calibre performances and some of the finest cinematography and production design around. While it would be far too easy to simply describe the films in terms related to its central artistic discipline of architecture, Corbet certainly makes the parallels pronounced. Like Tóth’s architectural feats, which are so central to the drama, the film itself is formally and structurally flawless, a carefully measured, intricately designed work. Its grand scale and heft runtime are staggering, like the pieces of modernist and brutalist architecture featured throughout, with its sense of scale revealing something quiet and contemplative at the core. The character work is clever and measured, with Adrien Brody’s performance as László Tóth being one of the finest characters of the year. It is a loving throwback to the mid-century era of Hollywood cinema, although coated with a healthy sense of 21st-century grit that, more than anything, breaks apart the myth of American identity perpetrated by that era of filmmaking. The Brutalist demands to be remembered and will not let you down easily.
Image via A24. |
The arrival of László Tóth (played by Adrien Brody) to America begins the film’s first act, titled onscreen as “The Enigma of Arrival,” which brings him up through a seedy New York City and into the arms of his distant cousin Attila (played by Alessandro Nivola), who owns a furniture store under the anglicised name “Miller and Sons.” László sleeps in Attila’s storage closet and spends his days updating his cousin’s furniture with all of the latest stylistic fashions which are starting to come out of Central Europe. He lends a hand working on commissions and specialty requisitions, including a particularly lucrative one from Harry Lee Van Buren (played by Joe Alwyn), the son of millionaire Harrison Lee Van Buren, who is out to re-do the family library. But László’s modern re-design of the old family mansion just insights the ire of the elder Van Buren, causing the two to lose out on all of their pay, sending László out onto the street and irreparably straining the relationship with his cousin. But in a surprising act of generosity, Harrison finds László again, living in a workhouse, and having done his research on László’s impressive resume as a Bauhaus architect in his home city of Budapest, and offers him the commission of his career. Harrison asks László to build a chapel and community centre in his signature brutalist style on a hill on the Van Burren property.
This begins a rapid accent for László into financial security, his ability to pursue his career in America, and puts him in league with one of the most notable businessmen of the Eastern seaboard. While slowly rising in prominence within the Van Buren family and making headlines — both positive and negative — in Pennsylvania for his controversial new building, László carries with him the remaining wounds of the war, most of which go unspoken. Adrien Brody’s performance here is a crown rule in the actor’s already incredible filmography. Brody brings so much depth to this character, carefully weaving his hefty feelings about religion, culture, art, space, and design, into thoughtful, specific character beats. László’s story is not only an eternally resonant tale of immigration to North America and the promise of the American dream, but it intentionally shatters that dream in the process. It’s not by mere tragedy, however, Corbet is too clever to resort to a tragic fate for Toth, but by deliberately chipping away at who he is and constantly asking of him what he is willing to sacrifice for success.
Photo via A24. |
At the centre of László’s arc in the first half is his ferocious struggle to bring his wife, Erzsébet (played by Felicity Jones), and his niece, Zsófia (played by Raffey Cassidy) to America from their home in Budapest, the three having not seen each other since they were all shuffled off into concentration camps during the war. The long-awaited arrival of Erzsébet and Zsófia in America begins the film’s second act, titled “The Hard Core of Beauty,” in which the Tóth family’s troubles just begin. Brody is far from the only excellent performance here. Felicity Jones and Guy Pearce are powerhouses in their own right, with scene-stealing moments in plenty, with Joe Alwyn and Raffey Cassidy playing into more subtle territory. The subtle worldbuilding is what makes The Brutalist’s characters and their complex relationships sing. Corbet peppers the film with moments of history, with things like the establishment of Israel, real-life U.S. legislation, and the residual, unspoken trauma of war informing the most seemingly banal moments of the film. While fiction, this sense of living memory colours the film with detail and believability, making every moment feel alive and realized.
Structurally, Corbet has drawn up a marvellously realized creative world. Much has been said already of the cinematography of Lol Crawley, which has garnered significant attention due to its use of VistaVision film stock, an old-school format that has long gone out of primary use and is, nowadays, used only in the world of special effects artists. Thankfully, this outdated, analogue process results in a finished product that is good for more than just headlines. Crawley’s work behind the camera is supreme. Using the wide gates of VistaVision, Crawley captures Tóth’s grandiose architecture, the gorgeous landscapes of Pennsylvania, and the legendary marble mines of Italy with holy majesty. This cinematographic technique combined with the gorgeous 70mm film print screened in many cinemas gives a depth and tactility to the images, which both engenders a sense of history into the way the images are constructed, complimenting its primarily 1950s setting, and showcases the power capable with both the format and a talented team. The Brutalist makes for the most compelling argument for the preservation and continued exhibition of movies on film since the 70mm IMAX prints of Oppenheimer in 2023. Perhaps the film’s other great feature is the brilliant, explosive score by Daniel Blumberg. Using rousing, stirring brass arrangements, dotted with careful piano melodies, Blumberg’s score is arresting in the theatre and memorable far beyond the film’s close.
Photo via A24. |
Even with its gargantuan runtime and lofty themes, The Brutalist is hypnotic. From its gorgeous score and masterful cinematography to stunning performances and brilliant character writing, Corbet’s epic is going to sweep you off your feet. The film, like Tóth himself, never quite shows its full hand in why the characters behave the way they do. Even in the final scene, a flashforward to László’s last days, the audience is given a few more morsels of information that make us rethink and reassess everything we have seen so far. The film is as ambitious as Tóth himself is, making a direct connection between the film’s formal conventions and the art we witness being brought to life in the narrative. Full of images of steel and concrete, the themes of beauty and purpose are stripped of any sense of comfort, as the film tries to find some sense of joy in a world occupied with so much suffering. It’s difficult to digest, certainly, but the heights reached by the film’s conclusion are atmospheric. The Brutalist is a powerful, staggering, and emotionally volatile portrait of an artist, his life, his pain, and the dreams he sought to bring to life.
The Brutalist is now playing in select theatres.
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