In The Brutalist, director Brady Corbet is attempting to craft an epic on par with the Great American Novels of the Twentieth Century. Like many epic tales, we are given a hero, and his life is an avatar for the beauty and avarice of our complicated history. Our hero is László Tóth, a Hungarian Jew who manages to escape the Dachau prison camp during World War II and make it to America by boat. The opening sequence disorients with shadowy, handheld shots of László feeling his way through the dark bowels of the ship. As he bursts through a door, the score swells with big brass, and the camera reveals a bobbing Statue of Liberty, the final symbol in our hero’s treacherous journey. Or so it seems. For the next three and a half hours, we learn that there is more trauma to be had in this supposed sanctuary. A brilliant architect, he finds people who respect his artistry but merely tolerate his presence, and all the humanity it contains.
Adrien Brody plays Tóth, and the sinewy, eccentric actor gives the survivor an edge of rebellion. It’s almost exactly twenty-two years ago that Brody’s performance in Roman Polanski’s The Pianist was released, which eventually won him an unexpected Oscar. Since that award, Brody has mostly done some impressive supporting work amongst some disastrous attempts at leading man stardom. The Brutalist really is the only other film that has managed to get the full potential of this obviously talented performer. László Tóth appears on the surface to be a pretty standard protagonist – a brilliant artist cut at the knees by circumstance and prejudice – but Brody gives a very physical, heartbreaking performance. Tóth’s work is an attempt to overcome his trauma, but the great irony (and tragedy) of The Brutalist is how his work introduces him to the very people who wish to continue and sustain the pain he’s experienced.
This comes in the form of Harrison Van Buren (an incredible Guy Pearce), an American man of industry who discovers László when his son, Harry (Joe Alwyn), hires him and his cousin Attila (Alessandro Nivola) to remodel the family library as a surprise to his father. Attila is a Philadelphia businessman who runs a furniture company. He accepts the helpless László into his home, but also uses his artistry to boost his clientele. László is able to take the Van Buren library and transform it from a drafty, shrouded book pile into a sleek, modernist nook with gorgeous natural light. Harrison’s initial reaction to the surprise is rage, amplified by the cousins’ use of Gordon (Isaach de Bankole), László’s Black friend, on their work team. László and team are thrown off the premises and refused payment. It’s only years later that Van Buren recognizes László’s genius. By this time László is living in a church shelter, shoveling coal. Van Buren finds him once again and offers him a chance to renew his sterling overseas reputation.
Van Buren transitioning from furious invective to inviting generosity without accepting much in the way of accountability is a running theme throughout The Brutalist. The film’s script is written by Corbet along with his personal and professional partner Mona Fastvold (who herself is a pretty accomplished filmmaker). They portray the Van Buren family, Harrison in particular, as vainglorious tyrants enamored with their own twisted view of philanthropy. Harrison gives himself credit for picking László up out of the coal mine, but never assesses himself blame for several snap decisions that derail László’s life. Harry is more upfront with his ambivalence, never affording László anything in the way of actual respect. Harry’s twin sister, Maggie (Stacey Martin), is the most civil but allegiances are always clear: there is “us” and there is “them”. This deep-rooted intolerance doesn’t prevent Harrison from commissioning László for his life’s most ambitious project: a community center in rural Pennsylvania that will have a gymnasium, a theater, a library, and (most pointedly) a chapel.
All the while, László’s wife, Erzsébet (Felicity Jones), and niece, Zsófia (Raffey Cassidy), are still in Hungary, unable to cross the Atlantic. Their absence weighs heavy on him. As he announces his community center project, Harrison also arranges with his lawyer to get wife and niece by László’s side. When they finally arrive, Zsófia is traumatized into muteness while Erzsébet is wheelchair-bound after years of malnourishment gave her osteoporosis. Having family closer is a blessing but it also comes with its own pressures. Erzsébet is more happy to placate the racist asides of the Van Burens, more willing to lean on them for help. László tries to maneuver his way out from under the Van Buren thumb, but finds shaking it more and more difficult. As he delves further into the community center, László’s binding to Van Buren becomes more solid, and more tense. His subtle actions of independence are met with intense backlash, accompanied with a frequent reminder of his place.
Eventually, László is forced in humiliating ways to accept his perpetual second-class status, and as the movie unfolds, circumstances of betrayal remind him that his symbolic survival of the Holocaust does not preclude him the empirical evils of this world. At three hours and thirty-five minutes, The Brutalist moves with surprisingly quick pace. A fifteen-minute intermission squarely in the middle neatly bifurcates the story into two one hundred-minute chunks. The intermission is yet another way that Corbet spreads his obvious interest in a classical style. It’s hard not to compare the two halves against one another. The first half’s surging triumph against the second’s (no pun intended) brutality. Corbet and Fastvold set up expectations for a downfall, but when they finally present it, it’s like a twist of the knife. It all leads to a moment of physical and emotional violence that literalizes the metaphor in contrived ways. When forced to reconcile these creative decisions, the story merely ends itself.
And perhaps that’s the point. In his previous films, Corbet showcased himself as merely a provocateur with superlative technical skill. The Brutalist offers quite a bit more than that, but it’s second half certainly reminds me of a filmmaker I’ve disliked in the past, bound by his pretensions and seemingly unable to help but resort to shock even when it’s not necessary. When this film is succeeding, there truly isn’t anything else like it. At it’s core, the script is a robust and powerful rebuke of the romantic ideal of the American immigrant experience. Those aforementioned novels by the likes of Saul Bellow and Isaac Bashevis Singer documented foreigner oppression but often paid credence to the virtues of the American dream. Corbet and Fastvold hold no illusions, and The Brutalist is outright hostile towards those that do. By the film’s conclusion, we are confronted with the lingering remnants of László’s trauma, and presented with the common practice of “too little, too late”, with amends coming long after they would have had any substantial effect.
If nothing else, The Brutalist is a testament to the brilliance of its craft. Lol Crowley’s gorgeous cinematography – equipped with claustrophobic handheld sequences, and hypnotizing slow zooms – will remind many of the most rigorous work of Paul Thomas Anderson. The score from Daniel Blumberg bursts with anthemic motifs and purrs with melancholy piano chords. A lot has been made of the fact that this massive film was made on a budget under $10 million. It’s hard not to be impressed when you see the results. The film’s cast, led by Brody, captures Corbet’s unsettling tone. None more so than Guy Pearce, who doesn’t play Van Buren has some cold, banality-of-evil type, but fills him with anguish and shame. The Australian actor sports an American accent that is noticeable in its specificity without feeling mannered. When he sees László, he not only admires his work, but resents his exceptionalism. Pearce’s Van Buren tries to buy it, and when that fails, he lashes out in a particularly heinous way.
I have my ambivalences about this movie. Sometimes it believes its confronting the audience when it’s really just bending its plot to its feel-bad whims. But this is still Corbet’s best film by a country mile, and even in its flaws, still ranks amongst the most impressive films I’ve seen this year. Also like Paul Thomas Anderson, the severity of his vision can alienate many until multiple viewings expose the humanity deep inside. With films like Vox Lux, I worried that Corbet didn’t hold any actual interest in that humanity, but The Brutalist proves me wrong. Ending movies are hard, and when forced to conclude this particularly difficult story, it almost feels like Corbet opts not to. It does manage to leave you with a feeling of incredible loss and a mourning for the lives exploited by American industry and empire. That feeling is difficult to shake, and you’ll find yourself thinking about The Brutalist long after you walk out of the theater.
Directed by Brady Corbet