‘The Brutalist’: A Masterful Study of Art, Ambition, Alienation and Power
A review of ‘The Brutalist’, directed by Brady Corbet; A24, 2024.
Some films just seem to be begging for an Oscar. Interstellar is one. The Brutalist is another. In the vast field of modern cinema, few writers and directors dare to make flicks as imposing and grandiose as this one, which also deals with weighty, of-the-moment themes like the American Dream, the immigrant experience, Holocaust trauma and—because it never gets old—power.
The film chronicles the journey of László Tóth (Adrien Brody), a Hungarian-Jewish architect and Holocaust survivor. He arrives in the United States in 1947 with the hope of rebuilding both his career and his fractured identity. His wife, Erzsébet (Felicity Jones), and niece, Zsófia (Raffey Cassidy), remain in war-torn Europe. László must overcome the pain of their absence, the trials of integration into a society that claims to be free but is highly hierarchical, and the deep emotional scars left by his experience as a Jew in Europe in the 1940s.
László, a major Bauhaus architect, is stuck designing chairs with his cousin, Attila (Alessandro Nivola). Attila has for the most part shed his Hungarian-Jewish identity, taken the surname ‘Miller’ and become Catholic. László is thankful for the work, which is beneath his talents, but too proud to let his identity go, despite the benefits of doing so. Happily, he is soon thrown a bone in the shape of a commission to redesign a library. The owner, a wealthy industrialist called Harrison Lee Van Buren Sr. (Guy Pearce) is at first appalled to come back to his mansion and find his library changed. But he comes round and takes László under his wing. Harrison tasks him with building a vast cultural centre in honour of his late mother.
Attila has for the most part shed his Hungarian-Jewish identity, taken the surname ‘Miller’ and become Catholic.
This commission becomes a focal point around which László hopes and struggles circle. László must create; but do so beneath the weight of patronage, in the sense of sponsorship and of condescension, and society’s lively bias towards both Jews and immigrants. Over three-and-a-half hours—there is an interval; do not worry—we explore László’s psychology and the outside forces conspiring to shape his fate.
Central to The Brutalist is a study of displacement, identity, and the poisonous effects of unchecked ambition. László is the immigrant archetype: seeking to contribute to his adopted homeland, he comes up against barriers put in place by ignorance and intolerance. The film also explores the moral confusion intrinsic to the relationship between artist and patron, showing how creativity can be both nourished and thwarted by those who control the means of production. Equally, it considers the power relation between László and Harrison, the latter of whom, despite being wealthier, yearns to be as artistically and intellectually rich as the former. Brutalism, a stark, unadorned, highly practical tradition, acts as a metaphor for the struggles of László: for his strength and isolation, for the security he lacks, for the tension between doing what the artistic and the practical.
All of this is rendered beautifully through Brady Corbet’s direction and Lol Crawley’s cinematography, which captures the austere beauty of the physical and emotional landscapes inhabited by the characters. The use of 70mm VistaVision gives grandeur to the film, plunging us into the period setting and giving a monumental scale to László’s creations. Daniel Blumberg’s score is outstanding: at once unsettling and triumphant. Its discordant melodies evoke the László’s turbulent inner life and the distance between his ideals and reality.
All of this is rendered beautifully through Brady Corbet’s direction and Lol Crawley’s cinematography, which captures the austere beauty of the physical and emotional landscapes inhabited by the characters.
Brody just won an Oscar for his acting, a masterclass in conveying without words intensity, pride, pain, frustration and aspiration. Jones portrays Erzsébet as mentally strong if physically vulnerable, if someone with a ropey accent, and her character acts as a striking counterpoint to László’s stoicism. Pearce’s Van Buren may at times seem a bit hammy; but as the story unfolds we understand why this is. Here is a complex man, clearly wrestling with his own demons and keen to keep up appearances. He has the capacity for outward charm but his elitism is deeply rooted. He is visibly, highly sensitive to hierarchy. The supporting characters play their parts well.
The Brutalist is has been taken apart for architectural, linguistic and cultural inauthenticity. AI was used. Frankly, I do not see the problem. If the film is good, the film is good, I say: and anyway, you cannot please everyone. I do not throw a strop when Americans do ‘British accents’ (I use the scare quotes because ours is the linguistic mother-country: accents thus exist relative to our own, within which there are many dialects — Scouse, Geordie, Cockney, West Country, Glaswegian, Highland—and several languages—Welsh, Gaelic, Scots, Cornish, etc.).
The Brutalist has its flaws. The first half is better than the second. There is one memorable scene in the second part that does nothing but weaken the film. It could probably be tighter. But take it all in all, it is a huge achievement, a masterpiece. It is a sprawling work of cinematic art endlessly open to discussion and interpretation, concerning timeless themes: the relationship between the community and the outsider, the role of art in ordering the psychological chaos induced by trauma, the nature of power, and the right relation between integrity and pragmatism … To the boring charge that culture has become shallow, incapable of saying anything about the human experience, I say: make haste to your local cinema, order a bottle of wine, and watch The Brutalist.
