The Brutalist—At Least, Half of It—Is as Exhilarating as Any Movie You’ll See This Year
As a cinephile with a deep appreciation for films that challenge conventional narratives and push the boundaries of cinematic storytelling, I found “The Brutalist” to be an extraordinary piece of work. Having had the privilege of witnessing it on the grand canvas of 70mm format during its Venice premiere, I can attest to the immersive experience that this film offers.
The film “The Brutalist,” directed by Brady Corbet, explores the question of what sets apart a genius like the character László Tóth from ordinary people. Adrien Brody portrays László, a Hungarian architect who survived Buchenwald and immigrated to the United States. The film opens with a perspective shot that simulates the experience of arriving at New York from a crowded steamer, where the Statue of Liberty appears distorted but still beautiful and welcoming. However, László quickly learns that his reception in America is not as warm as the statue’s expression suggests. Through steadfast adherence to his grand vision, he ultimately achieves great fame, but the story unfolds over a lengthy runtime of approximately three hours, with a 15-minute intermission for convenience.
At the Venice Film Festival, the movie “The Brutalist” showcases an audaciously ambitious approach from director Corbet, who never shies away from fully committing to his ideas. While not everything he attempts is completely successful, the first half of the film is a thrilling spectacle that rivals this year’s best offerings. The initial portion of the movie carries a raw, unrefined energy reminiscent of “The Rite of Spring.” However, in the second half, the film’s bold and angular themes transition into something more cryptic and traditional, despite some distressing plot points. It seems that Corbet and his frequent collaborator Mona Fastvold may have exhausted their most innovative concepts while ascending to success, but failed to consider how they would navigate a descent.
Living in this era, creating an outstanding film is quite challenging, and The Brutalist certainly fits the bill, transforming an ordinary afternoon into a memorable event. Director Corbet structures the narrative into four parts, including an epilogue, spanning from 1947 to 1980, specifically the Venice Biennale dedicated to architecture. The film commences with a dramatic arrival at Ellis Island, where we first meet László Brody, disembarking with a companion. Their immediate priority is to alleviate some tension, and as a woman attempts to relieve it, she inquires about his response. “It’s the space above your brow that’s the issue,” he explains, studying her face, “There’s something I don’t find appealing.”
It’s bluntly stated, yet characteristic of architects, who have strong opinions about what they prefer and dislike – these aesthetic decisions are vital to them. However, László carries an additional burden: during the war, he and his wife, Erzsébet, were separated and sent to different camps. At that time, he was unaware if they survived. Upon reaching Pennsylvania and reuniting with his cousin, Attila, he learns they are alive. His emotion bursts forth in a torrent of tears; Brody skillfully portrays the intensity and healing quality of these emotions. He delivers an outstanding performance in this role.
Attila, along with his wife Emma Laird from Connecticut, operate a unique furniture business. Their niche is creating pieces made from dark wooden materials. Attila assigns a storage room to László for sleeping and lets him assist in the business, yet László’s dignity won’t let him accept more than that. At a food bank, he encounters Gordon, a single father, and their friendship blossoms over time. Corbet gradually unfolds László’s story, which gains momentum when Attila and Attila agree to a rushed project from stingy client Harry Lee Van Buren, played by Joe Alwyn. Harry desires a revamped library as a surprise for his wealthy father. Can they complete it within a week? László takes control, transforming a dull space into a stunning, semi-circular reading sanctuary equipped with adjustable bookshelves and an eye-catching chrome-and-leather lounge chair resembling Le Corbusier’s design. The future is here.
Subsequently, Harrison Lee Van Buren, played superbly by Guy Pearce, unexpectedly returns home ahead of schedule. His annoyance is palpable as he confronts Lászlo and Atilla, demanding they leave without payment. Young Harry stands firm in his refusal. Time passes, and it’s revealed that Harrison’s innovative reading room has graced the pages of LOOK magazine, elevating him as a man known for sophistication and foresight. Upon discovering László’s prestigious past in Hungary, Harrison views him with renewed respect. He locates László, now struggling with manual labor jobs, and presents him with an extraordinary opportunity: the chance to construct and design a community center in honor of Harrison’s late mother, whom he deeply admired. The building, slated for Doylestown, Pa., would house a library, gymnasium, auditorium, and chapel. Remarkably, László accepts this seemingly insurmountable task and creates a sleek, multipurpose structure that becomes the town’s pride.
In “The Brutalist,” I found myself witnessing not just Lászlo’s journey from rise to fall and back again, but a microcosm of the latter half of the 20th century. It’s a profound reflection on the experiences of an outsider, specifically a Jew in postwar America, a deep dive into the complexities of wealth and power, showing how it can both give and take away, not just in material possessions. The Bauhaus-trained László is so visionary, his ideas often seem to outrun our comprehension, which unfortunately breeds hatred and fear among some. “The Brutalist” masterfully captures the full spectrum of human behavior, from its noblest aspects to its most base, and every shade in between.
Eventually, Erzsébet (Felicity Jones) and Zsofia (Raffey Cassidy) arrive in New York, a place László has yearned to reunite with them for some time. However, their arrival forces him to reconsider his thoughts, as well as disrupting his usual ways – at times, it appears he’s only focused on constructing monuments that celebrate himself. Yet, despite this self-centered tendency, László is diligent and principled. At one moment, Harrison admires him by asking, “Why architecture?” Lászlo doesn’t have a straightforward answer, but instead provides one that’s as intricate as the veins in exquisite marble slabs. His buildings were once labeled “un-Germanic” by the Reich; now, he desires them to be imposing and provocative, inspiring humans to work towards change. However, on a personal level, he struggles: he’s a recovering drug addict who turned to substances to cope with war injuries.
In the opening half of “The Brutalist”, the intensity is so powerfully palpable that it leaves you eager to see where the story unfolds. Corbet, along with his cinematographer Lol Crawley, favor grandiose abbreviations and off-kilter camera angles which, surprisingly, manage to work flawlessly. Rather than depicting a train crash directly, they generate an atmosphere of suspense by swiftly moving the camera along rail tracks, followed by a breathtaking aerial view of a regular steam engine’s smoke turning into a fiery explosion. Daniel Blumberg’s music complements this effectively, creating a sense of both thrill and disorientation simultaneously: he crafts large, symphonic fragments of sound that heighten and alleviate tension using various techniques such as woodwind flutters or plucked string notes. (The film is dedicated to the late singer-songwriter and record producer Scott Walker, who composed the strikingly avant-garde scores for Corbet’s earlier works, including the riveting fascist-in-training drama “Childhood of a Leader” and the thought-provoking pop-star fable “Vox Lux.”)
The film, titled “The Brutalist,” requires a bit of endurance and a substantial amount of your time. Towards the end, it seems to lose its balance, relying on a single traumatic incident – which is indeed intense – to explain László’s sudden transformation from a demanding perfectionist into an obsessive despot. However, we don’t witness him struggling with his inner turmoil; this supposedly occurs during a particularly sensitive scene with Erzsébet. The film seems to be hurrying towards its conclusion, and by that point, your patience might also be wearing thin.
Even though not everyone will have the opportunity to watch films like “The Brutalist” on grand VistaVision cameras or in the expansive 70mm format, it’s filmmakers such as Corbet who think beyond small, confined visual elements meant for laptop screens or airplane entertainment systems that truly matter. “The Brutalist,” a unique cinematic experience, is like a vast spiritual space designed to be appreciated in a shared movie theater environment. It serves as a gathering place for communal appreciation and reflection. In essence, if we can’t envision grand experiences, what’s the point at all?
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2024-09-02 15:06