The Cambridge Dictionary defines Brutalism as “a building style in which buildings are large and heavy-looking, and often made from concrete”. From my semester-long class History of Architecture that I took eons ago, I find this definition shallow and clunky. It misses the essence of the movement. Brutalist architecture came around after the end of the second World War as an ethos to rebuilding Europe. After the war, the incredible amounts of aid dedicated to healing a devastated continent gave way to a heightened sense of optimism in democracy and the future. Schools such as the Bauhaus promoted a “return to function” philosophy that promoted utilitarianism and permanence, where towering concrete symbolized power, resistance, functionality, and hope. Brutalism went out of favor not long after, with many seeing it as harsh, cold, and depressing. With the rapid industrialism of the world, permanence and functionality was discarded for designs that favored advancing technology. They designed buildings as if we had reached the utopia that brutalism looked to grasp.
Directed by Brady Corbet, The Brutalist follows László Tóth (Adrien Brody), a Hungarian-Jewish Holocaust survivor hoping to bring his radical designs to the US and support his wife, Erzsébet (Felicity Jones), back in Europe. He comes across a wealthy businessman, Harrison Van Buren (Guy Pearce), who takes interest in Tóth’s work, as he hopes to be a part of creating something the next great thing. This movie spares no expense, and just as the movement this movie takes its name from, Corbet lays László’s disorienting experience as an immigrant bare. From the soundtrack to the cinematography, to the dialogue, to the acting, everything feels monumental and imposing to the point of inducing agoraphobia.
The movie itself is split into two parts, with a 15-minute intermission in between. The first part moves slowly, but presents an ambitious and hopeful face. When I saw the movie in theaters, a fellow moviegoer described it as “lush.” I couldn’t get the term out of my mind. It follows László’s rise from a homeless coal miner fresh off Ellis Island to a visionary architect commissioned to design a masterpiece. It’s inspiring, opulent, and full of heart. Yet few understand the vision László truly aims for. Many meet his designs with confusion and dismay, but László remains true to his vision and refuses to compromise. In homage to his boldness, wealthy magnate Lee Van Buren comes in and commissions László for a church/gym/library. Van Buren, a considerably wealthy man, only takes László into consideration after László’s designs garner media attention and praise. Earlier in the movie, we watch as a prior commission from László sends Van Buren into cataleptic rage. In The Brutalist’s cosmology, Van Buren’s shallowness and envy embody all the hollow pomp of postwar America. Erzsébet can see right through him as a superficial man who only cares about his image.
Whereas the first part feels grand and hopeful, the second half comes in and tears you down. Here The Brutalist introduces us to Erzsébet and Zsófia (Raffey Cassidy), László’s niece. Where Van Buren and his friends merely acted as László’s family, his real family returns and exposes the façade that Van Buren and others have built around László. “We tolerate you,” one of Van Buren’s pampered children spits after László dares to challenge him. Erzsébet shows just as much talent as László, having studied at Oxford, and despite her condition, she provides the passion and love László has missed. Despite her return, László undergoes setback after setback and struggles to find solace in Erzsébet. Everything the first part set up gets capsized and the ugliness of power and wealth come up.
Despite the incredible tone of the first half, and Felicity Jones’s excellent performance, the second part struggles with pacing, its beats landing like hairpin turns on some melodramatic rollercoaster. Five years’ time feels like a week in the movie’s scale. László gets fired and returns in what seems like a couple days.
After László’s firing, the movie sets to work methodically tearing down every last shred of optimism built in the first half. It hits you with event after event that leaves you feeling devastated and isolated in the cold world that The Brutalist depicts. It’s beautiful, haunting, and devastating, and the second part’s ending leaves you astonished when everything culminates with Erzsébet fighting for her family. I did find the shift of tone in the movie’s epilogue a little cheap. The reverse from the incredible drama of the second part into a cheap travelogue, replete with tinny 80’s techno-pop, felt jarring. But I appreciated the opportunity it provided to reflect on the movie. It carries an ambiguous tone that leaves you reminiscing on László, the work he leaves behind, and the journey that went along with it.
Just like the brutalist monuments of our past, The Brutalist stands triumphantly amongst its peers. It will be remembered as an American epic, in the vein of There Will Be Blood and Upton Sinclair’s novel, The Jungle. It overcomes its issues with pacing through its engaging story and overwhelming narrative, and yet subverts all that we thought we knew with its ambiguous epilogue. The Brutalist resonates with haunting imagery. Backed by a menacing score and aided by powerful acting, it all culminates in a marvelous movie that depicts a foreign talent getting chewed up and spat out by the machine of the American dream.
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