by Robert Bouffard, Editor
Along with his writing partner Mona Fastvold, Brady Corbet is interested in putting big ideas on the big screen. I don’t mean big ideas in the sense that Christopher Nolan deals with time inversion or dream heists, but in the sense that each aspect of our world is the result of a perfect collision of forces from many different angles: The Childhood of a Leader explores how the small son of a politician can himself grow into a fascist leader; Vox Lux is about the intersection of a country’s political identity and its cultural identity; and The Brutalist follows a poor, Hungarian Holocaust survivor who immigrates to the United States and finds himself at the mercy of a seemingly generous yet ultimately callously wealthy benefactor. An interesting pairing with its awards season rival Anora, The Brutalist shows that the American Dream has long been a scam, and despite any well-intentioned, honest hard work, the people at the bottom are likely to stay at the bottom.
It’s easy to dismiss the early claims that The Brutalist is one of the Great American Films about America itself, seeing as movies like The Godfather and There Will be Blood are nearly impossible standards to live up to. But it’s really not that outlandish of a claim. Corbet gives us a three-and-a-half-hour character study of László Tóth (Adrien Brody), the titular architect who makes his way to America after the end of World War II. But right from the start, Corbet warns that the land of opportunity might not be all it’s been made out to be — as László pushes and shoves his way out of the cramped boat he arrived on, one of the first images we see is an inverted Statue of Liberty. This was never going to be a happy, inspirational tale, as by the end, yet another nominally holy symbol is turned on its head.
Corbet’s boldness is announced from the film’s opening seconds, even before he upends the longstanding ideas of what America is supposed to be. Not only does the movie declare it was shot with VistaVision — a format that has been largely obsolete for over 60 years — it also begins with an overture. This feeling of a return to classical Hollywood filmmaking is carried all the way to the end, as there’s a 15-minute intermission (though I didn’t feel a minute of either side of it), and the movie, rather than focusing on sensationalism or grandiosity, remembers its lead character. That’s not to say the film doesn’t have scope, because again, it feels like an epic in the classical sense. And that’s what tends to draw me to Corbet: He uses grand and seemingly antiquated filmmaking techniques to be personal.
Once László arrives in America, he goes to live with his cousin (Alessandro Nivola), who owns his own furniture store and has been in the States for some time. They are given the opportunity to renovate the study of a wealthy industrialist, Harrison Van Buren (Guy Pearce). They do a good job, and we get our first glimpses of László’s creative ability and passion for architecture, but Harrison’s son Harry (Joe Alwyn), because of a misunderstanding, fires the cousins and refuses to pay them. László ends up shoveling coal because of his already small reputation being ruined, until Harrison gives him another chance, taking him in and commissioning him to build a large community center on the Van Burens’ Pennsylvania property. At the same time, Harrison connects László with people who can help bring his wife and niece to America, after years of separation.
This is all in the first half of the film, and we head into the intermission perhaps misguidedly feeling optimistic on László’s behalf. Corbet puts us in his shoes long enough, and lets the scenes breathe enough, that we’re invested in the Tóths’ reunion and ascendancy from poverty. Yet it’s of course not that simple — The Brutalist has a cynicism to it, with its second half acting as a sobering downer. His wife Erzsébet (Felicity Jones) arrives in a wheelchair, and his niece Zsófia (Raffey Cassidy) is mute due to wartime trauma. And to avoid spoilers, I’ll just say that László’s community center project does not go as well as he would like. So the film’s cynicism isn’t misplaced or edgy — instead, it’s a brutal(ist), honest portrayal of what it’s like for someone of László’s stature to try to be successful in America. And the film’s 20-years-later coda that shows how this idea is perpetuated over time.
The Brutalist posits people like László, who came to America with hope in their hearts, thinking they’d be able to make a difference and truly feel fulfilled, can and will be co-opted not only by their spuriously well-meaning benefactors, but by those who should be close to them and looking out for their interests. Usually, a rich man saying he wants to give you money for your passion does have strings attached. But when you’re in László’s position, accepting the money being the only chance you’ll have to achieve your dreams blinds you to the very obvious strings. And The Brutalist’s trick is that it blinds the viewer to the strings as well, at least for a time. This is not, and never has been, the world László thought he was escaping to when leaving war-torn Budapest.
László asks Harrison, “Is there a better description of a cube than that of its construction?” He wants his creations to speak for themselves, but by the end, even though he’s created many beautiful buildings, someone else is speaking for the meaning of his work when he’s unable to. So is it worth it to even attempt to live a meaningful life in a world that’s set up to kick you down? Corbet seems to think that the answer is still yes. For as deeply imperfect a person as László is (that’s kind of why I love him and the way Corbet is able to portray him), he spends so much of his life trying, until he feels like he just can’t anymore. He fights for the meaning, relevance, and lastingness of his art. His creations. His work. But the reality is you can only do that for so long.
Rating: Loved It
The Brutalist is currently available to rent on VOD
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