The Brutalist Review: Brady Corbet’s Monumental, Yet Intimately Told Architectural Epic Explores the Dark Side of American Dream
Who would have thought a movie about architecture like The Brutalist (sorry, Megalopolis) could be monumentally epic (shot primarily in the rarely-used VistaVision) but at the same time, a remarkably intimate drama? It’s Vox Lux director Brady Corbet’s most ambitious project ever made so far, which reportedly cost around US$10 million. I find it hard to believe after spending over 3 hours watching this period drama spanning 30 years chronicling the trials and tribulations of one László Tóth (Adrien Brody), a Hungarian-Jewish Holocaust survivor who is an accomplished architect back home.
László is looking forward for a fresh start as he emigrates to America by ship. One of the notable moments in the opening scene is the way Corbet shoots his scene from the crowded ship filled with immigrants like László himself, leading to the majestic view of the Statue of Liberty. Except the Lady Liberty is seen upside down, an odd but prophetic of what László will face in the future.
As the story takes us through the Chapter 1: The Enigma of Arrival, which spans 1947 and 1952, László journeys to Philadelphia to live with his cousin, Attila (Alessandro Nivola) and Attila’s Catholic wife, Audrey (Emma Laird). He even gets to work in his cousin’s furniture shop and everything goes well at first. One day, a wealthy young man named Harry Lee Van Buren (Joe Alywn) approaches them for renovating his father’s (Guy Pearce) library at his mansion as a surprise gift. This allows László to showcase his architecture skill in turning the library into a work of art.
But Harry’s father, Harrison, who is a wealthy and highly influential industrialist, isn’t particularly pleased about the so-called “surprise” after finding out about it. Long story short, things aren’t looking bright for László, who subsequently ends up shoveling coal until Harrison comes to see him one day. The latter apparently has run a background check on László and now, he wants him to lead a construction project to build a community centre known as the Van Buren Institute.
No doubt that Corbet, who also co-wrote the screenplay with Mona Fastvold, does a great job detailing László’s road to fulfilling his American dream, despite stumbling in a few setbacks at the beginning. It also helps that Corbet brings out the best in his actors including everyone from Adrien Brody to Alessandro Nivola and of course, Guy Pearce in his showy turn as the arrogant industrialist, Harrison Lee Van Buren.
Then, Corbet shifted the gear in the second half as the story moves to the early ’50s right through the ’60s era. The sense of disillusionment starts to rear its ugly head as László begins to struggle with creative freedom as he gradually being forced to cut corners due to various reasons. The arrival of László’s beloved journalist-wife, Erzsébet (Felicity Jones), who is seen confined to a wheelchair after suffering from a famine-related osteoporosis along with their orphaned teenage niece Zsófia (Raffey Cassidy), who is also mute.
The once-promising American dream becomes bleak as the movie progresses, triggering everything from László’s increasingly egoistical behaviour to his professional integrity dealing with compromises and his boss, Harrison’s authoritarian approach. Things even take a darker turn at one point as it charts into an unlikely territory which I didn’t see coming. Some may see it as a mere shock value but personally, Corbet deserves credit for navigating László’s path as an immigrant, whose ambition is ultimately overshadowed by Harrison’s cruel exploitation and manipulation.
Corbet also subtly incorporates how capitalism as seen in Pearce’s Harrison Lee Van Buren takes control of everything to the point that the artistic autonomy, where László has been longing for to express through his architectural work is more of a myth than a full realisation. Like the title itself, Corbet’s symbolic interpretation of the oft-told American Dream is unforgivably harsh with none of the feel-good factor, which can be seen in the pessimistic second half.
I would have rate The Brutalist a perfect five if not for the somewhat rushed ending and the anticlimactic 1980s-set epilogue that feels like Corbet is losing his grip in his otherwise stellar direction. Still, the shortcomings aside doesn’t deter me from finding The Brutalist remains a captivating cinematic experience, especially for an indie cinema.
