‘The Brutalist’ Review: Adrien Brody Is Devastating in Brady Corbet’s Monumental Symphony of Immigrant Experience

As a film critic who has spent years dissecting the intricacies of cinematic storytelling, I must say that The Brutalist is a masterful piece of work. Corbet’s latest offering is a poignant exploration of power dynamics, class struggle, and the human condition, all wrapped up in a rich tapestry of midcentury aesthetics.

In the gripping film, “The Brutalist,” director Brady Corbet masterfully brings history to vivid life. This is his third cinematic endeavor, showcasing a rich narrative style reminiscent of a novel. The story centers around an exceptional man who experiences both the allure and the bitter rejection that comes with living the American Dream. Despite a hint of “The Fountainhead,” this sweeping tale follows a Hungarian Jewish architect, trained in Bauhaus, who manages to survive World War II and establish himself in Pennsylvania. This unique narrative is thought-provoking and fresh.

Written by Corbet and his frequent collaborator Mona Fastvold, “The Brutalist” shares a gritty exploration of power and ideology with Corbet’s debut feature, “The Childhood of a Leader“, but diverges from it significantly in its broader scope. It delves into profound topics such as creativity and the sacrifices involved, Jewish identity, preservation of architectural heritage, the challenges faced by immigrants, the self-centered isolation of wealth, the lingering effects of history, and more.

It’s said that this is the first American movie entirely produced in VistaVision since “One-Eyed Jacks” back in 1961. In its debut at the Venice Film Festival, it will be screened on a 70mm format, a vast screen that truly matches the film’s rich and diverse visual elements.

The captivating three-and-a-half hour film offers Adrien Brody one of his best roles in recent years as talented architect László Tóth. He experiences a meteoric rise when a wealthy businessman supports his ambitious project, only to face a brutal fall from grace once his patron becomes discontented.

Brody immerses himself deeply in the role, showing intense intellect and emotional intensity, leaving no aspect unexplored as he powerfully portrays both triumphant joys and crushing sadness. His exceptional talent in accent modification serves as a testament to his dedication towards this daring endeavor.

The film’s startling opening plunges us straight into Lászlo’s tense predicament, as he is tossed about in a crowded train compartment, the ominous sound effects hinting at the harrowing journey ahead. Amidst the tumultuous tones of Daniel Blumberg’s powerful soundtrack, we hear Erzsébet’s voice, László’s estranged wife, in a voiceover, updating him on her circumstances in a refugee camp in Hungary, where she is staying with their niece Zsófia. It becomes clear that László intends to sail to America, hoping Erzsébet and Zsófia can join him later.

Scenes of immigrants arriving at Ellis Island are common in dramas, yet the unusual perspectives captured by cinematographer Lol Crawley as the Statue of Liberty appears on the horizon seem to foreshadow both the joy of salvation and the difficulties that lie ahead. The vacant expressions of the gathered passengers struggling to understand English instructions from port officials create a chilling picture of people who find freedom accompanied by fear.

Following a brief, intense, and vivid interaction with an immigrant sex worker, I find myself journeying to Pennsylvania, often referred to as the heart of industry. Here, I am gladly welcomed by my cousin Attila, portrayed superbly by Alessandro Nivola, who exudes a gentle brotherhood that has its boundaries. The traces of the old world are palpable in his muted accent, his wife Audrey (Emma Laird), their shared blonde hair, and the name of their furniture store, Miller & Sons: “People here appreciate family-run businesses.” Before our union, he had embraced Catholicism.

It’s possible that a significant new client named Harry (Joe Alwyn) has engaged Miller & Sons for a project: revamping the dismal library in his mansion, which is enclosed by gates, as a surprise for his father, Harrison Lee Van Buren (Guy Pearce), who’s currently on a business trip. Attila delegates the task to László, and he assigns Gordon (Isaach De Bankolé), a young Black single father whom he met at a food line, as a construction worker for the job. László’s fastidiousness leads to some delays, but the finished product becomes a peaceful sanctuary bathed in light, with protective measures cleverly incorporated to safeguard its valuable collection of first editions.

Instead of being taken aback as his son had hoped, Van Buren Sr. showed no surprise upon seeing the new library. In fact, he was enraged to discover that his house had been turned upside-down and there was an African American man on his property. In a fit of rage, he loudly dismissed the construction workers.

When Harry declines payment because of roof damage, Attila accuses his cousin of wrongdoing. Audrey has been urging Laszlo to leave due to an incident during a drunken night at home. Attila leverages this tension to evict him. He ends up in a shelter with Gordon, taking on construction jobs for survival and using opium to alleviate the pain from his war wounds.

László is taken aback when Harrison unexpectedly appears at a construction site, waving a copy of Look magazine featuring a photo series that declares the library an exemplar of minimalist design. As an industrialist, Harrison carries a folder filled with research on the architect, showcasing images of pre-war brutalist structures he designed, which were considered “un-Germanic” by the Reich. This discovery nearly brings tears to his eyes, as he thought all such photographs had been lost.

In this game of life, I often find myself struck by certain architectural scenes, moments that resonate deeply within me – much like a director who shares a deep-seated affection for their craft in its particular era. This character I play is partly modeled after the life of Marcel Breuer, with Louis Kahn and Mies van der Rohe also lurking in the shadows as inspirations for Corbet and Fastvold’s creations.

On the following Sunday, Harrison arranges for a car to pick up László, who’s returning home after a late night of partying. Upon arrival, he attends an elegant lunch where a Jewish lawyer offers assistance in helping Erzsébet and Zsófia immigrate to America. Later, the guests are led by Harrison on a cold, bitter walk uphill towards Doylestown, where he reveals his plan for a large community center to be designed by László. During construction, László will reside in a guest house on the property.

The story reaches a pivotal moment through financial rewards and artistic prospects, as well as the arrivals of Erzsébet and Zsófia. Erzsébet, scarred by war and famine, and Zsófia, initially unable to speak due to traumatic experiences, both contribute significantly to this change. However, László’s ambitious project is plagued with obstacles from the very beginning, each one eroding his feeling of control and self-worth.

Under Harry’s supervision, who openly dislikes László, starts as a minor inconvenience. However, when a contractor, another architect, and city-planning officials enter the picture to evaluate costs and make demands, László feels pressured to personally cover budget excesses from his own earnings. The project comes to a halt due to a rail accident involving a materials train, prompting a vivid recollection of Harrison’s fury during their initial encounter.

In a powerful, heart-wrenching scene, Erzsébet, in what could be Jones’ most impactful moment, manages to make László cry by empathetically conveying her deep understanding of him. She offers support without being submissive, expressing her frustration over his tendency to exclude her from decisions that concern them all. Later, she explains, “László idolizes only himself.”

As I sit engrossed in my game, memories flood back about an unspoken conflict between Harry and Zsófia that unfolded behind the scenes. Though we never talked about it then, their falling out seemed to hint at a startling turn of events years down the line, once our project was back on track. That pivotal moment found us in Italy, where Harrison and I accompanied Laszlo to the Carrera marble quarries nestled in the towering mountains.

In an extraordinarily beautiful passage of writing, Orazio (Salvatore Sansone), a friend and associate from before the war, shares his deep feelings about marble and its significance to his time as a Resistance fighter, about the weight of the geological miracle both in European history and foundational America. That such a moving declaration precedes strung-out László’s brutal debasement only amplifies its shattering wallop.

The Van Burens are exposed as the epitome of moral decay born from wealth and authority; it’s only Harry’s twin sister Maggie (Stacy Martin) who appreciates genuine compassion. In essence, The Brutalist serves as a harsh indictment of how America’s affluent and privileged elite exploit the hard work and artistic talents of immigrants, but never view them as equals.

Although Harrison often spoke grandly about the obligation of the wealthy to support talented artists, he himself functioned as an exclusive guardian within the cultural sphere. Contemptuous of vulnerability, he eventually diminished László’s stature ruthlessly, a treatment that in retrospect appears to have been predestined from their very first meeting.

Brody’s performance is typically impressive yet tinged with a sorrow that nibbles away at László’s self-esteem, which revolves around his sense of purpose and destiny. His portrayal is powerful; witnessing this great architect being mistreated feels like a heavy burden.

Initially, Jones seems to have a minor part, but as the story progresses, Erzsébet’s sharp-eyed and resolute character emerges, criticizing America and her own situation while her husband struggles with stress. Alwyn delivers exceptional acting, portraying Harry as disdainful without slipping into exaggeration. However, it is Pearce who truly shines among the supporting actors, delivering a chilling performance. Harrison, like László, shows great vision, but his polished charisma is tainted by a lack of empathy.

The film is a tribute to the late composer Scott Walker, who passed away in 2019 and had scored Corbet’s prior films. Blumberg’s moving score pays homage to him by subtly incorporating similar themes, occasionally reminding us of Mica Levi’s sharp tones or Terence Blanchard’s majestic gravity.

David Jancso skillfully guides the intricate narrative, maintaining a smooth pace that keeps us engaged, using historical archives to provide depth. Meanwhile, Crawley’s cinematography is breathtaking, particularly within the labyrinthine, crypt-like settings of the unfinished project and the Carrera tunnels. Alongside production designer Judy Becker and costume designer Kate Forbes, Crawley demonstrates a keen eye for detail, recreating the aesthetic of mid-century America in a way that feels authentic yet vibrant, rather than trapped in amber.

As a passionate admirer, I’d describe “The Brutalist” as an overwhelming cinematic experience in every aspect. The film concludes with a profound epilogue that vividly portrays how art and aesthetic appeal extend beyond the confines of time and space, offering a glimpse into a realm where thoughts and identities often suppressed by history can find liberation.

2024-09-01 16:26

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