“The Brutalist” opens with the first of many unforgettable images as László Tóth (Adrien Brody), a Hungarian immigrant fleeing the Holocaust, makes his first steps onto U.S. soil. It’s the sort of scene traditionally portrayed in American cinema as triumph, but it’s clear that László is conflicted and overwhelmed from the horrors he’s fleeing, from the unknown whereabouts of his wife and niece, from the arduous journey itself. As Tóth spills out of the boat onto Ellis Island, director Brady Corbet places us in his head, the camera bobbing and swaying, the shouts around him bleeding into one another, almost drowned out by Daniel Blumberg’s woozy score. Eventually, the camera settles on the familiar image of the Statue of Liberty – only she’s upside-down. It’s a jaw-dropping set piece, but also a mission statement: This is a film about America, in all its promise and horror.
Tóth, we learn, was a revered architect in his homeland, Bauhaus-educated and responsible for some astounding works; in America, he is reduced to living in a spare room behind the furniture studio of his cousin (Alessandro Nivola). Opportunity knocks when a wealthy young playboy (Joe Alwyn) enlists the duo to renovate the private library of his father, industrialist Harrison Lee Van Buren (Guy Pearce). The old man is incensed when he sees Tóth’s finished product, which eschews old-world coziness for sleek modernity, and throws the architect out on his ear. Some years later, however, Van Buren tracks down Tóth once again; he’s come around to the library’s genius, he claims, and invites the architect to collaborate on a far more ambitious project of his own design.
One of the most astounding facts about “The Brutalist” is that, according to Corbet, it was shot for under $10 million, a shockingly small sum for a film of such scope and magnitude (for comparison’s sake, “Wicked” cost more than 15 times that). You would never know it watching the film. Everything about “The Brutalist” feels massive, from László’s sprawling construction projects to the expansive canvas of the screen (Corbet and cinematographer Lol Crawley shot the film in the vaunted, ultrawide VistaVision format; for maximum viewing effect, one should see it projected on 70 mm in the main house at the Somerville Theatre). In terms of scope and grandiose visuals, “The Brutalist” feels far more epic than any number of the digital blockbusters screening.
Of course, all of this would be for naught if the characters didn’t come off as real people. Like 2022’s “Tár,” I suspect a good number of audiences will walk away believing “The Brutalist” is a biopic of a real historical figure, given the lived performance Brody gives as Tóth. Brody has perhaps never been better, conveying both the genius and the pain through little more than a weary stare and a drag on a cigarette. Pearce is a hoot as the bombastic Van Buren, doing the cigar-chomping Charles Foster Kane-type to the hilt. Perhaps best of all is Felicity Jones in a fiery turn as Tóth’s wife Erzsébet. Erzsébet doesn’t join László in the new world until the second half of the film, but it’s instantly apparent that she plays an essential role in his success as inspiration and as fierce supporter who pushes him to be his greatest self.
Make no mistake, however: While “The Brutalist” is indeed a celebration of creative genius in the face of adversity, it is a searing indictment of that adversity’s sources. Van Buren is a quintessentially American figure in the most derogatory sense, an old-money aristocrat whose bubble of privilege is as impenetrable as László’s concrete structures. He recognizes genius, but only to the extent to which it can elevate and benefit him personally (tellingly, he comes around to his custom library only after those in his social circle praise it). He presents himself to László as a friend and confidant, but clearly views him as The Help, as disposable as any of his legion of house servants. This is a film, in other words, about ruthless capitalism and the hardships even creative genius must endure to survive under the patronage of philistines. It’s set in the 1940s and ’50s, but in a world in which the arts are increasingly squeezed out by oligarchs and billionaires it could scarcely feel more relevant.
I should probably include a disclaimer that “The Brutalist” fills out its epic status in time, which spans over three and a half hours (including a built-in intermission, printed onto the film itself). Speaking personally, I can say I was engrossed from beginning to end, and that it absolutely did not feel as long as its length. The word “masterpiece” tends to be thrown around a lot in the weeks and months leading up to the Academy Awards, but in this case, it’s justified. In its visual bravado, thematic depth and extraordinary performances, “The Brutalist” is the real deal. Like the buildings erected by its subject, I suspect it will stand the test of time.
At Landmark Kendall Square Cinema, 355 Binney St., Cambridge, and Somerville Theatre, 55 Davis Square.
Oscar Goff is a writer and film critic based in Somerville. He is film editor and senior critic for the Boston Hassle and his work has appeared in the monthly Boston Compass newspaper and publications such as WBUR’s The ARTery and iHeartNoise. He is a member of the Boston Society of Film Critics, the Boston Online Film Critics Association, and the Online Film Critics Society.
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