The world seems upside down as László Tóth (Adrien Brody) arrives in the United States. The Statue of Liberty, a symbol of hope and freedom, does not raise its torch high but instead angles it downward. Only when the weary, emaciated immigrant focuses his gaze amid the throng on the overcrowded passenger ship does order reassert itself—the safe haven of New York City comes into view. Behind him lies the horror of the Second World War; ahead, the promise of a new life.
“The Brutalist”: A Drama of Architecture, Design, and Capitalism
Much has been said and written about The Brutalist, Brady Corbet’s monumental three-and-a-half-hour-long drama. Yet, this epic deconstruction of the American Dream can only truly be experienced in the cinema. It is a cinematic Gesamtkunstwerk, filmed in the widescreen VistaVision format favoured by Hitchcock, accompanied by a soundtrack that is as minimalistic as it is overpowering. The film’s visual language masterfully blends stark symbolism with intricate detail, adding depth to its complex themes—whether through a vast asphalt road stretching towards the so-called promised land or a derailed freight train vanishing into a cloud of smoke, a haunting reminder of concentration camps.
For those who absorb this compelling yet challenging meditation on architecture, design, capitalism, and the harrowing nature of forced new beginnings, it soon becomes clear why Corbet and his partner, Mona Fastvold, spent several years bringing this project to life.
A Vicious Cycle of Envy and Resentment
At the heart of the film stands its eponymous protagonist, László Tóth, a Hungarian-born architect and Bauhaus student. The fictional character is loosely based on Marcel Breuer, the visionary behind New York’s Whitney Museum. But unlike Breuer, László arrives in America with no network, no patrons of influence. His early days in the country are defined by struggle—falling out with the cousin who initially provides him with shelter and work, he is soon forced into menial labour.
His fortunes seem to change when he is hired by businessman Harrison Lee Van Buren, a provincial Citizen Kane figure who commissions him to build an institute atop a hill on his Pennsylvania estate. Ostensibly, the project is a tribute to Van Buren’s late mother, but in reality, it is a grandiose display of power. The institute is to be built in the brutalist style, its stark concrete structures symbolising the strength and severity that Van Buren so highly values.
For László, it appears—at last—that the American Dream is within reach. But he soon realises he has been drawn into a vicious cycle of envy and exploitation, much like his early experiences with his cousin. Controlled and manipulated, he endures humiliation after humiliation, knowing he is trapped in a dependent relationship. His only source of support is his wife, who has since joined him in the United States.
A Breathtaking Masterpiece
The Brutalist is not just unconventional—it is breathtaking. Much like its protagonist, director Brady Corbet pursues his vision with unwavering determination. Layer by layer, he constructs a masterpiece that, while labyrinthine in its development, ultimately reveals a clear and striking structure.
The film’s final message is encapsulated in the concluding words of a speech delivered in its final moments—a statement that stands in the air like an exclamation mark: stark, unambiguous, and impossible to ignore.