Review: The Brutalist

Epic both in scope and run time, The Brutalist is one of those rare recent films that gets bigger the more you think about it. It's taking on territory largely ceded to television drama: it's often expected that they'll take the time to attempt to suggest a world beyond their immediate events, while movies are now required to zoom in and burrow down. Which this also does, though perhaps not in the most obvious ways.

The story of Laszlo Toth (Adrien Brody), a former and future architect who flees Europe in the wake of World War II for a new life in America, a big part of what makes The Brutalist work so well (aside from its many obvious virtues) is the way it picks and chooses which questions to pose and which ones to answer. The two groups do not always overlap.

Initially staying with relatives, Toth has a wife (Felicity Jones) he left behind but cannot bring over. American capitalism has no use for his skills, and he slides from furniture design to manual labour. It's not entirely luck that brings him to the attention of wealthy businessman Harrison Van Buren (Guy Pearce), but he soon finds himself with a major commission: to build a massive, possibly unwanted, community center (no to a pool, yes to a church) as a memorial to Van Buren's very much loved mother.

The stage is set for a seemingly predictable clash between art and commerce, but director Brady Corbet is working with characters, not types; Toth has a vision but also a temper, and while he knows that working with clients is a vital part of his job he doesn't suffer fools. Van Buren knows enough to stay out of Toth's way - at least some of the time - but it gradually becomes clear that as far as he's concerned he is the real genius for being canny enough to hire Toth, and respect should flow accordingly. 

Things develop in ways both surprising and inevitable. Toth's family is reunited, a drug problem he developed during tough times continues to lurk, cost-cutting is an on-going threat to Toth's vision and Van Buren's veneer of genial civility is at times only loosely attached. 

An intermission (the film flies by, despite the three and a half hour run time) provides the opportunity for a time-jump; reality continues to grind away at dreams. Building to an ending that's both satisfying and haunting - and then with a coda that recontextualizes much of what we've seen, even as it raises new questions of its own - this is as soundly constructed a film as one of Toth's own creations. 

The visuals are constantly striking; the barren hilltop that's the site of Van Buren's memorial speaks volumes, while even smaller locations evoke mid-century America in all its grime and bustle. The performances are uniformly excellent, though while Brody is the constant focus it's Pearce's 90% charming Van Buren that lingers, a man solidly built around a pinprick of rot.

Art and capitalism turn out to be entwined, but so is everything else. You can make your mark, but need someone else to explain it to the world. Hopefully they'll be sympathetic to your vision.

- Anthony Morris