The Brutalist – Review

Worth seeing: for the passion of Adrien Brody’s architect as he adapts to his new world, with the personal and professional challenges that come with it
Director:Brady Corbet
Featuring:Adrien Brody, Felicity Jones, Guy Pearce, Alessandro Nivola, Ariane Labed, Emma Laird, Isaach De Bankolé, Joe Alwyn, Jonathan Hyde, Maria Sand, Michael Epp, Peter Polycarpou, Raffey Cassidy, Stacy Martin
Length:215 minutes
Certificate:18
Country:US
Released:24th January 2025

WHAT’S IT ABOUT?

In 1947, Holocaust survivor László Tóth (Adrien Brody) arrives in New York to seek the American Dream. He is put up by his cousin, Attila (Alessandro Nivola), who runs a furniture shop in Philadeplphia.

The pair are commissioned to redesign the library at the home of a local entrepreneur, Harrison Van Buren (Guy Pearce), as a surprise – but when he finds out, he kicks them off his premises. But it’s all change when Van Buren learns of László’s reputation; he hires him to design and build a major community centre on his land, including a chapel, a library and a theatre.

He’s paid handsomely and given accommodation on the estate, but the greatest compensation offered is that Van Buren provides legal assistance to enable to László’s wife Erzsébet (Felicity Jones) and niece Zsófia (Raffey Cassidy) to follow him to the US.

When the building of the community centre finally gets underway, the project is beset with arguments about design, materials and costs while other problems – such as the fatal crash of a train carrying materials to the site – cause the project to come to a standstill.

Even after the building work gets back on track, tensions between László and his employer put the completion of the centre – and the future of those involved – in question.

WHAT’S IT LIKE?

The Brutalist is a hugely ambitious – if a little pretentious – drama, epic in scale, visually, thematically and in terms of its running time – more than 3 and a half hours – including a 15 minute intermission.

The unsettling opening sequence delivers a desperate Hungarian Holocaust survivor to New York – with the claustrophobic ship’s hold eventually giving way to the euphoria of an upside-down Statue of Liberty, setting the scene for a tale of freedom and architecture – and a tale which doesn’t go as the protagonist might expect – of course.

This film looks and feels important, as it combines the study of the post-war immigrant experience in North America with themes including the power-play between artists and benefactors and rebuilding relationships with long-lost relatives – but some of the messages are more inferred than implied, meaning that the audience is doing much of the work, rather than the film-makers.

The architecture is almost a character in its own right – although, perhaps disappointingly, László is not rebuilding New York, as the early image of the Statue of Liberty teases, but creating a single community centre outside Philadelphia.

Almost more interesting than the brutalism referred to in the title is the brutal way in which László deals with his own inner struggles – with sex and drugs both having more of a bearing on his lifestyle than many might feel is helpful.

While the main selling point seems to be that the film studies the immigrant experience, much of the character dynamics depend on the relationship between individuals regardless of their residency status; Harrison van Buren can be seen as a bully, but because he is exercising his power that comes from his wealth, rather than because László is an immigrant; anyone in his position would do what it takes to protect their legacy, whoever is supporting him – or standing in his way. Apart from a throwaway remark, where he tells his wife, “They don’t want us here,” and the suggestion that Jews might be more comfortable in Israel, László’s immigrant status is almost irrelevant and his immigrant experience is little different from those born in the US. Indeed, initially, at least, van Buren favours László’s views over those of his homegrown advisers and when his actions change, it’s largely down to artistic differences or frustration over his behaviour.

Given the film’s duration, you would think that they would have had time to tease upcoming plot points but many of the key events still seem to come out of nowhere; there are surprises when László’s wife arrives that feel somewhat expositional and a key moment, that prompts the denouement, seems so out of character that it’s hard to accept it as a narrative marker.

And anyone who is excited to see a 70mm film about architecture will spend nearly 3 and a half hours working up to a single building, with only an expositional coda – a fourth act – allowing us to marvel at László’s eventual achievements.

Coming after a slew of films coming in at 3-hours or more – from Oppenheimer and Avatar: The Way of Water to Killers of the Flower Moon – many cinema lovers will be used to the idea of popping to the loo before it starts and having a drink and snack to hand; we can manage without an intermission, with a 15 minute countdown. If you pop out to stretch your legs, you won’t see the ticking clock and if you stay in the auditorium, the break is just adding to the time it takes to get to the denouement; at my screening, most people seemed to just want to get on with it and get home.

The intermission does, of course, give the film an element of theatricality and it’s presented in four acts – bracketed by a brief “overture” and “epilogue,” with the main story told in hour-and-a-half chunks, on either side of the break, although if he was trying to recreate a theatrical experience, you wonder why these are labelled as “parts” rather than “acts.”

There is much to admire – from the performances of Adrien Brody and Guy Pearce, as they come together and fall apart over art and money – to the spartan cinematography and haunting score – but it could have used its running time more efficiently to flow more coherently and possibly lost half an hour – including the intermission.