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| Images courtesy of A24 |
Although The Brutalist (2024) takes place in the mid-1940s, post-WWII, its themes and ideas still resonate today, like echoes bouncing back after shouting into a deep canyon. The story follows Hungarian-Jewish architect László Tóth (Adrien Brody), a man who survived the Holocaust and has immigrated to the US to start a new life. During the war, he was separated from his wife Erzsébet (Felicity Jones) and his young niece Zsófia (Raffey Cassify), and he is hopeful, that they will eventually reunite after he is settled. László's cousin Attila (Alessandro Nivola) offers him a place to stay and a job helping him run his furniture store.
The first half of the narrative explores László's experiences trying to fit in with American culture while simultaneously working to find his wife and have her come join him. In his home country, László was a respected and celebrated artist and architect, but his life passion was interrupted by the war, and he was just trying to survive. Due to the extreme xenophobia in the US, he has a hard time finding regular work and his creative skills go unused. That is until his cousin is commissioned to renovate a reading library for filthy rich industrialist Harrison Lee Van Buren (Guy Pearce), putting László's architectural skills to good use.
It is interesting to see a high-profile film tell the story of an immigrant who comes to America to carve out a life for himself and watch as his creativity and vision are ignored just because he's from a different country. Even more interesting considering there is a specific political party that runs on the idea that immigrants are dangerous and here to take everyone's jobs, ignoring the notion that isolationism only breeds stagnation. Indeed, Van Buren initially rejects his new study because his lack of interactions with different cultures doesn't allow him to appreciate new ideas. Only after others with more open minds praise the artistic qualities of his new reading room does he acquiesce and praise László for his work.
Brutalism, as a style, was originally a response to traditionalism in architecture. It is focused on minimalism and using common materials, emphasizing simplicity and utilitarianism. Part of its rise in popularity was simply because materials were hard to come by during and after the war, and so much was destroyed that it was easier to rebuild things with simpler designs. Although these designs can come off as cold and unwelcoming, there is beauty in the rawness of the materials and the laser focus of the lines. László's penchant for this style mirrors his straightforward attitude and complete devotion to his art. Similarly, the construction of the narrative of The Brutalist itself embraces the ideology of Brutalism, with its continuous forward motion and no-frills approach to the writing, editing, and characterization. It's a long film, clocking in at over three-and-a-half-hours, but it flies by proving that there are no films that are "too long" just films with poor pacing.
The second half strays into darker waters thematically as hubris and capitalism take their toll on László's art. Artistic talent cannot be bought; it can only be gained through hard work, and Van Buren seethes with jealousy that he cannot completely control and own the creations that László makes. This concept parallels the way AI has suddenly taken over the arts, with tech bros using a quick but inferior process to create "art" solely for personal profits. Capitalism would love nothing more than to bypass the person who makes the art to sell the finished product directly, and Van Buren only tolerates László because he cannot create anything on his own. The creation process is personal and unique, and while a cheap copy might entertain some, others can easily spot a fake. Pearce and Brody both command the screen, giving some of the best performances of their careers as the representation of the battle between capitalism and artistic beauty.
The Brutalist is a sweeping film that encompasses everything great about cinema, and it feels simultaneously classic and modern. It begs to be seen theatrically, where it can open up fully and show cinemagoers that it is still possible to be immersed and escape into another time and place.
--Michelle Kisner