I watched The Brutalist and I really liked it! 4/5
–
There’s something haunting about The Brutalist, Brady Corbet’s sweeping immigrant saga. It’s the kind of film that doesn’t just tell a story—it engraves it, layering historical trauma, artistic ambition, and the cold realities of the American Dream into a strikingly composed, slow-burning drama. It’s heavy, uncompromising, and at times exhausting, but its meticulous craftsmanship and powerhouse performances make it hard to shake.
At the center of it all is Adrien Brody, delivering one of his best performances in years as László Tóth, a Hungarian-Jewish architect and Holocaust survivor who arrives in America with nothing but his talent and a desperate need to rebuild his life. The film follows him over several decades as he struggles to find success, clashes with the powerful men who control his fate, and wrestles with his own demons. His story is both inspiring and deeply tragic, as the very country that offers him opportunity also seeks to strip him of his dignity.
Corbet, who already proved his ambition with Vox Lux and The Childhood of a Leader, takes a bold stylistic approach here, reviving the grandeur of mid-century epic filmmaking. Shot in the rarely used VistaVision format, with long, carefully composed takes and a 15-minute intermission, The Brutalist feels like a film from another era. But thematically, it’s strikingly modern—probing issues of assimilation, power, and exploitation with an unflinching eye.
Adrien Brody Gives a Career-Defining Performance
László Tóth is the kind of role that an actor like Adrien Brody was born to play. He brings a quiet dignity to the character, portraying him as a man of immense talent and ambition, but also deep vulnerability. His László is neither a tragic victim nor an infallible genius—he’s simply a man trying to survive in a world that refuses to make space for him.
The film’s early sequences show László scraping by in post-war Philadelphia, rejected by his cousin (Alessandro Nivola) and forced into menial labor despite his architectural brilliance. His luck changes when he crosses paths with Harrison Van Buren (Guy Pearce), a wealthy industrialist who commissions him to design a grand cultural center. At first, this seems like László’s big break, but as their relationship deepens, it becomes clear that Harrison’s admiration for László’s talent masks something far more insidious.
Pearce is chilling as the manipulative, power-hungry Harrison, whose relationship with László takes increasingly disturbing turns. There’s a scene in which a drunken Harrison confronts László, berating him as an “outsider” while simultaneously making a physical advance—it’s one of the most uncomfortable and revealing moments in the film, showcasing both the allure and the brutality of power.
Felicity Jones also delivers a strong performance as Erzsébet, László’s wife, who arrives in America years later, physically weakened but still determined to hold her family together. Her arc is one of quiet resilience, and the way she ultimately confronts Harrison is one of the film’s most cathartic moments.
A Masterclass in Style and Atmosphere
One of the most striking things about The Brutalist is how designed it feels. Every frame looks like an architectural blueprint—rigid, structured, and precise. Cinematographer Lol Crawley uses deep shadows and sharp angles to mirror the film’s themes, often trapping László in cold, sterile spaces that reflect his increasing isolation.
The film’s structure is also unique, divided into acts with an intermission, a rarity in modern cinema. The pacing is deliberate, sometimes frustratingly slow, but always purposeful. Corbet isn’t interested in conventional storytelling—he’s building something intricate, something that requires patience to fully appreciate.
And then there’s the music. Daniel Blumberg’s score is both elegant and eerie, using avant-garde compositions to heighten the film’s sense of unease. It’s the kind of soundtrack that lingers in your mind long after the credits roll, much like the film itself.
A Story of Power, Exploitation, and the Cost of Ambition
At its core, The Brutalist is about the cost of ambition—what it means to create something beautiful in a world that doesn’t always value beauty. László is a man who wants to build, to leave something lasting behind, but time and time again, he is met with resistance. His designs are altered, his work is co-opted, and his very identity is questioned.
The film doesn’t just focus on his artistic struggles; it also explores the power dynamics that shape his world. Harrison, as a wealthy, privileged American, sees László as both an asset and a curiosity—something to be admired but never fully accepted. This tension ultimately comes to a head in a series of devastating confrontations, culminating in an ambiguous but deeply unsettling conclusion.
In a particularly gut-wrenching moment, Erzsébet visits Harrison and openly calls him a rapist in front of his associates, refusing to let him rewrite history. It’s one of the film’s few moments of direct confrontation, and it lands like a hammer blow.
By the time the film reaches its epilogue—a retrospective of László’s work at the Venice Biennale—the weight of everything he’s endured is palpable. His buildings stand as monuments to his suffering, and his legacy is finally recognized, but at what cost?
Where The Brutalist Falls Short
For all its brilliance, The Brutalist is not an easy watch. Its slow pacing, cold aesthetic, and emotionally grueling subject matter make it a tough sell for some audiences. Corbet’s insistence on long, meditative sequences can sometimes test patience, and while the film is visually stunning, its rigid structure can feel distancing.
There are also moments where the film leans too heavily into its own grandeur. Some scenes feel overly stylized, as if Corbet is so focused on making a masterpiece that he forgets to let the characters breathe. The film’s occasional detachment makes it difficult to fully feel some of its most tragic moments, even as we recognize their significance.
Final Thoughts: A Challenging but Rewarding Experience
The Brutalist is a film that demands patience and engagement, but for those willing to meet it on its own terms, it offers a rich, deeply affecting experience. It’s a film about art, history, power, and identity, told with breathtaking precision and anchored by some of the best performances of the year.
It’s not a film that everyone will love, and some may find its icy formalism too distancing. But for those who connect with its themes and its meticulous craftsmanship, The Brutalist is a towering achievement—a film that, much like its protagonist’s architecture, is built to endure.