Brutalism is a style of architecture that uses large expanses of unadorned concrete. It became popular in the late twentieth century amongst the architectural cognoscenti, but was held in dubious regard by the public as it seemed oppressively utilitarian, dystopian and overbearing, with more than a whiff of the communist philosophy of Year Zero about it. Of late, there has been a historicist push to save a lot of Brutalist buildings from demolition, although many are rotting from within thanks to the rusting of their structurally critical reinforcing steel rods.
Hungarian architect László Tóth (Adrien Brody) arrives in America after surviving the German concentration camps, and sets up as a furniture designer and remodeller in a small town in Pennsylvania. He corresponds with his wife Erzsébet (Felicity Jones), who was sent to another camp, and hopes to be reunited with her. When his work is recognised by local tycoon Harrison van Buren (Guy Pearce), he takes on a massive project for him in remembrance of his mother, but the scale and difficulty of the construction prove more than a match for Tóth.
The Brutalist is a legitimate epic, shot in VistaVision, a lush version of 35mm that threads the film sideways through the camera to capture more detail. Running over three-and-a-half hours (with an intermission), director Brady Corbet spares no detail in his depiction of Tóth’s struggle for recognition in the New World. There is truly little to criticise about the film from a technical standpoint. It looks amazing, has a striking modernist score by Daniel Blumberg, has amazing performances and it does not lose your interest for a second.
The problem with The Brutalist is that it is permeated with a decidedly grudge-like mentality that descends into something of a diatribe in the second half of the film. We are reminded that despite van Buren’s hugely generous patronage and defense of the difficult, heroin-addicted architect, he is still a snob and a racist, with many pointed remarks aimed at Tóth that culminate in an act so outrageous that he descends from a nuanced character to a farcical villain. It is also very hard not to take the side of the locals when they’re faced with the prospect of Tóth’s looming warehouse-sized concrete monstrosity being built on a hill overlooking their cosy little town.
The epilogue of the film is set in the early ’80s, where it is revealed using rather condescending exposition that he has become a revered architect with many frankly horrible-looking churches built throughout Connecticut, drives home the point that the community centre and chapel he erected for van Buren were inspired by his time in the cells of the camps, and it is shown that he has designed a feature in the chapel that shines the shape of a cross in sunlight from, it is saucily revealed, a inverted cross above. Take that, Pennsylvanian rubes. On top of him and his wife saying the country is “rotten”, and the opening shot featuring an inverted Statue of Liberty, the resentments on display in the film are just too much to take. Picking apart what’s wrong with the American Dream from the perspective of an immigrant is a time-honoured Hollywood tradition, but this film just radiates an over-obvious bitterness that does it no favours.
The Brutalist will reap awards because its stylistic and technical achievements are unimpeachable but, like the style of architecture in its title, its obvious hostility to literally everyone but the architect makes it hard to swallow.
