With The Brutalist, director Brady Corbet crafts a visually stunning and deeply evocative exposition on identity, displacement, and the search for meaning in a fractured world. Anchored by Adrien Brody’s haunting performance as László Tóth, the film intertwines personal struggles with sweeping historical context, creating a cinematic experience that is as intimate as it is epic.
The story opens amidst the chaos of World War II, with László forced to leave behind his wife, Erzsébet (brilliantly performed by Felicity Jones), and niece to secure his passage to America. This separation is not merely a physical one but a severing of his identity, as he flees the Nazi regime with little more than hope for a better future. Upon arriving in Philadelphia, László seeks refuge with his cousin Attila (Alessandro Nivola), a furniture store owner. Yet even in the supposed land of opportunity, László finds himself adrift, his struggle to find work paralleled by his deeper struggle to find a place to belong.
Corbet’s narrative deftly contrasts László’s enforced displacement in war-torn Europe with the voluntary isolation he experiences in America. The irony of this “freedom” is palpable as László grapples with loneliness and opioid addiction, his pain a reflection of the American dream’s hollow promises. Brody’s portrayal is masterful—his restrained, brooding presence captures a man’s internal conflict trying to reconcile his past with a future he cannot yet envision.
The turning point in László’s journey comes when he is offered a commission to renovate the library of a wealthy industrialist Harrison Lee Van Buren (Guy Pearce). This opportunity serves as the foundation for his architectural ambitions, leading to the creation of his first brutalist masterpiece on American soil. Much like the architectural style, László’s work is raw, unadorned, and unflinchingly honest—a stark contrast to the superficial inclusivity of his adopted homeland. His designs mirror his inner world: beautiful in their starkness yet burdened with the weight of a fractured soul.
Visually, The Brutalist is a marvel. Shot entirely in VistaVision, a process last widely used in the mid-20th century, the film achieves a level of visual immersion rarely seen in contemporary cinema. The high-resolution imagery transports viewers into each meticulously crafted scene, making the world of the film feel tactile and immediate. Whether capturing the cold, clinical lines of László’s architectural creations or the intimate, aching expressions of its characters, Laurie Crawley’s cinematography is breathtaking.
Corbet’s direction, paired with an evocative score by Daniel Blumberg, immerses the audience in the dualities that define László’s life—freedom and captivity, hope and despair, creation and destruction. The film’s themes are universal, yet deeply personal, reflecting not just the journey of one man but the timeless struggles of those forced to navigate displacement, reinvention, and the search for identity.
The Brutalist is an unflinching portrait of a man shaped by his environment, yet determined to leave his mark upon it. Corbet’s vision and Brody’s transformative performance ensure the film lingers long after the credits roll. It is a story of survival, artistry, and the often brutal truths that accompany both.
Rating: ★★★★½
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