Enduring Erosion
Film
Escaping post-war Europe, visionary architect László Tóth arrives in America to rebuild his life, his work, and his marriage to his wife Erzsébet after being forced apart during wartime by shifting borders and regimes. On his own in a strange new country, László settles in Pennsylvania, where the wealthy and prominent industrialist Harrison Lee Van Buren recognizes his talent for building. But power and legacy come at a heavy cost.
"Most artists are more devoted to their projects than they are their own spiritualism – obsession doesn't leave much space for other things." You may be wondering if this is bit of pseudo-enlightened and hyper-introspective jargon was casually dropped during one of Variety's pre-Oscars Directors On Directors sit-down conversations. It definitely sounds like something a filmmaker would say to curry favor and deeper appreciation for their hard work, don't you agree?
Actually, it's just a throwaway pull-quote from director Brady Corbet, something I jotted down in the notes app on my phone that he said during a post-screening Q&A of his new film last fall. In the months I've spent mulling over my thoughts and feelings and emotionally marinating about his new film, The Brutalist, I've also had this quote on my mind. We all know it's hard to get any movie made these days; and of course, it's even harder to make something that strives for true greatness that has enough creative juice to hold it together. It seems that Corbet's remark isn't so much an angled proclamation as it is a wounded plea, one with a sort of canned but candid sentiment that might sound self-congratulatory if it weren't so brazenly honest.
With its wide scope of storytelling, labyrinth of postmodern themes, and its utilization of nearly extinct filmmaking materials to shoot the damn thing, it should come as no surprise to anyone that The Brutalist was, in every sense, very difficult to make from start to finish. It's a film with a lot of ideas about both its story and subject, as well as its own existence. Some may find it persuasive and intellectually stimulating; others may have to work hard just to tolerate it. Those who hail it as an instant classic are quick to call it EPIC and MONUMENTAL; it's detractors accuse it of being HOLLOW and PRETENTIOUS. Personally, I was enthralled - few films hit my cinematic pleasure centers more than The Brutalist did this year.
SPOILERS APLENTY
In an effort to not chew up your precious time (remembering that this film has a maximalist runtime), I'm going to keep my plot detailing short. All you really need to know is that a Hungarian-Jewish architect and Holocaust survivor, László Tóth (Adrien Brody) immigrates to the United States. Despite having the chance to start anew, the freedom and opportunities he has in pursuit of a better life is understood more as a dream than a reality.
The Brutalist is about a lot of things. It's a film about America capitalism, then and now. It's an immigrant story, a film about about assimilation and the struggle of maintaining one's own cultural identity. It's a film about what it means to experience, cope with, and live with trauma. Beyond those heady ideas and themes are a lot of other sub textual and meta texual things, too, some of which are more layered than others. The film is about the co-dependent nature and often destructive relationship between art and commerce and about the blurry lines between the artist and their financier. It's about how creativity and profitability are almost never synonymous and how those concepts are inherently at odds with one another. Stated simply, The Brutalist is a piece of art about making art; its a film that is just as interested in its characters and story as it is its own creation and construction, as audacious and shameless as that may seem.
In case you somehow did not know, The Brutalist was shot using VistaVision cameras on 35mm film stock which was then scanned and printed for a 70mm film release. Importantly, this choice is also aesthetic, a transportive way to hearken back to a byegone era of Hollywood moviemaking. It is worth pointing out that brutalist architecture is characterized its minimalist constructions that showcase the bare building materials and emphasize the structure elements over decorative design. So, in many ways, Corbet's approach to filmmaking has much in common with this ethos – he has prioritized the quality of materials used to ensure his work will withstand time and endure erosion. It is also worth mentioning that the film's runtime is runs north of three and a half hours, which includes an overture and a 15-minute intermission. How it was conceived, how it was captured, and how it is being presented to audiences is one reason The Brutalist will resonate more deeply than other films – it is designed to demand your full attention and earn your respect.
There isn't enough of your time or attention for me to gush about the all the above- and below-the-line talent who worked on The Brutalist. The original screenplay, co-written by Corbet and his wife Mona Fastvold (a talented filmmaker in her own right) is dense and sprawling with ideas, but it does not lose sight of its characters and their arcs. Despite having a sub-$10 million budget, this has the scope and scale of a production with much deeper pockets. I want to call attention to Lol Crawley's extravagant and sumptuous cinematography, Dávid Jancsó's precise and rhythmic editing, and Daniel Blumberg's instantly memorable and luscious score. As excellent as the screenwriting, directing, and acting all are, these three craftsmen all turn in what may be career-defining work, and they should all be in line for Oscar nominations, if not victories.
As for the acting, the film's three leads all rise to the occasion. As László Tóth, Brody transforms and delivers a truly great bookend performance that is clearly in conversation with the film that highlighted him as an A-list in The Pianist. He is mesmerizing and juggles the emotional highs and lows of his character with control and a level of unpredictability. As his on-screen counterweight, Guy Pearce is equally unpredictable if not more and manages to be both dangerously charismatic and demonstrably sinister. He is every bit as engaging as Brody, and I'm thrilled to see him dive head first into this character. Which leaves us Felicity Jones, who has less to do than the others with considerably less screen time, but the importance of Erzsébet's arc helps harmonize that of her husband's ups and downs. In many ways, Jones is the soul of the story, the tonic to Brody's gin. While every performance fits together nicely, it is the tug-of-war between Brody and Pearce that I will remember most fondly.
As Corbet noted, artistic obsession comes at a steep cost and is often the kind of Faustian bargain that can be destructive and can supercede the state of one's own livelihood. Do artistic ends justify the commercial means? It's hard not to feel like Corbet is the living and breathing embodiment of the themes his film explores, a victim of his own creativity struggling to make something so thoughtful and inspired. In that same post-screening Q&A I referenced earlier, I remember Corbet discussing the film's final thesis statement. In the film's epilogue, an older Zsofia delivers a speech at the First Architecture Biennale in Venice commermorating an now aged László's work. Speaking to a crowd of his supporters, Zsofia offers an inside look into the artistic psychology of the now aged László, elucidating how his experiences with the Holocaust are inextricably infused within, expressed through, and serve as the principal inspiration for his works. She ends by recounting what László once told her: "No matter what the others try and sell you, it is the destination, not the journey.”
Corbet explains that for László (and perhaps himself in many ways), if everything was just about the journey, then the story would simply be about a journey through hell. Making anything is hard, making something great is nearly impossible. As he went on to explain, it can be obnoxious to say stop and smell the roses - maybe there aren't any roses to smell, maybe it is all just a means to an end, and maybe the means demand a great deal of suffering without reprieve. From a filmmaker's perspective, surviving the means and getting to a satisfying end just means the ability to make another project – perhaps one with the same level of autonomy and creative control (hence the cheeky needle drop in the film's cut to the credits, "One for You, One for Me"). Like his titular architect, Corbet has constructed his work to stand the test of time, and The Brutalist is great, not because it delivers a memorable journey, but because it arrives at it's intended destination.
