It is certainly not difficult to recognise great art, and countless works across every conceivable medium have been labelled as being masterpieces for a number of reasons, usually based on how they define either an artist’s career or influence an entire movement in some substantial way. Yet, there is a lot more hesitance when it comes to choosing the definitive work in a particular medium or genre, which can be a daunting or exciting process depending on how one approaches the task. For decades, scholars and critics have debated the most appropriate contender for the title of the Great American Novel, a work that is not only well-written and important, but captures the spirit of the country both past and present. We are not any closer to having a clear answer to this enigmatic query today as we were years ago, but it seems like every year we find more works that could compete for the title. Directly attached to this question is that of the Great American Film, which is in many ways an even more impossible task, since we’re dealing with an entirely different medium and one that has far more parameters to take into consideration. The reality is that, much like its literary counterpart, we are never going to have a single film that is universally recognized as the definitive piece of American cinema, but rather a collection of works that, when taken together, create a thorough portrait of the country and its history in its various forms. The most recent addition is perhaps the most important of the past few years, which comes in the form of The Brutalist, a passion project for writer and director Brady Corbet, who spent years developing the film, telling the story of László Tóth, a Holocaust survivor that leaves his homeland of Hungary to find a better life in the United States in the aftermath of the Second World War. A celebrated architect in Europe, he struggles to find work and eventually has to settle for a meagre existence as a coal shoveller before being approached by a wealthy industrialist who commissions him to design and oversee the construction of an ambitious community centre, a years-long endeavour that drives our protagonist to the very edge of his sanity as he attempts to seek perfection, a fool’s errand but one he is nonetheless insistent on achieving. An incredible, towering work that confirms Corbet as a truly gifted filmmaker, The Brutalist is an astonishing achievement in both form and concept and quite simply a monumental piece of cinema that is both challenging and compelling, a combination that has rarely been found in a lot of contemporary works.

One aspect of his work that has been made extremely clear in all three of his films (including the little-seen Childhood of a Leader and highly-divisive Vox Lux) is that he is not a director who wastes time on unnecessary details, with absolutely every decision he makes in his films being intentional and having several reasons for being placed in specific positions. The Brutalist is a film where the length is quite noticeable since it is quite rare to find 220-minute long films that are seemingly tethered from franchises or existing properties, and where the reasoning behind such an exorbitant running time is quite simply because the director felt this was appropriate, tying it into their artistic vision that seemingly necessitated more time to develop on these themes. Mercifully, Corbet is quite economical with the time by making use of the generosity afforded to him by whoever approved such an ambitious project, ensuring that each moment in this film carries meaning, right from the striking introduction to the haunting final sequence. The foundation of The Brutalist is a story about art and the people who create it – we don’t see many films about architects, especially those from previous eras, since it is a decidedly more subtle artform that yields magnificent results, but which entails a lengthy artistic process that is quite rarely given much focus. Intertwined with the protagonist’s efforts to make a living by any means necessary, while still yearning for his artistic freedom that he sacrificed in favour of having a potentially better life in the United States, is a captivating story of identity. The Brutalist uses architecture as its foundation, but doesn’t restrict the conversation to solely this subject, and instead ventures deep into the heart of this man seeking a way forward after everything he had was torn away from him as a result of the war. Equal to his artistic endeavours, the character of László Tóth is defined by his identity, and eventually restricted by it after some time. Conversations with family members who changed their name to sound more American, or proudly converted to Christianity from their native Judaism, highlight the experiences of many immigrants who felt that the only way to fully assimilate into society and sample from its supposedly infinite prosperity was through changing the fundamental fabric of who they were as people, with our protagonist being steadfast in his defiance against any efforts to erode his identity or culture, which seemingly are the last remnants of his life before the war. Corbet seamlessly weaves these ideas together to create a complex portrait of a man seeking success through genuine hard work, rather than taking the more convenient path, which may have allowed him to lead a more prosperous life, but at the expense of everything he cherishes.

Every minute of the three-and-a-half hours of The Brutalist is exceptional, particularly in how they coalesce around a fascinating story of an architect fleeing his home country and gradually rebuilding his life and career in a country that has always been associated with freedom and prosperity, both of which became increasingly more unlikely in war-torn Europe, but which proves to still be quite elusive on the other side of the Atlantic, a realization he only discovers after several years of suffering. The theme of identity collides with the broader one that propels the majority of the film, which is that of the American Dream, an elusive concept that everyone seems to strive to achieve, but very few actually manage to accomplish, precisely because of how nebulous and ambigious its parameters tend to be, and how the country is built on elements that seem attainable but are actually far more difficult to master than anyone may realize. The Brutalist is a story of America, and it can be argued this of absolutely every film about immigrants making their way to the country in an effort to find greener pastures, not being aware of how difficult it is to find that better life that they are all seeking. Telling this story through the lens of a single individual is a fantastic approach, since it allows for a more controlled perspective, and Corbet takes advantage of this concept by following someone who moves to the United States at a critical point in global history and allows us to see the gradual changes through which the country went, essentially making The Brutalist a whistlestop tour of the 20th century, covering roughly four decades in the life of the protagonist as he makes his way through the years, growing steadily more committed to his craft while also quietly observing the winds of change, each day bringing about new challenges with which he (and everyone else in his position) have to endure. László is a well-crafted character, but he is also someone who is defined by his slight ambiguity, an intentional choice made to reflect the immigrant experience as a whole. Countless people seek refuge in other countries in the hopes of finding a better life but usually find that their talents become secondary once they are labelled as foreigners, and are bound to be viewed as nothing more than outsiders, very rarely being able to achieve their potential and therefore having to settle for a diminished life. It’s a heartbreaking subject, but one that nonetheless forms the firm foundation of this incredible film.

Based on the nature of the film and how Corbet approaches its many unique details, the role of László Tóth was certainly not one that could be considered particularly easy and therefore required an extraordinarily gifted actor to bring the part to life. The Brutalist is essentially a 200-minute character study in which we voyage through the 20th century with a seemingly ordinary man who endures unspeakable hardships but is nonetheless committed to improving his life and surviving by any means necessary. Adrien Brody is recruited to play the part, and he’s extraordinary, delivering perhaps his greatest performance to date, which is quite an achievement considering he’s had a long career of fascinating, complex work that has fully taken advantage of his unique acting abilities and incredible prowess when it comes to characterization. László is a victim of the socio-cultural cruelty that defined many moments of the 20th century, and as both a survivor of the Holocaust and an immigrant in a country that claimed to embrace those of all cultures, but which is not willing to view them as equals unless they erase every aspect of their ethnic background, he is a strong figurehead for the suffering that many endured at the time. Brody delivers a towering performance, driven by bold attention to detail and the ability to understand absolutely every aspect of the character, right down to the smallest traits that most other actors would overlook in favour of the broader moments. Brody doesn’t only take note of the intricate details of the character, but he uses them to construct this fascinating performance, which has an abundance of nuance beneath the surface that we cannot even fathom that this is a fictional piece, and not a biographical account of a living person – although, in many ways, László represents an entire generation of people and their stories, representing countless immigrant who set out to make a better life for themselves. Brody is joined by a strong supporting cast, including the incredibly gifted Guy Pearce, who proves his ability to seamlessly evoke another era as the vicious and domineering industrialist who becomes irrevocably tangled in László’s life, while Felicity Jones makes her entrance in the second half of the film, portraying the protagonist’s feisty and steadfast wife who derides him for his lack of willingness to stand up for himself, not realizing that he has chosen a more placid path not out of weakness, but rather necessity. The Brutalist is a complex character study, and every performance in this film (even by those in relatively small roles) contributes to the mosaic of human lives that make up this film, making it an even more engaging endeavour and one steeped far more heavily in reality than we may have anticipated.

Considering the sheer amount of work that went into this film in terms of narrative detail, it’s not surprising that The Brutalist would feel like quite a daunting endeavour, which extends to the audience. This is a film that is enormous in scope – beyond the running time, there was a lot of complexity that needed to be addressed throughout, especially when working with such intense subject matter. Corbet is not interested in making this already dense film even more complicated, and instead focuses on the authenticity of the narrative, which allows it to be quite an accessible affair, even at its most intense. Part of the brilliance of this film is not that it is willing to evoke difficult conversations, but rather that it does so with such incredible simplicity, relying on the most human of emotions when it comes to exploring the relationships between these characters. For a historical epic that is based around identity, trauma and the psychological impact that comes when processing a difficult past, The Brutalist is remarkably accessible and easily approachable, never once succumbing to the temptation to be more cerebral than it needed to be, and therefore creating quite a compelling, thrilling voyage through the decades in which the director can provide some profound commentary through the most simple, evocative means imaginable. It’s not an easy film in terms of the themes or how they’re explored, but it is also not a film that relishes keeping the audience at arm’s length, instead encouraging us to accompany these characters as they navigate the strange and exciting new worlds presented to them. We are voyeurs into the daily life of László as he sets out to make a living, following his trials and tribulations and celebrating every one of his victories while lamenting his losses. It’s beautifully compelling storytelling that prioritizes the emotions, which is a firm reminder that some of the most hard-hitting, impactful works of cinema are those that choose to follow a more conventional path, finding the space to be ambitious along the way and showing that life is sometimes not about the destination, but rather the journey – and when this film ends with that exact sentiment, it becomes very clear that this was amongst the core principles guiding this film and making it such an incredibly poignant piece of filmmaking that focuses on authenticity above everything else.

As much as we can wax poetic about the thematic and narrative elements of The Brutalist, they would be almost entirely redundant had they not been realized with the precision and dedication to the craft that Corbet demonstrates throughout, which proves to tie everything together by ensuring that each and every element is well-placed and brought to life with as much authenticity and artistic integrity as possible. This is an absolutely gorgeous film, with the cinematography by Lol Crowley in particular being just as integral to the success of the film as anything else – the compositions of every shot are worthy of close analysis, both in isolation and in terms of how they all eventually come together to create a vibrant visual tapestry that says as much about the core themes of the film as they do imply something much deeper and seemingly more complex. Corbet has exhibited an extraordinary attention to detail in all facets of his filmmaking, and both of his previous directorial endeavours were remarkably beautiful in their own right. Yet, it’s with this film that he seems to be making the most sincere case for himself as a true auteur, with his strong, earnest vision being present from the very first moments, where he utilizes a handheld camera to capture László’s first moments in America, sharing minutes of voyeuristic intimacy before switching to the sweeping cinematography that gives The Brutalist the aesthetic of a more classical cinematic epic, with the rich colours and stunning framing of every scene being meticulously crafted in close collaboration between the director and cinematographer, who work together to create this stunning depiction of the past, which is only further supported by the incredible art direction and costume design, both of which are integral to creating a genuine portrayal of the past, even in the moments where they are not the focus, which is one of the many signs of truly extraordinary work. Daniel Blumberg is enlisted to compose the score, and from the stunning overture that is the most glorious cacophony of sounds colliding to create a sense of disorientation and optimism, to the off-kilter final notes that accompany the epilogue, absolutely every musical cue in this film feels essential to defining the overall identity of the story, contributing to a piece of art that is driven as much by the story as it is the atmosphere, which is made even more distinct through the artistic elements that drive the production and make it such an incredible directorial achievement. 

The sheer volume of audacity that went into the creation of The Brutalist is astonishing, and we have to laud Brody for the gumption, considering this is a film that touches on several complex issues, most of which seem as far too daunting for many contemporary filmmakers. There are several layers of detail beneath the surface of this film, which proves to be a deeply moving and somewhat unnerving exploration of the 20th century, filtered through the perspective of a character who endures countless challenges, but still emerges triumphant as a result of his tenacity and refusal to abandon his identity, regardless of the pressure he felt from those around him to fit into a society that already harboured resentment for him based on his origins. There are few films that capture not only the immigrant experience but the very nature of American life in the 20th century, quite like this one. It’s gentle in some parts, and forceful in others, with the director oscillating between different tones to create a multilayered depiction of the past, following this incredibly fascinating protagonist as he embraces his new life while still holding firmly onto the past, even when he knows that the more reluctant he is to let go of his origins, the longer it will take for him to find the exact success he was promised when making the journey to the United States, which is a reality many immigrants face, especially at that particular point in history. To tell this story is to affirm the existence of countless individuals who were filtered through a system that promises prosperity and hope, but ultimately did not yield all the intended results, and which the protagonist of this film does find success, it comes at a cost of his dignity and faith in humanity, which is reflected in so many of his artistic decisions, all of which are highlighted in the stunning epilogue, an ambitious and divisive way to end a film that is defined by its ambition more than anything else. The Brutalist is a masterful piece of cinema, handcrafted by a director whose extraordinary commitment to every aspect of this film, coupled with the skill of his collaborators, creates an unforgettable historical epic that is somehow both sprawling in scope and intimate in detail, proving to be an exquisite, deeply moving work that pushes boundaries and challenges our understanding of the human condition and all of its various mysteries that we have been attempting to understand for centuries but are no closer to solving than we were decades ago.