The Brutalist

What makes The Brutalist such a unique cinematic experience is the way Brady Corbet, with his 70mm VistaVision camera, builds a universe where architecture is not just a backdrop but a character made of flesh and concrete. From the opening minutes, protagonist László Tóth, played by Adrien Brody, emerges among concrete skeletons and the noise of cranes, and we immediately feel we are in the presence of a modern epic—one as ambitious as it is necessary.

Brody delivers a restrained but profoundly layered performance. Portraying a Hungarian-Jewish architect who crosses the Atlantic bearing the visible scars of concentration camps, he connects instantly with the viewer. His face conveys a mix of hope, guilt, and an almost obsessive drive to build something greater than himself—a library that will reconstruct his identity. Felicity Jones, as Erzsébet, brings a quiet sorrow and a shattered fragility that reminds us that behind grand structures lie tense human relationships, dark days, and lingering memories. Guy Pearce, inhabiting the charismatic yet shadowy figure of Harrison Van Buren, represents the weight of powerful patrons. His ties to money and ego expose the conflict between art and profit.

Corbet’s direction is marked by wide, breathing shots—sky, construction, crane—where the camera seems to inhale the space. Lol Crawley’s tangible light communicates not just hope but a harsh clarity that casts long shadows, like the consequences of trauma. Daniel Blumberg’s score is another pillar: sometimes raw jazz, sometimes minimalist lament, it drives the film’s emotional rhythm, marrying architecture with sensation.

One emblematic moment that encapsulates the film’s central tension is when László presents the model of the library to Harrison. Resting on a table in charged silence, the miniature glows as the characters exchange barely masked praise and veiled distrust. That moment encapsulates the dream of building something beautiful and lasting—a near exorcism of the past. But that same moment echoes later in scenes of familial and professional collapse, where personal foundations crack just as concrete façades inevitably do.

The third act, however, is less harmonious. After a 15-minute intermission, the narrative becomes more intimate, no longer about grand designs but about the ruins of relationships. Here, Corbet occasionally slips into melodrama, veering off the balance between epic and personal. By exploring conflicts between László and Erzsébet, between promise and failure, the film reaches for something universal but risks falling into familiar tropes of domestic suffering. Still, this ambition to fully flesh out the protagonist—from concrete to emotion—even if it risks losing narrative focus, is undeniably bold.

There are legitimate criticisms: the central character is fictional, and at times the story feels constructed. And while the film strives for historical authenticity—with intermissions and vintage production choices—the stylization and some AI-enhanced sequences, undermine the realism it seeks.

Yet the essence holds: The Brutalist is a monument—to cinema, and to viewers willing to give themselves to nearly four hours of reflection. It’s about immigrants and identity, about building and losing oneself in the act of building, about art as both construction and deconstruction. It is also about the American Dream—an ideal as grand as it is flawed—seen through the eyes of someone arriving from outside, dreaming big, and discovering the ground beneath can collapse without warning.

Strengths: immersive cinematography and sound, a visceral performance by Brody, impeccable production design and lighting, and Corbet’s commitment to architecture as a metaphor for the soul. Weaknesses: uneven pacing in the final act, occasional melodrama, and a reverence for its own grandeur that sometimes tips into self-indulgence.

In the end, The Brutalist is not a perfect work—and perhaps that’s its greatest strength. It sets out to build something larger than cinema itself and in that ambition carries the weight of both its delusions and its triumphs. It’s a film that disturbs, demands attention, and lingers long after, wall by wall, scene by scene, fragment by fragment.



The Brutalist (2024 / United States, Hungary)
Direction: Brady Corbet
Screenplay: Brady Corbet, Mona Fastvold
Cast: Adrien Brody, Felicity Jones, Guy Pearce, Joe Alwyn
Running Time: 215 min.