‘The Brutalist’ and Its Subtle Critique of the American Dream

Spike Lee’s Malcolm X opens with the powerful voice of Denzel Washington as the titular Nebraska-born minister speaking to an energetic and engaged crowd. He is thunderous and sharp as he chastises white people for the atrocities they have committed globally and locally, particularly against African Americans. On screen, we see the infamous home-recorded video of multiple Los Angeles Police Department officers beating Rodney King in 1991 inter-spliced with a burning American flag. The combination of the damning sermon, mournful musical score, and unadulterated violence swells to jolt and anger the audience. In concluding his speech, Malcolm says, “We don’t see any American Dream; we’ve experienced only the American nightmare,” to rapturous applause from the crowd as embers and smoke from the burnt flag shape into an X linger. From the state-sanctioned violence that would allow the beating of a Black motorist to take place to the harsh reality that Malcolm spelled out and the audience agreed with, the United States and its promise of equality, prosperity, and harmony were not being fulfilled. In fact, a question that The Brutalist, a film made three decades later, is posing is, has America ever been the land of opportunity? If the American Dream is just that, a dream, who is living its nightmare?

The High

The Brutalist follows László Tóth (Adrien Brody; Splice), a Holocaust survivor, as he enters America. He emerges from an overcrowded ship’s cabinet in a chaotic race. Once he makes it to the deck of the ship, he is greeted by the Statue of Liberty. Not in the sweeping and romantic way that a young Vito Corleone sees it in The Godfather Part II, where the immigrants on that ship are thunderstruck by the large statue. László sees Lady Liberty in a strange and bent way, poking and being shifted across the screen from different upside-down and horizontal angles. This is meant to keep the viewer off balance, as the America that László has arrived allows in the huddled masses but is not necessarily welcoming. Vito is curious, quiet, and studying this new land; László, once the excitement of arriving wears off, is terrified. What follows is a painful journey to the American Dream. But, as the film wants us to believe, it’s the destination that’s important, not the journey.  

Making his way to Philadelphia, the Hungarian Jew must now assimilate and begin to make a new life for himself, hoping to eventually bring his wife Erzsébet (Felicity Jones) and niece Zsófia (Raffey Cassidy) to America. He stays with his American cousin, Attila (Alessandro Nivola), and agrees to design custom furniture for his store. Their first major gig together is an order to have a library built as a birthday surprise for Pennsylvania industrialist and millionaire Harrison Lee Van Buren (Guy Pierce), hired by Harrison’s son Harry (Joe Alwyn). László has an immense artistic talent, and the new library is beautifully crafted with bold, large wooden doors that open in tandem. However, Harrison does not agree, becomes infuriated, and throws a tantrum that would rival most 2-year-olds. Because of the episode, the Van Buren’s do not pay for the costly project. Between this and Attila’s wife lying about László making sexual advances toward her, Attila throws his cousin out, leaving him with nothing. 

Years later, now a heroin user and working as a coal shoveler, Harrison reconnects with László after discovering he is an accomplished architect in Budapest. Harrison gives him an opportunity to plan and oversee a massive construction project as a dedication to Harrison’s late mother in Doylestown. At the site, local town officials request they build a library, auditorium, gymnasium, and chapel in order to receive public funds, and Harrison, through misguided eccentricity, wants the four entities built into one connected building. While ambitious, László views this project as a “second chance” to restart his life. This is the seductive beauty of the American Dream: it instills the belief, whether justified or not, that all you just need is one chance to make it. Will László capitalize on this chance and achieve what so many have not, or will this country get the best of him?

The Come-Down

The Brutalist is sectioned off into two parts, divided by a 15-minute intermission, followed by an epilogue. Part 1 is wonderfully constructed as it lulls László (and, by extension, the audience) into a false sense of security, even with the painful truth hiding in plain sight. The truth is that László is an addict and sleeps in a shelter but he is drawn into the charming nature of the Van Buren’s ecosphere. Their estate is immaculate and wealth vast. Harrison, even in his petulance and quirkiness, is inviting and warm to László and his family. Harry, whose smugness and contempt fill each scene like cheap cologne, is still only seen as a minor irritant rather than a symptom of a larger problem. Soon, we learn that the apple truly does not fall far from the tree. László views the family as bankrolling benefactors, people in his past life as a successful architect in his home country he would have had to spend nights glad-handing while sidestepping the privilege they flaunt. Part 2 pushes László to the breaking point as he works to complete the massive-scaled project.

Last year was an interesting time for drug usage in film. Dune: Part Two, which award bodies have seemingly forgotten about, has the usage of “spice” and “the worm’s poison,” both modified versions of what we would call psychedelics, that are used to unlock the mind’s potential and connection between man and nature. In Queer, Daniel Craig’s character, an alcoholic novelist William Lee, shoots heroin to find solitude in sullen apartments and takes ayahuasca for clarity in the jungles of South America. László started using heroin to ease the pain after a facial injury while escaping a concentration camp. Toward the end of the film, it is used as a means to lower his guard and inhibitions. In a pivotal scene between László and Erzsébet (no spoilers), in a dark way, it brings the two together in a way the majority of the film conspires to keep them apart. Architecture is his artistic expression, but professing and showing his love to his wife is not so easy. While the films do not champion the use of drugs, they show how people can have either real or perceived barriers and how one can lean on different coping mechanisms in an effort to move beyond themselves. If Part 1 of The Brutalist is the high, then Part 2 is the crash back to reality.

The Craft

Writer-director Brady Corbet (Vox Lux), along with co-writer Mona Fastvold, painstakingly create a rich and cynical environment of post-World War II America. An epic in the truest sense, we experience the multifaceted ways America looks to destroy its inhabitants, whether through capitalism, poverty, drug usage, or violence. As mentioned, The Brutalist is in conversation with Malcolm X and The Godfather Parts I and II, but George Stevens’ Giant and A Place in the Sun and Orson Welles’ Citizen Kane are in the mix as well: these are all sprawling stories that question what achieving the American Dream entails. Choosing to shoot the film in VistaVision, a near-extinct video photography style using 35 mm film, gives the film a warm, throwback tone that looks in place with those classic films. 

Though the look, feel, and sentimentality of The Brutalist are very much of the past, there are a few contentious elements that are of today. There were two incidents where AI was subtly inserted into the film. First, it was used to “enhance” the Hungarian spoken between László and Erzsébet when using the actor’s skill, and ADR with replacement voice actors “just didn’t work.” Corbet has said that this was done “with the utmost respect for the craft.” Second, Generative AI was used to create architectural drawings and buildings meant to represent László’s brutalist design style. Neither of these add nor subtract from the overall quality of The Brutalist and, in turn, make these additions futile and a net negative. 

Those cynical of AI’s usage in art and labor will see its inclusion as taking away jobs from voice actors and design artists. It is wise to be wary of companies that rely on AI because it makes the process a lot faster or because they do not have time and/or money and they want to find a fast and cheap way to solve a problem without true ingenuity. Crafting art should not be treated as an equation to solve but as a link to something true about the human experience. Corbet said that “every aspect of [The Brutalist’s] creation was driven by human effort, creativity, and collaboration.” While his vigor remains steadfast, these inclusions are another sign that AI use in film is here and will only continue to grow for the foreseeable future.

The Players

Adrien Brody gives a heartfelt and aching performance. As the brutalist architect, he is confident and brash when he is making his art. Though reliant on others to complete his vision, he is steadfast and resolute in himself. László can be read as a mirror to director Corbet as he has been vigilant in his message of directors having final cut over their films. Brody has tact as he oscillates between bravado, defeat, anger, and defiance. Just with his eyes, we effectively see the mood of László at his best and his worst. 

Guy Pierce is almost perfectly beguiling in what turned out to be a career performance. Pierce brings charm and ostentatiousness to a character that we know is a villain but are still no less captivated by him. Harrison is pompous but grounded just enough to feel comfortable in his presence. He is an eccentric millionaire with money to burn. Even with his substantial wealth, László is made to feel on equal footing as Harrison. By the end of our journey, we know that is not the case. 

Felicity Jones, similar to how Angela Bassett is used as Betty Shabazz in Malcolm X, is sparingly used but highly effective. Her name and voice are used throughout the film as a motivating device for László, but when she is brought on-screen, it feels gut-wrenching. Erzsébet becomes the conscience of The Brutalist as she keeps the film honest just by her presence alone. She is the truth that László cannot deny: even the brightest of us can be slowly destroyed. Jones is just as vulnerable as Brody, but she smoothes the edges with sensibility and grace in a way that he cannot. In her final scene, she boldly confronts Harrison and the Van Buren family. Jones is so powerful in the confrontation it unrelentingly grips and moves the audience as the ugly truth can no longer be ignored. 

Though the majority of the film is strong, its ending may make some feel a bit confounded. There is a small epilogue that is reflective of László’s life and career 20 years after Part 2 concludes. Here, Zsófia, as an adult woman, explains the design concept behind the Doylestown community center. Ending her speech, the former mute says, “No matter what the others try and sell you, it is the destination, not the journey.” During her speech, the film audience sees mock-ups of construction projects that are interesting but we have no connection to them. The story behind those buildings may be as easy as Sunday morning, but the Doylestown community center is what moved us. That choice may leave one questioning either why we were on this three-and-a-half-hour journey or if she was taught the right lesson. Also, it is hinted that the Tóths may have left America to take refuge in Israel. One might argue, depending on your viewpoint, that he fled one imperialistic system for another and found prosperity. While the epilogue may pose new questions, the totality of The Brutalist still works. Though it is not shy about taking influences from other films, the craft and skill of acting elevate a familiar story.

Rating: 4.5 out of 5 stars