Adrian Brody seems to be carving out a peculiar character niche for himself – a renowned Jewish artist and genius in his discipline who is left ravaged by the horrors of the holocaust. But rather than being a rehash of 2002’s The Pianist, The Brutalist is more its spiritual sequel, posing the question: what happens after the persecution seemingly ends?
In Brady Corbert’s The Brutalist, Brody plays the fictional László Tóth, a celebrated architect in his native Hungary, who, after being separated from his wife and niece during the war and sent to a concentration camp, is now emigrating to the USA in search of a new life. Following a series of unfortunate events, in which Tóth accepts the lowest standard of living with pitiful gratitude, he is eventually enlisted by a wealthy industrialist to design and build a momentous community centre.
Brody (once again) utterly convinces as a man whose humanity has been completely stripped away. Exhausted, broken, and humbled, the destruction of his past life manifests itself physically – just looking at Brody’s thin, bruised frame is painful. Even when Tóth’s fortunes are on the up, and his confidence and arrogance grows, Brody’s haunted eyes retain the bleak truth that desolation is only a small step away. He had happiness once, but now refuses to allow himself to believe that he is worthy of it again.
Guy Pearce plays Harrison Lee Van Buren, Tóth’s patron and polar opposite. Where Tóth is a dishevelled and diminished bird, Van Buren is a well-groomed, chest-thumping alpha gorilla; a member of the elite with an appreciation and craving for artistic beauty. He has a dream and the money to execute it, but lacks the understanding of where that beauty comes from. In Tóth, he initially has complete reverence, but when the cracks in his charm start to show, the envy creeps in, to life-shattering consequences. Pearce’s demanding performance is one of subtle seduction and brute force, and this is his film as much as Brody’s. By the end, it is clear that the title can just as easily refer to either character.
The filmmaking behind the camera is just as assured and impressive as that of the actors, with the production design and cinematography being particularly lush. A sequence depicting the renovation of a library is awe inspiring and perfectly showcases the understated power of architecture. Daniel Blumberg’s score is also a highlight. Tóth’s journey is aptly reflected in the clockwork, mechanical avant-garde sounds of Eastern Bloc prepared piano and scratched strings, juxtaposed against an all-American, grandiose four-note horn motif. The melody suggests the beginnings of a triumphant superhero theme, but one where the hero is never quite able to take flight. It is as magnificent and tragic as Tóth’s buildings.
Corbert’s script (co-written with Mona Fastvold) attempts to tackle a vast array of social-political issues – the immigrant experience; self-sacrifice of one’s identity; xenophobia; racism; sexism; the shame of pain; addiction; power and control; the chasm between extreme poverty and wealth. It is a lot to cram into a single film, and perversely, at over three and a half hours long, several elements of the story feel undercooked. Even with a very welcome intermission, the shorter second half feels rushed, with jarring leaps forward in time, significant plot points being brushed to the wayside, and character arcs left unresolved. A disservice is done to Felicity Jones as Tóth’s journalist wife. She is scene-stealing when she appears, but that is all too infrequent. Likewise, Tóth’s niece, played by Raffey Cassidy, seemingly experiences a trauma to match Tóth’s own, but as soon as hers happens, it is frustratingly never mentioned again. An even longer edit would have been welcomed, so that Corbert could tell his story in full. It is a testament to the fine filmmaking on display here that even at such an epic length, one is left wanting more.
The Brutalist is screening at Plymouth Arts Cinema from Saturday 15th – Wednesday 19th February.
Reviewed by Matthew Onuki Luke
