Written by Kenza Bouhnass-Parra
"Monumental" is what can be seen on the official poster and trailer of Brady Corbet’s The Brutalist, and you will not find me accusing them of false advertising. The cinematic event of this beginning of the year holds a runtime of 3h30 and every single minute participates its elevation. In fact, my only complaint is that it does not extend itself for an additional 20 minutes.
We follow architect László Tóth (Adrien Brody), a Hungarian Jew who emigrates to the United States after the end of the Second World War where he settles in Pennsylvania. There, he crosses the path of industrialist Harrison Lee Van Buren (Guy Pearce) who hires him to put his talents in aid of a special project.
The Brutalist is a cinematic feast on all points. From the first notes of Overture and sight of the Statue of Liberty to the last gut-punching uttered sentence, all our senses are constantly on alert, in awe in the first part, and waiting for the castle to crumble in the second one. One aspect that has been long discussed in the intermission, effectively cutting the films into two sections. One could describe the first part as the heads of a penny and other as the tails, the intermission creating that clear moment of flip, where the darker side of the American dream is revealed under all the shimmer of its first appeal.
I am not going to lie, it is a hard film to review as I am still trying to fully digest its scope. The immersion is complete, every aspect appears larger than life and you leave the theatre feeling like you have inhabited another person’s soul. Seeing it in 70mm in particular gave way to another dimension where the film was breathing by itself, living out of its own volition. And you have no other choice than being gripped by it.
The work is massive, the score reverberates right through your skin, made out of notes full of hope, worry, determination, deception… It is so humanly complex that it becomes a character in itself. The production design, which I fell in love with, set in the brutalist aesthetic gives way to big spaces full of light and grandeur, reflecting the feeling being elicited in your chest. The way the camera valses through those expanses leads to an impression of flying. As Tóth soars artistically, we soar with him, elevate out of our seats and pierce through the screen to join him on this quest of the magnificent.
It is when the film takes an (expected) turn, and the tone shifts and the pace rushes alongside the intensifying brutality that I wish we were getting more time to get acquainted with the effects of the whiplash, especially from Felicity Jones’ character side who ends up underused after an exhilarating amount of anticipation to her arrival. It is not surprising that the film chooses to slide over some narratives or characters with already such a runtime, when all others are also fully fleshed out and studied. But here is its paradoxical strength. In creating such complex and complete characters, their exploration can never be through. It might also be why I cannot get it out of my mind and am already thinking of a rewatch.
Nonetheless, The Brutalist is a monumental achievement —yes I used the M word— where every single detail is thoroughly fleshed out and nothing is left without intention. A haunting feast that is a perfect representation of what my love for cinema is comprised of.
Photo credits : Elevation Pictures
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