Brady Corbet’s The Brutalist (2024) is a cinematic behemoth—a three-hour-and-thirty-five-minute odyssey that intertwines architectural grandeur with the fragile human spirit, crafting an epic that is as much about the collision of ideologies as it is about the collision of continents. Premiering to acclaim at the Venice Film Festival, where Corbet claimed the Golden Lion, this audacious historical drama follows Hungarian-Jewish architect László Tóth (Adrien Brody) as he flees post-war Europe in pursuit of rebirth, only to find himself ensnared in the paradoxes of American ambition. A masterclass in visual storytelling, the film transcends mere biopic conventions, instead emerging as a searing critique of power, legacy, and the illusion of progress.

A Tapestry of Ambition: Plot and Vision

The narrative unfolds in two acts, separated by a fifteen-minute intermission that mirrors the protagonist’s descent from hope to disillusionment. In the first half, Tóth arrives in New York in 1947, a displaced intellectual haunted by the horrors of Buchenwald. Armed with blueprints for a utopian community center, he is seduced by the promises of Harrison Lee Van Buren (Guy Pearce), a patrician industrialist who commissions him to design a Brutalist monument in rural Minnesota. The project, a towering concrete structure dubbed The Collective, becomes a battleground for Tóth’s ideals: a fusion of Bauhaus minimalism and raw emotional catharsis. Corbet frames the architecture as a character itself—monolithic, unyielding, and eerily alive.

As Tóth’s career ascends, so does his entanglement with Van Buren’s family, particularly the volatile heir (Joe Alwyn), whose obsession with modernity masks a deep-seated nihilism. The film’s second act shifts into darker territory, chronicling Tóth’s moral decay as he compromises his vision to secure funding, even as labor disputes and personal tragedies unravel his world. The climax, a haunting sequence of the collapsing structure under a blood-red sky, serves as both a literal and metaphorical reckoning—a testament to the fragility of human endeavors.

Architecture as Philosophy: Brutalism Reimagined

At its core, The Brutalist is a meditation on architectural language as a mirror of societal values. Corbet and production designer Ruth DeJong have crafted a visual lexicon where concrete is not merely material but a metaphor for control. The film’s Brutalist structures—sleek, geometric, and confrontationally austere—echo Tóth’s internal struggles: his desire to create beauty clashes with the utilitarian demands of capitalism. In one pivotal scene, Tóth argues with Van Buren over the inclusion of stained glass in The Collective. “Beauty is a luxury,” Van Buren sneers, “this is a machine for progress.” The camera lingers on Tóth’s hands, trembling as he sketches a rose window, a silent rebellion against the erasure of humanity.

The film’s most audacious choice lies in its final act, where The Collective is revealed not as a monolith but as a mosaic of contradictions—a nod to the film’s central thesis. Corbet dismantles the myth of Brutalism, exposing it as a style both revolutionary and repressive. Critics have debated the film’s historical accuracy, particularly its portrayal of post-war architectural movements, but this is precisely the point. As architecture critic Alexandra Lange notes, The Brutalist “isn’t about buildings; it’s about the stories we build to justify them” .

Performance and Psychology: Adrien Brody’s Masterclass

Adrien Brody delivers a career-defining performance, balancing Tóth’s quiet intensity with moments of raw vulnerability. His portrayal avoids caricature, instead presenting a man torn between pride and desperation. In a haunting sequence, Tóth wanders the construction site at night, tracing the contours of the unfinished structure as if conversing with a ghost. Brody’s physicality—hunched shoulders, haunted gaze—captures the weight of a man who has sacrificed everything for his art.

Felicity Jones as Tóth’s wife, Erzsébet, provides a poignant counterpoint. Her character, a pianist grappling with the loss of their homeland, becomes a silent witness to Tóth’s unraveling. Their relationship, filmed in stark, shadow-drenched interiors, is a study in unspoken tensions. One scene, where Erzsébet plays Chopin while Tóth sketches blueprints in the same room, juxtaposes art and pragmatism, love and duty, in a way that lingers long after the credits roll.

Technical Brilliance: A Feast for the Senses

Visually, The Brutalist is a triumph. Cinematographer Lol Crawley’s use of 35mm VistaVision—a format last seen in the 1960s—creates a hyper-realistic texture that immerses viewers in the film’s mid-century ethos. Wide shots of the Minnesota prairie, dotted with construction cranes and skeletal structures, evoke a sense of both awe and unease. The film’s palette—cool grays, muted greens, and occasional bursts of crimson—mirrors Tóth’s emotional journey, transitioning from stark minimalism to violent intensity.

The score, composed by Daniel Blumberg, is a character in its own right. A haunting blend of dissonant strings and minimalist piano motifs, it underscores the film’s themes of alienation and existential dread. In the climactic collapse scene, the music crescendos into a cacophony of clattering concrete and shattering glass, a visceral representation of societal collapse.

Narrative Ambition: A Structural Masterstroke

Corbet’s script, co-written with Mona Fastvold, defies traditional Hollywood pacing. The film’s deliberate slowness—its extended silences, lingering close-ups—demands active engagement. A scene lasting nearly ten minutes shows Tóth meticulously adjusting a model of The Collective, each adjustment accompanied by the rhythmic ticking of a metronome. This is not mere realism; it is a visual manifesto on the obsession with perfection.

The film’s structure—mirroring the rise and fall of its protagonist—is a masterclass in narrative architecture. The intermission, set during a train derailment that halts construction, serves as a narrative fulcrum. As survivors scramble for aid, Tóth remains fixated on salvaging blueprints, a metaphor for humanity’s refusal to abandon its illusions.

Cultural Resonance: A Mirror to Modern America

The Brutalist is as much a critique of 21st-century America as it is a historical drama. Van Buren’s exploitative practices—cutting corners to maximize profit, dismissing workers’ safety—echo modern corporate greed. The film’s exploration of identity—Tóth’s struggle to reconcile his Hungarian heritage with his adopted American identity—feels startlingly prescient in an era of increasing xenophobia.

The film’s most controversial element is its ambiguous ending. Does The Collective’s collapse symbolize the failure of utopian ideals, or a necessary rebirth? Corbet leaves the question unanswered, forcing viewers to confront their own beliefs. As Tóth lies in the rubble, whispering lines from a forgotten poem, the camera pulls back to reveal the structure’s skeletal remains—both a grave and a seed for something new.

Legacy and Awards: A Testament to Craft

Despite its divisive reception—some critics calling it “overlong” and “pretentious”—The Brutalist has cemented its place as a modern classic. It won three Oscars, including Best Actor for Brody, and garnered praise for its cinematography and production design. More importantly, it reignites conversations about architecture’s role in shaping society—a dialogue as urgent today as it was in the post-war era.

For cinephiles weary of formulaic blockbusters, The Brutalist offers a bracing alternative. It is a film that demands patience, rewards introspection, and lingers in the mind like the echo of a distant siren. As Tóth’s story reminds us, every dream is built on compromise—and every compromise risks becoming a prison.

Final Word

The Brutalist is not merely a film; it is an experience—a three-hour immersion into the collision of art, power, and human frailty. Corbet has crafted a work that is as ambitious as its protagonist, a monument to the beauty and brutality of creation. In an age of instant gratification, this is a film that demands to be savored, dissected, and ultimately, remembered.