The Brutalist excels as a dismal take on the immigrant experience

Reel Impressions is The NewsHouse’s weekly film review. Contributors Francesco Desiderio and Travis Newbery cover everything from new releases to trending classics.

America has long been known as a land of opportunity, drawing generation after generation of immigrants who hope to build prosperous new lives in a culture that espouses freedom and equality above all else; hell, that’s how it was founded in the first place. But as we enter yet another era of selfish isolationism and twisted traditionalism, The Brutalist reminds us now more than ever just how cruel these United States can be when the American Dream fails.

The film starts with Hungarian-Jewish Holocaust survivor László Tóth (Adrien Brody) as he’s fresh off the boat on Ellis Island, finally done with his – for lack of a better word – brutal departure from war-torn Europe. Following in the footsteps of his cousin Attila (Alessandro Nivola), who came to America many years earlier and has built a successful furniture business in Philadelphia, László is eager to resume his career in architecture. But he quickly realizes that beneath its pleasantries, America can be just as wicked in its own ways as the evils he thought he had escaped.

László and Attila, whose business is named “Miller & Sons” despite the lack of a Miller or any sons, are commissioned by a Harry Lee Van Buren (Joe Alwyn) to redesign his father’s study as a surprise gift. László, usually quiet and reserved, assertively doubles the intended budget for the project, clearly impassioned by his first big gig in a long time and the aesthetic potential for the lofty, sun-draped study. 

As the cousins are putting the finishing touches on the elegantly minimalist space, an enraged Harrison Van Buren (Guy Pearce) storms in, appalled at the seemingly uninvited immigrants working in and around his house. László calmly defends his work, but he knows better than anyone when he’s not welcome anymore. The Van Burens refuse to pay for his work, and Attila blames him for the fiasco before casting him out on the street.

Years pass as László bounces between different soup kitchens and shelters, picking up industrial work along with a heroin habit. Out of the blue, the senior Van Buren takes him for coffee to apologize for his earlier outburst and pay for the work. But really, he wants to confirm his recent research into László’s history, and inquire how such a lauded creative in his home country can be reduced to a plain blue collar worker. 

You see, since Harrison’s initial condemnation of the unexpected reimagining of his beloved study, the space has been written about in Look magazine as an architectural marvel, and Harrison has experienced a bump in notability among his fellow Mid-Atlantic elites. Only now does he want to commission László again, this time for a grand community center that he believes will cement both of their legacies. However, this dream becomes tangled in the complex working relationship between a boisterous, proud, Capitalist with a capital ‘C’ employer and his naive but undeniably ingenious contractor who represents “the other.” 

Following the prologue scene, the very first shot of The Brutalist is from László’s perspective, following him as he ascends to the refreshing sunlight of the New York Harbor out of the dark, cramped bowels of the ship taking him in the final step of his liberating journey. As he exclaims in glee with a fellow traveller, we see a lopsided view of the Statue of Liberty, as if one were looking at it with their head craned backwards. This skewed angle of one of America’s most iconic symbols of freedom and opportunity serves as an overture for the film’s themes. As said by The Brutalist, even the most qualified dreamers looking for reinvention in the U.S. of A. will eventually have to face its dark heart and foul ironies.

The story skillfully showcases this dynamic between host (on his property, in his country, as the source of László’s work) and assimilator. While supportive of and lenient about his architect and his oftentimes stubborn methods, Harrison is never afraid to flash his wealth and influence in László’s face, especially around his rich friends and László’s family, the people for whom László’s social standing is most humiliating.

Despite this, it’s clear Harrison is envious of László’s talents and effortless place among a classier, artful, intellectual tier of culture that Harrison has never occupied. He is silently perplexed by brutalism, but he nonetheless wholeheartedly jumps onboard with László’s ideas, trying to be able to find the beauty in the stark, functional nature of the brutalist designs that others seem to be able to appreciate. The contrast between this, and the rest of America’s ever present disdain for “the other,” drives the brilliant tensions of the film and bookends the dramatic conclusions of the story.

The Brutalist attests that these crooked ideals in American culture extend themselves to the assimilators, too, despite their low regard in society. After Harrison subjects László to some particularly harrowing abuse, László begins to emulate his employer’s attitudes. He chews out his subworkers as if he didn’t have the same stubbornness when he himself was new in town, and fires a couple of them in blind anger. The irony of these power dynamics is clearly stated.

Conversely, however, almost immediately following his arrival in America, László becomes subconsciously engulfed in a social phenomenon of pity and perceived need with various figures in his life both “above” and “below” him. Harrison, when he’s in the mood to be accommodating, emphasizes that it’s the duty of privileged people like him to “nurture the defining talents of our epoch” such as László; Attila and László’s niece take it upon themselves to lend a hand to him despite their own downscale prospects; and László himself offers his own assistance to people like a fellow soup kitchen queuer and his niece notwithstanding, again, his lack of firsthand fiscal footing. 

In spite of all these helpers’ own lack of comparative personal means or their beneficiaries’ active want for any help, this notion of need presents itself as a uniquely “American” gesture. If one is liberated and capable, as they have no reason not to be if the American Dream is alive and well, the next logical step is to help maintain that Dream by extending their own gains to those still Dreaming. Alas, The Brutalist’s characters just end up embarrassing their intended recipients and driving themselves further into their own small pockets by feeling the social urge to propagate this failed idea of having “made it.”

In the final scene of The Brutalist, László’s niece conveys a mantra of his that got her through her integration process: “It’s the destination, not the journey.” This minimizing view of the struggle of immigration is undoubtedly cynical. Surely both the Holocaust and his hardships in America should have immense impact and meaning for László as a person? Apparently not, as long as you’re a success story in the end. A chilling thought for sure, but one that seems ever more truthful in the harsh modern world we find ourselves living in.

On a technical level, The Brutalist is a masterpiece. Brody, Pearce and Felicity Jones, who plays László’s wife Erzsébet, are all staggering, and it’s no wonder all three have been nominated for Oscars. Also nominated is the director, Brady Corbet, the screenplay, written by Corbet and Mona Fastvold, the prickly but lustrous score by Daniel Blumberg, the beautiful cinematography chock full of glorious long takes by Lol Crawley and the production design, which is perhaps the most impressive out of everything the movie has to offer. I’m just flabbergasted as to how all 215 minutes of this period film were created for a mere $10 million. There Will Be Blood for example, another period paragon that also happens to share themes on cutthroat American industry, was made for $25 million in 2007 dollars, and that takes place in the dusty Southern California barrens as opposed to suburban Pennsylvania. 

In a Hollywood that feels more commercialized by the day, The Brutalist stands out as a bold, nuanced gem of an epic; I mean, when was the last time a new movie had an intermission? If you’re looking for a true film’s film to see anytime soon, especially before it (hopefully) continues to win big at awards nights in the weeks to come, look no further.