While many understand that Rome wasn’t built in a day, few realize the same applies to the town of Doylestown, Pa. Situated just 40 miles north of Philadelphia, Doylestown might seem unassuming at first glance. For director Brady Corbet, however, it serves as a microcosm of post-World War II America, providing the backdrop for his ambitious third feature, “The Brutalist.”
In his newest work, Corbet — known for acting in “Funny Games” (2007) and directing the acclaimed “The Childhood of a Leader” (2015) — turns his attention to the American dream through an unlikely outlet: Brutalist architecture. His protagonist is the Hungarian immigrant László Tóth, played by Adrien Brody in perhaps his strongest and most demanding role since “The Pianist” (2002).
From the first scene, it’s clear that Corbet, along with cinematographer Lol Crawley and the rest of the crew, is swinging for the fences. We meet Tóth on the boat to Ellis Island, stumbling through a dark and crowded ship cabin before emerging onto the deck to a stunning, skewed view of the Statue of Liberty. The scene’s fragmented voiceover, quivering handheld shots and Daniel Blumberg’s powerful score create a disorienting yet provocative introduction to the 215-minute picture.
For our hero, the road to glory in Doylestown is long and treacherous. He must first reunite with his fully Americanized cousin Attila, played by Alessandro Nivola. Attila, despite shared roots with László, embodies Corbet’s idea of the American dream as an ultimate loss of identity. He speaks without an accent and owns a showroom called “Miller & Sons,” despite having no children — a perfect American façade.
Though he begins earning room and board by working alongside his cousin, László’s first real architectural opportunity comes when Harry Lee Van Buren, played by Joe Alwyn and styled as if James Dean were forced into the body of a preppy rich kid, approaches Attila for a job. Harry Lee would like to surprise his millionaire father, Harrison Van Buren Sr., played by Guy Pearce, with a new study, and László eagerly jumps on the opportunity.
The resulting project is unsurprisingly an architectural masterwork, but Van Buren Sr. is far from thrilled at the sight of his surprise. When he unexpectedly returns home with his sick mother to a house overrun by construction, he flies into a frenzy and demands that everyone leave immediately. By this point, it is well-established that Van Buren Sr. is prone to hyperemotionality, a trait that becomes increasingly prominent as his character gains importance throughout the film.
Then, things go from bad to worse for Tóth as his cousin throws him out of the house on suspicion that László made a pass at his wife. While these accusations are not entirely baseless, the decision is undoubtedly influenced by the well-adjusted cousin’s desire to preserve his American self-image, achieved by scapegoating a Jewish immigrant. Tóth is forced to live in a homeless shelter and work in a shipyard alongside his friend Gordon, played by Isaach De Bankolé, spending any free time nurturing his penchant for heroin.
Just when all looks to be lost, Van Buren Sr. undergoes a change of heart and seeks László out to commend him for his work on the study. Enamored with both Tóth’s brilliance and exotic heritage, the millionaire decides he must enlist the architect to build a community center in — you guessed it — Doylestown. Van Buren makes it clear that he is not only willing to dig as far into his deep pockets as necessary to execute the Brutalist’s vision but also may be able to use his legal and political influence to bring Tóth’s family to America. By the end of Act 1 everything is going well for László … a little too well.
After a 15-minute intermission — which is part of the film prints — we meet László’s wife Erzsébet, played by Felicity Jones, whose commanding presence shines despite her wheelchair-bound role. Her arrival, marked by fanfare and an awkward (plus, biologically questionable) sex scene, soon adds to László’s growing challenges.
As both occupational and domestic pressures mount on Tóth’s shoulders, the film becomes more and more ambitious.
Plotlines such as repeated mentions of the establishment of the Israeli state and characters, specifically László’s niece Zsófia, played by Raffey Cassidy, appear and disappear without much reason. These elements seem to exist solely to serve the central narrative of Tóth building his version of the American dream in Doylestown.
Though some elements get lost in the shuffle of this epic, it is far from the incoherence of similar efforts like this year’s “Megalopolis.” To Corbet’s credit, there is a consistency in the film’s visual style that helps unify the story even as it strays in wayward directions. It is the mark of a director with a strong control of their film. While Corbet draws inspiration from various sources — including a jazz club scene that directly mirrors the noir classic “D.O.A.” and a clear Wellesian influence evident in the film’s use of focus and certain performance nuances — he skillfully keeps the two-part epic together as a cohesive and compelling whole.
While the film’s critique of American idealism is clear, it may fall short of delivering the profound impact it aspires to have on many viewers. It presents similar ideas in modes that range from mundane to shocking but lacks any groundbreaking revelations or developments. Most films fall short of this lofty goal, but it does seem as if “The Brutalist” relies on its commentary being more powerful than it is in reality.
Or perhaps Corbet simply presents America as he sees it: a bewildering mix of greed, corruption and beauty. With luscious cinematography, he lures viewers into a familiar story, only to distort it into something unplaceable, lingering with an unsettling resonance long after the credits roll.
