Stark and daring, "Brutalism" was a name given to a style of modern architecture that flourished in the '50s and '60s. Its sharp angles were formed of humble materials like rebar and concrete. Light and shadow danced dramatically across its sheer walls and through its bold windows.
In a sense, "The Brutalist" - nominated for numerous Golden Globes including Best Drama - is a work of architecture, too. If you can get past the title and its three-and-a-half hour runtime, it offers epic visions of immigrant aspirations and the American dream (pro and con) through a highly stylized lens.
Best Actor nominee Adrien Brody delivers a penetrating, fearless performance as László Toth, a brilliant Hungarian Jewish architect who survives the World War II carnage of his homeland and arrives at the feet of the Statue of Liberty hoping to begin anew.
Lady Liberty is upside down on the poster because that's the way she first appears to the immigrants emerging from the steerage holds of steamers.
László's odyssey leads to the boundless optimism of post-war Philadelphia. His wife Erzsébet (Felicity Jones, another Globe nominee), will follow several years later with their niece Zsófia (Raffey Cassidy). In the meantime, the celebrated creator in his own country is relegated to a menial existence in his new homeland. Eating in soup kitchens, sleeping in shelters, shoveling coal to eke out a living.
Crossing paths with ultra-wealthy businessman Harrison Lee Van Buren Sr. Will change both men's fates
Guy Pierce earns the film's third Globe acting nomination with perhaps the best performance of his career. Urbane and handsome, the ultimate WASP patrician, Harrison's mellifluous voice and carefully chosen words mark a striking contrast with László's still awkward foreignness.
Although their first encounter is disastrous, Van Buren soon admits not only admiration but envy of the immigrant's genius, enlisting him to create a monumental cultural center and memorial to his late mother.
The project will link them for years, as the monolithic structure slowly rise atop a hill on the Van Buren estate. Theirs is a union of opposites, each man possessing a strong will and indomitable ego. Their relationship, and their families' as well, evolves from master and hired help, through the bonds of collaborators to the intimacy of brothers ... and then back again.
Director/co-writer Brady Corbet seems to share his characters' grand confidence in their own abilities. At age 36, his evolution from actor to A-list filmmaker invites comparisons to a young Orson Welles' arrival in Hollywood with the groundbreaking "Citizen Kane."
Considering that "The Brutalist" budget was under $10 million, its sheer scale and scope, not to mention its singular sense of style, are jaw-dropping miracles. Along with Lol Crawley's dazzling cinematography, Brady works historical and industrial footage of the era into the production design.
The film's soundtrack is also a work of art in its own right. It features perfectly curated songs in its montage of historical radio broadcast, advertisements and ambient noises.
Meditating on the price - and rewards - of genius, at an even deeper level "The Brutalist" shows the price of assimilation.
No matter what shred of success or security László and Erzsébet might achieve, they can never shed the timid insecurity of knowing they will forever be outsiders.
Van Buren and his grown children, in contrast, ooze smug, sanctimonious privilege. Their tolerance of people like the Toths is never far removed from what they can get from them. Under his impeccable demeanor, Harrison Van Buren will eventually give new meaning to the film's title.
Indeed, there are many forms of brutality masked by the dazzling visual sheen. Some scenes, especially those involving sex, are almost impossible to watch. Brutalism isn't for the squeamish.
The film is fueled by Brody's incredible performance. As he did when he won the Oscar for "The Pianist" in 2003, the actor invests his soul in roles like this. No wonder that in between, he chooses the wry whimsy of being in lots of Wes Anderson comedies.
Even with an intermission for relief, "The Brutalist" is too long. Movies about architects may bring out godlike delusions.
But for mortals watching - some of us, at least - indulging the director is worth the hours it takes. Maybe it's because László Toth bears such a resemblance to a sepia-toned photo of my grandfather that his story strikes such a resonant personal chord.
In its self-effacing immigrant way, László's story is a touching, troubling and ultimately inspiring triumph.
