I blame film critics. I blame New York City. I blame the sideshow of appealing to “important” people before having to appeal to “normal” people. Every.single.year there’s a film so overrated I can’t believe anyone thought it was Oscar-worthy. And the reason is obvious: it got vetted by Eastern seaboard critics before being released to the public. These critics jizz themselves with praise without realizing -especially in the case of The Brutalist– there isn’t a single truly likable thing about this film, starting with a runtime so bloated I think I’m still at the theater.
When you present a Lord of the Rings runtime, you better have either Fredo or a Frodo in your film. The Brutalist had neither.
Let’s get this out of the way: Brutalism is a form of blocky architecture featuring steel and concrete. It was popular in Europe post WWII because it was a good way to piece together war-torn countries. As I understand it, Europe came to loathe the style because it reminded them of war. Part of me thinks, however, they came to loathe the style because it’s butt-ugly. The Brutalist chronicles the post WWII life of one Hungarian Jewish holocaust survivor architect, László Tóth (Adrien Brody), who was a master of brutalism.
(There’s A TON of László smoking in this film, but don’t let that dissuade you; László is also a heroin addict.)
Part I chronicles László’s struggles as a new American. The chain-smoking Hungarian suffering from a broken nose gets off the boat and -lacking a wife who didn’t make the trip- immediately visits a whorehouse, because why not? After smoking some and then some more, László ends up at his cousin’s furniture store. One hideous chair and table design later, László finds himself designing the library at the Van Buren estate in rural Pennsylvania.
Then the estate owner, Harrison (Guy Pearce), returns and László ends up on skid row. Harrison represents modern evil: bigoted, superior, condescending, crony-istic, and completely lost in his world of well-to-dos. He can come off as your friend, so long as you’re exactly who he needs you to be; otherwise, he’s a dick. Always. And he is the key to László’s personal arc from modest immigrant to, well, The Brutalist. Three years after destroying László, Harrison gets a spread in Life magazine for his new library and then seeks out László to construct a monstrosity. László designs the godawful ugliest POS combination auditorium/gymnasium/library/chapel that rural Pennsylvania has ever seen … and this is where Quakers live.
Let me assure you that none of this happens in an instant. The film is 215 minutes long and it is essentially about one guy building one thing. That’s it.
In Part II, Felicity Jones shows up and, somehow, the film gets even worse. Felicity plays László’s estranged Hungarian wife, confined to a wheelchair from osteoporosis … and she’s no picnic, either. Luckily, she brought along her selectively mute niece Zsófia (Raffey Cassidy) because there were not yet enough characters in this film to hate.
The scenes of husband-and-wife reunion eventually led to the saddest handjob on screen since Lars von Trier made Antichrist.
The film is being lauded for -among other things- Brody’s performance, which I found good, but
nowhere near Oscar worthy. When I think of great performances, I think of performances I wish to see again. I never want to see this film again. Never for any reason. In over three-and-a-half hours of screentime, there was not a single moment that I enjoyed. Not one. And I so wanted to be on the side of immigrant László and his troubles – in our current climate of national xenophobia, a tribute to immigrants is exactly the message we need … or it should have been. But what is there, really, to like about László? He went from modest to pompous in a heartbeat. He isn’t terribly loyal to friends or family. He’s swept up in his own ego. He’s a chain smoker and a dope fiend. And he makes hideous buildings. At the end of the lesson, immigrant is his best quality and the only one that makes me root for him at all.
The Brutalist was so concerned in making a great film that it forgot to make a good one. The film is long, tedious, and repetitive. It has zero characters I wish to meet again and could have presented the exact same ugliness in half the time. This film would be too long at 105 minutes and it came in a twice that rate. I don’t know what other critics saw, but you can have this one. I will never fight you for it. Say, is Dog Man playing in the theater next door?
There was once a Hungarian named László
Who made his reputation on the go
His big building pile
Was concrete and vile
But he also was a jerk, doncha know?
Rated R, 215 (?!) Minutes
Director: Brady Corbet
Writer: Brady Corbet, Mona Fastvold
Genre: Films that bring critics to climax
Type of being most likely to enjoy this film: Film critics, people who believe they’re above being entertained
Type of being least likely to enjoy this film: Me, apparently
