Review: The Brutalist
The Brutalist offers a layered exploration of creativity and the immigrant experience through the lens of László Toth, an architect whose work and life reflect the challenges and contradictions of building a legacy in a foreign land. Directed with precision and care by Brady Corbet, the film uses a post-war backdrop to examine the costs of ambition and adaptation.
Adrien Brody’s portrayal of László provides a deeply human anchor to the narrative. The character is an immigrant in the United States, striving to balance his artistic vision with the practical demands of a new society. His commitment to brutalist architecture—a style marked by raw concrete and geometric forms—serves as a metaphor for the immigrant experience itself: unyielding, stark, and misunderstood by many. László’s work is polarizing, much like his presence in a country that expects assimilation but resists his individuality.
Felicity Jones delivers a nuanced performance as Erzsébet, László’s wife, who embodies the emotional core of the story. While László is consumed by his projects, Erzsébet must navigate the alienation and sacrifices that come with their shared journey. The film does not reduce her to a passive figure; instead, it grants her agency and a distinct narrative arc. For example, her struggle to maintain a sense of identity while supporting her husband mirrors the often-overlooked emotional labor performed by partners of ambitious individuals.
The immigrant experience is presented with a focus on the complexities rather than the triumphs. László’s interactions with clients and collaborators reveal the quiet but pervasive obstacles faced by newcomers. A particularly telling scene shows him pitching a bold design to a skeptical patron, only to be dismissed for his lack of “American” sensibilities. This moment illustrates how systemic biases can stifle creativity, forcing immigrants to compromise their visions to gain acceptance.
The film’s visuals play a critical role in shaping your understanding of its themes. Stark, symmetrical shots of László’s architectural models contrast with the disorder of his personal life. The cold, concrete aesthetic of brutalism is juxtaposed with warm, intimate scenes between László and Erzsébet, highlighting the tension between ambition and connection. The production design extends this contrast, with László’s creations towering over the city while his home feels increasingly claustrophobic.
Dialogue is sparing but effective, with much left unsaid between characters. This restraint forces you to engage actively with the material, piecing together motivations and emotions from subtle cues. For instance, a brief exchange about returning to Hungary speaks volumes about László’s internal conflict. While he longs for the familiarity of his homeland, he recognizes the impossibility of going back, both professionally and personally.
At three and a half hours runtime, the pacing of the film may challenge some viewers, as it prioritizes mood and character development over plot. Fortunately, the film has an intermission. This approach allows you to sit with the characters’ struggles, encouraging reflection rather than delivering easy answers. Moments of stillness, such as László sketching late at night or Erzsébet tending to a small garden, carry emotional weight. These scenes ask you to consider the small, often overlooked acts of resilience that define the immigrant experience.
One of the film’s strengths is its refusal to romanticise either creativity or the immigrant experience. László’s success comes at a cost, not just to his relationships but to his sense of self. The film raises questions about the price of artistic integrity in a world driven by commerce and the compromises immigrants must make to survive. The film asks, would you be willing to sacrifice personal fulfillment for professional achievement if it meant securing a better future for your family.
The Brutalist leaves you with an appreciation for the resilience required to pursue creativity in the face of systemic and personal challenges. It also invites you to reconsider the narratives surrounding immigration, asking you to look beyond stories of assimilation and success to see the losses and compromises that often go unspoken.