The predominant discussion surrounding The Brutalist is its length. The film stands at a seismic 215 minutes, a runtime that has led to some Oscar voters admitting they hadn’t finished it or hadn’t even watched it at all due to its length. The Times recently published a snarky article about all the things you could do in the time it takes one to watch the film, and even the praise the film has been receiving has centred on the size of it. Just one look at the poster will tell you how many publications have called it ‘monumental’.
There is a sense that if a film has the audacity to run for this long it needs to justify itself because (despite 3 of the 4 highest grossing films ever made being over three hours long) long films just don’t seem to hold as much appeal.
Not only does The Brutalist need to be this long, but it absolutely earns every minute of its runtime. Spanning over 30 years, the film follows Hungarian Jewish architect László Tóth’s (Adrien Brody) emigration to the USA in 1947 and the subsequent struggles and successes he faces in trying to find a place in post-war America. Corbet splits the films into 4 sections: an Overture which portrays Tóth’s first days in America, two main parts and an epilogue. This structural decision is one of the smartest moves the film makes, as it makes palatable the incredibly wide span of time it seeks to cover.
Aside from just watchability, each segment carefully carves the film into thematic and tonal chunks, making shifts feel distinct. This is also where the much discussed intermission comes in, the film taking a built in 15 minute break after part one. Again, this intermission serves multiple purposes, both serving as a time-skip in the film, a thematic bumper and a great excuse to stretch your legs and go to the loo.
The first part of the film is near perfect; it constructs the character of László Tóth brilliantly. Through the situations it places him in and the people he interacts with you get a perfect understanding of who he is and how he views the world – and how the world views him back.
While the screenplay, co-written by Corbet and frequent collaborator Mona Fastvold, does a lot of work here, what makes it all stick is Adrien Brody. While he initially wasn’t cast in the role, Joel Edgerton being the initial (quite strange) choice, I can’t imagine this film working without Brody. It’s a sweepingly emotional performance, with Brody portraying so much across so much time and not missing on any aspect of it. He has a look of world-weariness to him that matches the character so effectively.
For all the praise I heap on him, there is a strong argument to be made that Brody doesn’t actually have the best performance in the film. About an hour or so into the film we are introduced to the Van Buren family. The youngest son of the family (Joe Alwyn) commissions Tóth’s furniture shop to refurnish his fathers library room. Alwyn’s performance is not bad, but his father, played by Guy Pearce, quickly comes to outshine him. While initially hating Tóth’s modern library reinvention, he comes to appreciate it through the outsider praise it has garnered, and employs him to build an almost impossible community centre on his estate.
This becomes the main driving force of the film, and Pearce’s character becomes the secondary lead. He brings the character alive with such a fine line between charisma and sinisterness that you get swept along with Tóth by his charm – but have a constant sinking feeling that he will snap and do something heinous. It is a phenomenal performance that at times manages to outshine the film’s also outstanding lead.
As impressive as it often is, I don’t think the film is without flaws. As it reaches into the second half it gets a little less focused. The introduction of László’s wife, Erzsébet (Felicity Jones) at the start of the second part comes too late to get the most out of the character. While she has some of the film’s most powerful moments, Erzsébet’s lacking screentime leaves her feeling underdeveloped compared to those who also appear in part one.
The second part also introduces a lot of ideas. Mostly very interesting ideas, but perhaps too many to explore each with quite the attention they deserve. When executed well, this stretch of the film has some incredible moments, but at times it feels like the script was almost bursting at the seams.
The film’s epilogue, while recontextualising some details from the prior events of the film in crucial and revelatory ways, falls a little flat for me as well. In taking the form of a speech mostly delivered straight to camera or over images of architecture, it feels a tad uninventive in contrast to the rest of the film.
These flaws, while present, are not enough to override the power the film holds; there’s just so much about it that works. I haven’t even mentioned the stunning visuals, shot on the now-obsolete VistaVision format in an effort to evoke the period of the film.
The score by Daniel Blumberg is fantastic, managing to oscillate from big and striking to subtly moving in a way a lot of scores are unable to do. It feels incredibly inventive and with the tragic absence of Challengers in the best original score I feel it has to be a lock for the Oscar.
That all this was achieved on a budget under $10 million is particularly impressive, especially in an age where studios often pour hundreds of millions of dollars into their blockbusters. Not only is it an excellent film, but the small scale of production shows that to make something of this magnitude does not have to require an ungodly amount of money. I promise, the fact that it is an almost 4 hour film about architecture is no bad thing at all.
4/5
