Exploring the Emotional Impact of Brutalist Architecture
# The Latest from Brady Corbet: An In-depth Look at *The Brutalist* (2024)
Brady Corbet, known for his audacious and symbolism-rich films such as *Vox Lux* (2018), has once again ventured into the realm of visually and thematically ambitious storytelling. His latest creation, *The Brutalist* (2024), is a sprawling epic that blends historical drama, architectural philosophy, and human resilience. It spans decades and challenges viewers to dissect the complex interplay between survival, art, and legacy.
## The Scope and Design of *The Brutalist*
Shot in the vintage VistaVision format (famously used in mid-20th-century epics like *The Ten Commandments*), *The Brutalist* boasts a 215-minute runtime and is divided into two acts: *The Enigma of Arrival* and *The Hard Core of Beauty*. Comparable to fine architecture, the movie’s visual complexity is immense, with its wide frame capturing every textured detail and sweeping vista.
The story centers on Hungarian Holocaust survivor László Tóth, played by veteran actor Adrien Brody. Seeking refuge and reinvention in the United States, Tóth builds a new life as an architect. Yet his journey is far from a traditional immigrant-success narrative. The emotional scars of his past, coupled with the trials of achieving artistic integrity in a capitalist society, challenge him at every turn.
Tóth’s professional and personal struggles are amplified by his wife, played by Felicity Jones, whose own Holocaust survival intersects with their shared burden of trauma. Together, they navigate not just the alienation of exile but also the tensions within a societal structure that commodifies art and memory.
## A Monumental Undertaking in Form and Theme
*The Brutalist* embraces a grand aesthetic rarely seen in contemporary cinema. Its production choices reflect a deliberate nod to the bygone era of cinematic spectacles while simultaneously drawing attention to the Cold War-era architectural movement that inspired its title. Brutalism, with its monolithic concrete edifices and bold geometric forms, is central to the film’s visual and philosophical intentions.
Corbet uses Brutalism as both a literal and symbolic foundation for Tóth’s vision. Assigned to design a mixed-use community center in suburban Philadelphia, Tóth is torn between his ideals—envisioning the building as a transformative space for people—and the motives of his wealthy benefactor, Harrison Lee Van Buren (Guy Pearce). For Van Buren, the building is merely a monument to his own ego and a tribute to his mother, devoid of the egalitarian ethos Tóth holds dear.
### Architecture as a Cinematic Language
Cinema has long employed architecture as an expressive tool, and Corbet mines Brutalism’s imposing aesthetic for its dual meanings. Historically, Brutalist structures symbolized modernist optimism, functionality, and the potential for collective progress. Yet, in film, they are often cast in darker roles—think dystopian backdrops in *A Clockwork Orange* (1971) and *1984* (1984), or the impersonal institutions of *Equilibrium* (2002). *The Brutalist* challenges this cinematic trend, portraying Brutalism not as alien or authoritarian but as human, emotional, and deeply personal.
The wide field of view made possible by VistaVision grants the film an almost architectural precision, allowing viewers to immerse themselves in the environments Tóth occupies and creates. This is architecture not just as a setting but as a character, mirroring the emotional and philosophical stakes of the narrative.
### A Symphony of Discord and Beauty
Adding to the film’s layers is Daniel Blumberg’s evocative score, dedicated to the late Scott Walker, whom Corbet has described as a creative influence. Blumberg’s music intertwines the grandeur and discord of the story, much like Brutalism itself marries stark form with profound intent. The score enhances every frame, from dizzying shots of ocean voyages to majestic sequences in Italy’s iconic marble quarries.
Corbet also explores how artistic creation intersects with personal history—especially the inescapable trauma of the Holocaust. Without over-explaining, the script leaves space for interpretation. One of the film’s closing reflections suggests that Tóth’s architectural ambitions serve not only as a literal project but as an attempt to embody his survival story—monumentalizing truths he cannot voice aloud.
## The Duality of Memory and Legacy
Bringing the film full circle is its haunting meditation on artistic legacy. Tóth’s battles with Van Buren, and indeed society at large, underscore the power struggle between wealth and creative vision. Brutalism’s massive physicality ironically mirrors its fragility; no matter how monumental the structures, their purpose, meaning, and endurance ultimately slip beyond their creator’s control.
The film delivers a striking verdict on this notion in its closing moments: the idea that