Brutalism is not an architectural form that I have ever had much love for. The bland sharpness and vast concrete that are associated with the style often seem quite bleak or loveless among bustling cities. I suppose I would see these constructions in the same way I might have looked at a Mondrian painting. Canvas after canvas of black lines and coloured cubes yet neither his art, nor the art of any of the De Stijl creatives ever felt particularly evocative or impactful. This was until I visited an exhibition about the life and work of Piet Mondrian. Suddenly the paintings were no longer blocks of primary colour, and endless black grids, but a depiction of binaries. Light and dark, static and dynamic. The canvas was an abstract tableau of the universe in harmony. Sometimes we don’t share the right eyes for the visions of others. Sometimes art does need to be explained to us.
The Brutalist is a story about fictional architect, László Tóth (Adrien Brody). A success in his home country of Hungary, he, like thousands of real Jewish people, had to hide and flee during the second world war. When he arrives as an immigrant in America, he must rebuild a life for himself, hoping that his wife and niece are alive somewhere in the world.
Director Brady Corbet introduces his main character with a fascinating opener. We are shoved through a crowd alongside Tóth as a letter from his wife, read aloud to the audience, sets the scene, they are separated and their situation precarious. Years have passed since they have seen one another. Tóth finally breaks out into the open, he is on a boat. The soundtrack is a jarring music of machine-like noises, wailing strings, and whistles that explode into a triumphant swell as Tóth and his travel companion whoop in celebration on the deck. Corbet shows us the men revelling in the light of day, the open sky, then the Statue of Liberty, standing tall but inverted on the screen, a suggestion of the “liberty with conditions” that is to come. His wife, Erzsébet Tóth (Felicity Jones), speaks once more. “Go to America and I will follow you.”
This energetic beginning sets the tone for the waxing and waning narrative throughout. The film goes from intense to lackadaisical in a heartbeat, representative of the fact that László Tóth is a man who has opportunity presented and snatched from him in quick succession, a symptom of the falsely idyllic, capitalistic society that history tells us post-war America was. Though this pacing may sound frustrating, it is actually what I think allows the film to keep steady interest. The film makers want to present the audience with half the life of one man, so the occasional lull gives breathing room to absorb the story and its minor victories and tragedies. Besides, the film has many humorous moments to keep us entertained and the story itself contains both a setting that is familiar enough to the audience, but features unique concepts, such as the dive into brutalism itself.
Brutalist architecture is described as a style with minimalist construction but an emphasis on the structural elements and the materials that it is made from. Tóth’s love for this style tells us all we need to know about him as a character. He is appreciative of materials that others find ugly and cheap. He defends the use of concrete by speaking on its reliability, strength, and consistency. His background indicates to us why these might be some of the most valuable traits to him. Brutalism celebrates the artful science of the construction. Like the Mondrian paintings, it can appear plain and dull. It is an art that requires more reflection, and an attitude that divorces from instant-gratification and the culture of aesthetics.
It is in this way that I believe The Brutalist opens the audience up to an alternative way of thinking. There are plenty of ways that this film could and has been picked apart. Though my takeaway from the film does not seem to be the one that the film makers had intended, it’s one I see as more important. Right down to the inclusion of an intermission in the film, The Brutalist forces you to look, and then look again, take your time, and finally understand. This is the lesson that it teaches in patience, empathy, and the beauty in the mundane.
