It is a stubborn meditation on the immigrant experience, identity, and exploitation. Its daunting 3.5-hour runtime mirrors the raw and imposing aesthetic of the brutalist architecture it references, rejecting sentimentality in favour of exposing harsh truths. The film opens by dismantling familiar symbols of freedom, such as the Statue of Liberty, with erratic camerawork and an ominous, sturdy score that evokes disorientation and loss. Adrien Brody's empathetic portrayal of the architect anchors this descent, revealing resilience eroded by trauma, opium dependency, and harrowing violations.
At its core, The Brutalist is a story of a man who compromises on everything to survive—except his art. In a world that forces him to yield in all aspects of life, his artistic vision remains the only true power he possesses, the last piece of himself he refuses to relinquish. Even as he endures indignities and exploitation, his work stands as an unyielding testament to his identity and defiance.
Architecture takes on a symbolic role, not as a celebration of the protagonist’s artistry but as a mirror of his suffering. His community centre, far from representing freedom or success, stands as a testament to the manipulation and coercion he endures. The film reframes artistic achievement through a lens of exploitation and loss, with a late shift in narrative perspective (told through his niece) reinforcing the endurance of his legacy while, awkwardly, disrupting the tonal cohesion.
unyielding, haunting, and impossible to forget
The film’s structure is split into two distinct halves. The first half fosters hope as the protagonist gains recognition, while the second reveals the sinister motives of his benefactors. Joe Alwyn delivers chilling moments, with lines like “We tolerate you” exposing the protagonist’s precarious place in society—a pseudo-freedom offered only in exchange for submission. As he asserts independence, hostility escalates, culminating in devastating consequences.
The Brutalist refuses to shy away from discomfort, with its most excruciating moments exposing the illusion of freedom and opportunity for immigrants. The protagonist’s breaking point, marked by the admission, “I’m not what I expected either,” encapsulates his disillusionment. Even allies are revealed as exploiters, with the harrowing scene unmasking the predatory undercurrent of generosity.
Deeply rooted in historical and architectural research, the film draws from Holocaust brutality and the aesthetics of the Brutalist movement to ground its fictional narrative. Its closing moments juxtapose an ironically cheerful song with the protagonist’s legacy, framing tragedy within a deceptively polished exterior. Felicity Jones delivers a commanding performance, further amplifying the film’s moral weight.
The Brutalist leaves a mark as indelible as the concrete structures it honours—unyielding, haunting, and impossible to forget.