The Brutalist

Did this really need to be 3½ hours long? Well, no - I don't think so. As far as it goes, though, it features a stunning performance from Adrien Brody as fictional Hungarian architect "Tóth" who has manages to survive some torrid wartime experiences in Europe and make it to New York. He has family there, and that's the conduit to a meeting with the wealthy "Van Buren" (Guy Pearce) who decides that he wants him to design a public utility building - think Hearst Castle only without any style or shape to it. Indeed the title could very well be applied to his fascist style of bleak and angular artistry, but his new benefactor is prepared to commit £850,000 to the project so he's delighted. That's clearly to the chagrin of "Harry" (How Alwyn) whose role here is that of a meddlesome provoker as he he constantly tries to intervene between the architect and his father. "Van Buren" senior also manages to facilitate his repatriation with wife (Felicity Jones) and her niece "Zsófia" (Raffey Cassidy) but that doesn't quite go to plan either, and soon seems to further pile on the increasing misery for a "Tóth" who is treading on eggshells on all fronts now as he tries to build his charm-free edifice. The centrepiece of this is to be an altar stone, and for that he and his boss travel to the mountains of Carrara, rarely seen in film since Charlton Heston saw the ceiling of the Sistine in the clouds there. Here something shocking happens that ultimately changes the whole dynamic of that relationship and of the film itself. It's this last twenty minutes that I felt saw the wheels come off. The thrust of the story throughout appears to emphasise the man and his family as outsiders. As them being a means to an end and little better than a commodity to be used and abused as one of the "Van Buren" men see fit, but the drunken violence that concludes the story seems excessively designed to disgust for the sake to it. Why? I didn't get it, nor the consequent denouement. It's also interesting that much is being made of the VistaVision angle. That which put so many from Humphrey Bogart to John Wayne on the big screen decades ago now appears to have been "rediscovered" as if it were revelatory. Well it might help the photography, but not the story - and that begins to run out steam before the unnecessary (from a plot perspective) intermission. Part one offers a compelling look at obsession and the odious nature of patronage and hypocrisy. Part two isn't nearly so good, is more soapy and far less substantial - there is plenty going on but none of the threads really get the attention they need to make them interesting, or to ant them together cohesively. Brady Corbet has one hell of an imagination but perhaps this needed a more objective, and judicious, hand at the tiller. It's good, but it's not anything like as good as it's being hyped up to be. A big screen is essential, though. It will look depressingly ordinary on the television.

This movie is excellent. Beautiful. Good story. Funny stuff. Drama. Twists and turns. Despite all that excellence, the best feature of this film is the fact that you could turn it off and come back to it the next day when the intermission pops up.