The Brutalist

The first half of "The Brutalist" slowly and beautifully unfolds in a way that feels like it's going to be the next "Godfather."

As the second half of the film came after intermission, I was hoping it would continue down that same trajectory, but instead the second half goes down a strange, confusing and puzzling path, which some viewers might find brilliant. When the end did come, I found myself laughing as I shook my head walking the razors edge in my mind, saying to myself, "Why did Corbet go down this path?" and at the same time saying, "that was actually kind of brilliant."

Art is subjective and some people might really like this strange and bizarre second half of the film. Perhaps it was even Corbet's middle finger to the audience saying, "You didn't see that coming, did you?" Whatever the case may be, I give the second half a 4 because the first half was so brilliant, and I really wanted the film to continue going down that same trajectory the entire way through.

In the end, the acting is terrific, the cinematography is absolutely beautiful, and the film is strange. But I give it to Corbet for the effort, making films are hard, and he went for something different with his artistic vision.

This ambitious post-war American epic begins with a mesmerising long-take sequence which will surely stick longer than the 3:35 hours of running time. The 70mm format fits the setting while making the movie visually stunning alongside with audacious camera works and stunning photography. Blumberg's music adds on that so the theatre would definitely be its perfect habitat. The script delivers interesting characters - albeit the secondary ones are purely cosmetic - valorised by great performances from Brody and Pearce. The issue here is in the last hour, as the writers decided to insert unexplored subplots which will prevent the movie from having a proper conclusion thus leaving a bitter feeling of incompleteness and preventing this monumental project to achieve what was intended for.

It is the kind of movie that is so hard to rate. Is it a masterpiece? Is it great or is it just another movie that just look at itself? He has all the elements of a great story of a great film and yet to me it does not deliver.

For three and half hours long there's only one question in my mind I couldn't shake : what is it about. And I could never answer that question not even at the end if ever there was one. The whole thing left me septic.

But in all honesty, there isn't much to say about it all. To me it's like I've been handed over a homework. If watching « this kind of movie », I want to feel an experience, be engulfed in the ambiance of a whole, I want to be caught in the prospect of what the delivery will be, I want to feel like I've been outsmarted in some ways. None of it here.

Brody is magnificent, so is Pearce. Jones too, surely. Cinematography is mastered without a doubt, editing is smooth, and for three and a half hours it is enjoyable if you're able to glean the little sparks that here and there will keep you hungry for more.

If it was trying to lead me into an underlying experience, meaning or point of view, well I didn't find the path, or maybe was it just too obscure to even grasp a fragment of what the purpose of it all was.

Yes, it works whatever it is about or whatever it thinks it is about. I doubt it will be a movie that's remembered. It not particularly bold. It makes an attempt at being powerful but it never strikes. It too clean, it's too plain. It makes you believe straight from the opening shot that it will be grandiose. But it doesn't hold it promise.

I feel a bit duped by what I've watched. Just because you write a movie about an « unusual » subject, just because you try an unorthodox approach at something that's already been said before, well it seems sufficient to make praise.

That is not enough for me. This didn't prove me anything. I think it is possible and achievable and somewhat too easy to make beautiful movies that will pass for profound when it is just a very well made movie without substance.

"Brutalist," much like the architectural style it's named after, is imposing, cold, and ultimately, quite boring. This film, which chronicles the decades-spanning career of an ambitious architect, aims for epic grandeur but instead delivers a bloated and convoluted narrative that collapses under its own weight.

While the film boasts a striking visual style, meticulously recreating period details and crafting impressive architectural set pieces, this commitment to aesthetic flourishes comes at the expense of a compelling story. We are presented with a series of loosely connected vignettes, each more ponderous than the last, detailing the triumphs and tribulations of a man more cipher than character.

The film's central problem is its length. Clocking in far too long, "Brutalist" feels like a never-ending tour of a building you've already seen every corner of. The complicated, multi-stranded plot, only adds to the confusion, leaving the audience struggling to piece together a narrative that feels unnecessarily fragmented.

Ultimately, "Brutalist" is a classic case of style over substance. It's a film that clearly prioritizes visual spectacle over emotional resonance, leaving the viewer feeling impressed but ultimately detached. It's a beautifully constructed edifice with nothing inside, a testament to the fact that even the most impressive facade can't mask a hollow core. This film is less a moving story and more an endurance test, a stark reminder that bigger isn't always better, and that sometimes, less is truly more. Save your time and admire a well-designed building instead.

'The Brutalist' never lets you breathe. The director builds it with such purpose that you see the care in every frame. He's a talented craftsman, no question, but also so crushingly serious. And that chokes out any real feeling. You watch the artistry turn into artifice. And, after a while, all that weight just presses down.

The film is so obsessed with being Art that it forgets to let you in. It's so heavy with its own importance that it starts to close in on itself so much so that eventually all you see is this polished facade, reflecting its own seriousness back at you.

It doesn't stay with you. It stands there, sealed off by its own sense of importance, and you're left outside.