It’s not that movie epics ever disappeared. It’s just that, since the turn of the century, only The Lord of the Rings franchise made a mark at more than three hours per installment. Compare that to say, 1965, when The Sound of Music and Doctor Zhivago were the Top Two grossers, or the 90s, when six out of ten Best Picture winners required two VHS tapes. Since 2004, very few have dared to stretch that long. The exceptions, great as they were, hardly even made a dent at the box office. Pin it down, perhaps, on evolving tastes or reduced attention spans, but that’s really how succeeding years played out for the most part.

It’s safe to say, though, that we’re witnessing a resurgence. Since the dawn of the 2020s, we’ve seen legends like Martin Scorsese defying trends with The Irishman and Killers of the Flower Moon, the Avatar sequel finally exceeding the original’s length, and Wicked nearly reaching that mark in its first half alone. Now, we have young blood taking on the challenge with a 215-minute opus. And do take note, he was barely even 16 when the last epic made waves.

Brady Corbet was 30 when he agreed to do The Brutalist, a sprawling piece about a Hungarian Jewish architect who flees to the United States. Having just debuted with Vox Lux then, his immediate step was to once again co-write the screenplay with his Norwegian partner, Mona Fastvold. One can call the project an easy fit. Corbet’s uncle was an architect, while Fastvold’s aunt was a designer. So, the couple respectively developed their inclinations growing up. Thus far, this is the closest they get to living their passions. Joel Edgerton was initially slated for the lead, along with a stellar roster that included Marion Cotillard, Mark Rylance, Vanessa Kirby, and Sebastian Stan. Changes ensued and, by 2023, the said actors were no longer attached to the film. That shake-up would turn out to be favorable. 

This is familiar territory for Adrien Brody, who became the youngest Oscar Best Actor winner for Roman Polanski’s The Pianist. The 2002 film also had him play a Holocaust survivor – albeit Polish and based on a real person, Władysław Szpilman. This time, he plays fictional Hungarian László Tóth, with architecture replacing music as the discipline of choice. Either way, his magnetic portrayal keeps us drawn. 

The film opens with an overture, calling to mind silver screen sagas of yore and kicking off the sprawling journey ahead. The breathtaking ode then cuts to the jarring first shot of László’s orphaned niece, Zsófia (Ariane Labed), detained in her homeland while her uncle sets sail to greener, and more peaceful pastures. As she fixes her gaze, the circumstances are revealed through voiceovers of László’s wife, Erzsébet. She’s determined to reunite with her husband, whatever it takes. Props to Felicity Jones for brilliantly balancing vulnerability and gutsy will-power in her performance. That formula will prove vital in latter sequences. 

Meanwhile, as László emerges from the ship’s crowded hull, Daniel Blumberg’s score reaches a crescendo – one that reprises all throughout. At that point, László finds himself facing the Statue of Liberty, inverted from his vantage point. Six minutes in and, already, it’s one of the film’s most arresting images. This is courtesy of cinematographer Lol Crawley, who certainly put the VistaVision process to great use. From there, it’s implied that the American Dream is not as rosy as it seems. It’s not always the Land of the Plenty. Still, the passengers rejoice, oblivious the struggles that beckon. Their fantasy soon dissolves as they find themselves in a cold, dingy orientation hall. 

The opening sequence finds a more settled László en route to Philadelphia to see his cousin, Attila (Alessandro Nivola, the lone remainder from the original line-up) and his Catholic wife, Audrey (Emma Laird). Thus begins Part 1: The Enigma of Arrival, and enter the dazzling creations of production designer Judy Becker. 

The visit lands László a stint in Attila’s furniture business, but then, he’s faced with a cold hard truth – that cultural assimilation often comes at the expense of family values. Attila’s no longer Hungarian at heart. That much László learns when a failed renovation angers the bigoted industrialist Harrison Lee Van Buren (barely recognizable Guy Pearce) and his cocky son, Harry (Joe Alwyn). Suddenly homeless, László turns to heroin before landing a job as a coal-loader with his African-American friend, Gordon (Isaach de Bankolé). That is, until he crosses paths once again with Harrison, who’s undergone a change of heart. After learning about Lázsló’s achievements in his homeland, he hires him back for a more colossal project: the Van Buren Institute, in honor of Harrison’s mother. Now in the Van Burens’ good graces, Lázsló is then set to finally reunite with his family, courtesy of Harrison’s lawyer. That’s Corbet’s cue to revive another age-old cinematic tradition, a half-way point Intermission, which signals the end of Part 1. 

Part 2: The Hard Core of Beauty finds Erzsébet, now wheelchair-bound, finally arriving in the United States with Zsófia, now mute. As blissful as the reunion is, László laments the Holocaust’s effects on his kin’s health. Nevertheless, mother and foster daughter assimilate with ease and László continues construction, amidst many setbacks. Soon, the Van Burens’ sleazy nature start to resurface, leading to a riveting quarry encounter. It immediately takes toll on Lázsló’s mental health, which consequently strains his working relationships. As for Erzébet, she only becomes more headstrong than ever, despite her worsening condition. At that point, no ailment can stop her from taking a stand for her family, or from providing inputs for their future. This culminates in a jaw-dropping confrontation scene. Now, if only they didn’t wrap up that half so abruptly. We don’t see what happens with Lázsló before the final act.

The Epilogue takes place at the turn of the 80s. That’s where we’re treated to a retrospective of Lázsló’s work. In the process, his inspirations and motivations are also revealed in hindsight, shedding more light into his creative process. It may feel compulsory at that point, but it does wrap the film up with a sense of accomplishment, as La Bionda’s upbeat disco track “One for You, One for Me” plays over the end credits. It’s an ironic song choice, given the dominant themes of trauma, struggle, and disillusionment. But, strangely, the tonal shift works. 

Early in the awards season, the film was severely criticized when it was revealed they used artificial intelligence to fine-tune the leads’ accents. It’s hard to take a stance on that for now, given the practice’s increasing ubiquity. We don’t know how AI’s role will eventually evolve. And, the fact of the matter is, it’s there. It neither substantially takes away from the viewing experience nor diminish the heart and soul poured into making the film. It’s Corbet’s breakthrough masterpiece, either way, despite its minimal flaws.  

To paraphrase the final quote that sums up the man’s life and times, it truly is about the destination or bottomline, no matter how arduous it gets or how long it takes. The same can be said about The Brutalist, which follows through with its ambitions, just like its lead character’s complex creations. It’s bound to be remembered in years to come.