THERE’S an immigrant story in historical drama The Brutalist that’s referenced in the expansive mid-century work created by Jewish-Hungarian architect László Tóth.
László, the film’s fictional protagonist – played by Academy Award-winning American actor Adrien Brody (51) – flees Eastern Europe shortly after the Second World War to emigrate to the United States to start a new life, while awaiting the arrival of his wife, Erzsébet, played by English actress Felicity Jones (41) who was still trapped with their niece Zsófia, played by British actress Raffey Cassidy (23).
“Like any artist, I think he’s trying to process his experiences and traumas and leave a monument that reflects some of that journey,” says Brody.
“He infuses architectural elements surreptitiously that are representative of the concentration camp that he endured, but he’s also trying to rebuild his own spirit through the construction of a structure and there’s a lot of symbolism in that as well.
Like any artist, I think Lazlo’s trying to process his experiences and traumas and leave a monument that reflects some of that journey
— Adrien Brody
“The hollowness that he feels inside, and these stoic kind of fortress-like walls of this brutalist structure, and this yearning for spirituality and hope and salvation through openings and high ceilings.
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“And so there are lots of personal, metaphorical references within the physical work that he creates.”
The Brutalist, a period drama from writer-director Brady Corbet (36) follows László as he tries to make sense of why his reputation as a successful architect in Budapest does not translate well to his new surroundings or bring him closer to the American dream he was sold.
As he settles in Pennsylvania, he meets the wealthy and prominent industrialist Harrison Lee Van Buren, played by Emmy Award-winning Australian actor and musician Guy Pearce (57), who recognises his talent for building.
But power and legacy come at a heavy cost.
“It’s a journey of a refugee connected to his past who has also been stripped of his past. He’s trying to find his way in a new land with a new set of rules,” says Brody.
“It examines how the immigrant experience mirrors the artistic one in the sense that whenever one is making something bold, audacious or new – like the Institute László constructs over the course of the film – they are generally criticised for it,” says Corbet, who spent seven years making the film.
“And then over time they are lionised and celebrated for it.”
The immigrant experience also contributed to the identity crisis László and Erzsébet had to grapple with, particularly when thinking about the concept of where home really is and how they allowed their names to be pronounced.
There is so much power in our names. In some cultures, they can even be prayers or an act of declaration. But Erzsébet, despite being able to do away with the “poor man’s mentality” when she arrived in America, was happy for it to be mispronounced in comparison to László, who would make a constant effort to correct people.
“I think that Erzsébet has been through so much, I think she has seen the depravity of human nature that in a way, she’s a little hardened, and she’s got to a point where she’s not going to let things like that bother her,” says Jones.
“In some ways, Erzsébet is living on a slightly different plane. I think the level of trauma she’s experienced, she’s slightly disassociating. And that’s a little bit of an example of her refusing to get stuck in the weeds to a certain extent.
“Also, there is a lot of that scene where she’s figuring out who Van Buren is, and getting his number. Like a game of chess, she’s going to wait before she plays any moves.
“Even in that final scene when Van Buren and Erzsébet have their confrontation, she is denying him this feeling that he is allowed to have superiority over her because of his perceived wealth and status, and she’s absolutely determined that it is not going to be the case, and that she is in no way any less powerful or dignified than him, which is why it’s such an immensely powerful moment.”
Pearce agrees and adds: “I think for Van Buren, the sense of control for him is everything. Being in control of himself, his world around him, and other people around him is paramount. And he also has this sort of demand on people to be the strongest versions of themselves.
“He’s got a fight going on in himself. And I think he wants to feel like, if he’s got a confrontation going on with somebody, it needs to be a fair even fight… which is funny coming from a man who’s sort of so emotionally innately dishonest.
“But he’s such a manipulator with his control, and how he conveniently makes control for himself, that he’s just a difficult man to pin down, which is what was fascinating about playing him.
“In a way, he’s irritated by László, because he would have expected him to be more of a beggar, and he’s actually a little bit put out by the fact that he’s not, that he’s actually got a stronger sense of himself than perhaps Van Buren does. So he’s conflicted by László on many levels.”
In some ways, Van Buren represented some of the evilness inflicted upon Jews and immigrants in the 1960s. It’s one of the reasons why László found his refuge and safety in drugs.
“I think László is experiencing a tremendous amount of pain, physically, psychologically and emotionally,” says Brody.
“I think it’s the same relationship that many people have with drugs, unfortunately, where people either have been prescribed a medication that is highly addictive and then are compelled to continue to use it, or they self medicate, because it’s a reprieve from the hardship and suffering that so many people endure. So I think it’s quite a universal struggle that has kind of plagued our communities.”
