The Brutalist, a bold study of immigration’s unforgiving delirium, is one of the year’s best and most challenging films. When Laszlo Toth (Adrien Brody) arrives to Ellis Island, he sees the Statue of Liberty upside-down, then sideways. It foreshadows his ensuing struggle with the American dream: there will be liberty, yes, but it will always be crooked, askew, off-kilter: nothing will ever come straightforwardly. For the next three-and-a-half hours, Toth labors for a capricious America, which first disparages him, then lauds him, then stymies him, then helps him, then abuses him, and on and on—until he emigrates out of sheer exhaustion. In one sequence exemplifying this madcap saga, his osteoporotic wife wakes up screaming in pain; to soothe her, he doses her with secretly-stashed heroin; then, the two have passionate sex; soon after, she nearly dies by overdose; later, the two reconcile in a hospital. All in one night. Was his life really, then—as a peppy epilogue suggests—about the destination, not the journey? Which part of the film would you rather watch?
–Jim Andersen