In a packed theater, I experienced The Brutalist, a gripping new film that follows Lazlo Toth, a Jewish immigrant seeking refuge in post-World War II America. His dream seems simple: escape the horrors of his past, reunite his family, and carve out a slice of the American dream. But the simplicity of that premise belies the complexity—and weight—of this sweeping, 3.5-hour film (yes, with an intermission).
I’d call The Brutalist an “intimate epic.” Through Lazlo’s personal struggle, the film unravels the mythos of the American dream, exposing the toll it takes and the blood spilled to achieve it. The story dives deep into themes of art versus commerce, assimilation’s double-edged sword, and the thin line between ambition and greed. While the scope is vast, the film never loses sight of Lazlo’s journey, making his story feel both universal and achingly personal.
What’s remarkable is the film’s restraint—it doesn’t rely on extensive backstory or tidy resolutions. Instead, it trusts the audience to piece together the narrative, giving it a raw, immersive depth. The epilogue offers a flood of information, but the “how” of it all remains tantalizingly ambiguous, leaving space for interpretation. I’m still unpacking it, and that’s part of its power.
The Brutalist is challenging and unflinching. Its violence, both emotional and physical, is neither gratuitous nor manipulative, though there are moments that will leave you reeling. It doesn’t shy away from the darker sides of humanity, yet it balances the hurt with an equally potent exploration of resilience and sacrifice.
This isn’t a film you walk away from easily—it lingers, it questions, it demands reflection. I’m already considering a second viewing to fully absorb its layers. If you’re ready to confront the complexities of the American dream—and its costs—this is a cinematic journey worth taking.