In the secluded recesses of a grand Pennsylvania estate during the mid-1900s, Erzsébet, a Hungarian émigré, meticulously examines the items on a desk. The desk is littered with drafts and technical blueprints for a civic edifice, a monumental vision crafted by her husband, László. This architectural marvel was commissioned by the affluent benefactor whose residence they now inhabit. "What occupies you?" László inquires, upon entering the room. "I am studying you," his spouse retorts. Decades onward, the structure remains unfinished, yet it soars in the mind of its architect. An opportunity to complete the project arises anew. "Swear to me that it won't consume your sanity," Erzsébet implores. Even as László assures her of his sanity, his tone reveals the truth: the madness—the fixation—is already ingrained in his very essence.

"The Brutalist," directed by Brady Corbet, offers a sweeping and formidable portrayal of the fictional architect László Tóth, a Holocaust survivor who seeks to rebuild his life in the United States. The film has garnered widespread acclaim, emerging as a Venice Film Festival laureate and a potential contender for the Oscars, including recognition for Corbet and lead actor Adrien Brody. This new American saga and cinematic homage, spanning over three and a half hours with an intermission, is captured on the rarely used VistaVision film stock, last employed by an American film in 1961. The narrative revolves around Tóth's assignment to design a public institution for the industrialist Harrison Lee Van Buren, played by Guy Pearce.

Before World War Two, Tóth was a prominent Jewish architect in Europe. After surviving internment in a concentration camp, he relocates to America in 1947, as the film begins. Upon arrival, he discovers that his wife Erzsébet, portrayed by Felicity Jones, has also survived the camps, and he yearns for their reunion. Van Buren offers assistance, promising to aid in their reunion and Tóth's professional resurgence, but their relationship is fraught with a significant power imbalance that exacts a personal toll.

Corbet's film, co-written with his partner Mona Fastvold, necessitates the embodiment of Tóth by two individuals: Brody and production designer Judy Becker. Becker was tasked with envisioning and constructing the architect's creations. "I am fortunate to have an intimate understanding of the immigrant experience and its parallels with an artist's journey," Brody shared in a video interview. "My mother, a Hungarian immigrant, came to the United States following the 1956 revolution in Budapest. Many memories from my youth, including those of my grandparents, were familiar and textured, aiding in shaping my portrayal of Tóth," he added.

Brody was the "external manifestation," while Becker was "the one penning the poetry," as she humorously noted in a separate interview. Becker was responsible for designing every element attributed to Tóth in the film, from furniture to a library for Van Buren and his institution. "I practice method design," the designer stated. "I genuinely considered what Tóth had learned and experienced at each stage of his life, treating it with gravity. It's a dual process, involving me and the character, much like for actors, except I remain present."

"Some details won't make it to the screen," she admitted, "but I believe it enhances the realism for the cast and crew, which in turn translates to a more authentic on-screen depiction." Brody praised Becker, saying, "She contributed immensely. To have the physical materials, forms, and structures representing the layers of Tóth's narrative... it's profoundly meaningful and artistic."

The film reveals that Tóth was trained at the Bauhaus art school, which served as the "starting point" for Becker. She researched Bauhaus alumni and architects from the Modernist and Brutalist movements. "My venture into Brutalism predates its popularity," she remarked, referring to the polarizing architectural style characterized by the use of raw concrete. "Tóth endured one of the most horrific experiences a human can face," she said, adding that studying photographs and plans of concentration camps was the most challenging aspect of her research.

Both Tóth's personal and professional lives intersect in Becker's design for the institution, which carries profound symbolic significance. The institution, a massive concrete structure perched on a hill, had to be radical, befitting a designer who could candidly tell his patron, "You were unprepared for what you witnessed — it's understandable." Becker drew inspiration from the works of Hungarian-German modernist Marcel Breuer and contemporary Japanese architect Tadao Ando, among others, for her creation, which is only glimpsed briefly to maintain its enigmatic allure and keep production costs in check. (The film was primarily shot in Hungary on a modest budget for a feature, estimated at $10 million or less.)

Two models were crafted: a two-foot high model made of cardboard, which Tóth presents to Van Buren, and a three-foot high, five-foot long in-camera miniature. In the film's final act, as the narrative delves deeper into the institution, various real locations were combined, including the József Gruber Water Reservoir on Gellért Hill in Budapest and a concrete silo. Atop, the building resembles a cross, with a chapel at its core and wings for other communal purposes.

"The concentration camps were bisected by a road, with barracks on either side, forming a very linear, cross-like shape," Becker explained. "Everything was somewhat Cross shaped " She continued, "Tóth,  being Jewish and constantly thrust into this Christian environment, even in America, I wanted that to be a significant part of the symbolism, whether overt or subtle." The silhouette, however, only hints at the story. The building's interior dimensions—strange and impractical—are crucial, to the point where the architect is adamant when advised to alter them.

"I took it further than anyone realizes," Becker said. "I designed it as an almost immersive experience for anyone entering that structure." Claustrophobic rooms with high ceilings, windowless areas, and narrow staircases were designed to echo "the barracks where he and Erzsébet were imprisoned." Meanwhile, the central chapel, with its opening in the ceiling, symbolizes an escape route. "There are many references to captivity and liberation, with the visitor themselves feeling imprisoned within the building," she added. "All of that truly influenced my design of the building, even though I knew it would never appear in the film."

The institution becomes the embodiment of Tóth's struggle, his enduring love for his wife, and a confrontation with his trauma. It is also deeply subversive, infiltrating Van Buren's pet project, a man Tóth comes to despise. For Tóth, a heroin addict with a rough exterior, architecture is his most eloquent mode of expression. "This Brutalist structure is symbolic of the facade of the man he is," Brody said, but also emblematic of a "spiritual quest." While cinema has previously taken architects as its subject, the creator and creation are often at odds. The megalomaniacal architect Howard Roark in King Vidor's "The Fountainhead" (1949) is a man ultimately larger than his on-screen creations. Anthony Royal in Ben Wheatley's Ballard adaptation "High Rise" (2015) is a cipher for free-market capitalism more than a creative force. Cesar Catalina, the architect in Francis Ford Coppola's "Megalopolis" (2024), is a Nobel laureate, but that's the primary indicator of his genius, not what we see (unless you're impressed by travelators).

"Is there a better description of a cube than that of its construction?" This question, posed by Tóth midway through the film, underscores the challenges of depicting one art form through another—and helps explain why cinema sometimes falls short in portraying architecture. Often, what's depicted is a mere shadow of the real thing. "The Brutalist" succeeds in part because the architecture is impressive. But also because it inverts Tóth's question: It imagines a structure that encapsulates its subject—a man otherwise incapable of describing himself.

For all the emotional turmoil of creatives being creative that litters cinema—and there is plenty of that in "The Brutalist"—Corbet and his collaborators also make room to highlight the elegance, catharsis, and redemption that creativity can offer. Brody expressed sympathy for his character, saying, "What makes the film so special is that it mirrors the journey and aspirations of an artist. All artists, whether architects, photographers, actors, or painters, are striving to break past boundaries and to construct something of lasting significance to leave behind. That's my journey. My motivation is to find material that resonates with people and shares on a level deeper than mere entertainment. The beauty of film is to leave behind something indelible." Whether it's poured concrete or celluloid, the artist need only choose their medium. We see them either way. "The Brutalist" premieres in US cinemas from December 20, and in the UK on January 24.