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Los Angeles Times

The Brutalist is making waves during award season, but the real architects that inspired the story offer a polarizing reflection of the American Dream

Just like Brutalism itself, there is so much more to The Brutalist than meets the eye In spite of the extraordinary runtime of Brady Corbet's The Brutalist (a three and a half hour epic that includes an intermission), the film has been making quite the buzz during the 2025 awards season. The film recently earned ten nominations at the 2025 Academy Awards, including Best Picture, Best Director for Brady Corbet, and Best Actor for Adrien Brody. Yet, even amid the critical acclaim and accolades that The Brutalist has earned thus far, none of these awards can capture what it's really like to see the film in person. I saw this movie in 70mm at the Vista Theatre in Los Angeles, and it remains one of the most striking movie experiences I can remember — I was astounded by the film's breathtaking cinematography, the harrowing performances of its two leads, and the way this story immerses you in the darkest side of the American Dream. The Brutalist makes viewers believe that the title refers to the character of László Tóth (Adrien Brody), an architect and immigrant trying to make his fortune in America after World War II, who practices the architectural style of brutalism. But as the movie goes on, we come to learn that the real Brutalist is Harrison Van Buren (Guy Pearce), an abusive and manipulative patron to László's art, whose incredible hostility and brutality begins to transfer into László's projects and life. The Brutalist forces the audience to confront not only the marginalization and prejudice of immigrants, but the abuse, manipulation, and suffering these men and women endured in order to achieve the success that America promised. Ultimately, the film makes you question whether the American Dream really existed at all. The real-life architects that inspired Lázló Toth An amalgamation of multiple Brutalist architects from the same era, Rolling Stone identifies two specific names as core influences for Lázló Tóth: those being Louis Kahn and Marcel Braur. Those names should sound familiar to architecture students, as Kahn and Braur are both regarded as influential pioneers within their respective styles. Not only did these prolific artists leave behind numerous buildings across the world that speak to their legacy, the lives of both architects serve as a stark reflection of the stereotypical American Dream – warts and all. Marcel Braur, for example, was a German-Austrian architect who came to the U.S. in 1937 and became a naturalized citizen in 1944, where he rose up to become a leading voice in 20th century architecture through his arresting, experimental designs. Similarly, Louis Kahn was an Estonian born architect who first immigrated to the U.S. as a child, rising from his humble beginnings to develop a distinctive, monumental and brutalist style that established him as one of the preeminent architects in the country. Kahn's most famous works like the Salk Institute in La Jolla, CA, and the Yale University Art Gallery, capture monolithic shapes of brick, concrete and wood – refusing to hide the materials from which these monuments rise, and instead calling attention to the colossal weight they carry. Louis Kahn and László both experienced a 'brutal' end to their American Dream. It's easy to read both of Kahn and Braur's stories as evocative of the American Dream itself: this idea that anybody can come to the U.S. and achieve untold success through years of painstaking dedication and hard work. One could certainly interpret Kahn's work as a reflection of all of the trials, hardships, and scandals that his life encompassed — forcing the viewer to confront the magnitude of the brick and mortar in front of them, just as he had to acknowledge the brutal legacy he would leave behind. Despite being regarded as one of America's greatest living architects at the time, Louis Kahn died alone at Penn Station in 1973, and his body remained unclaimed and unidentified at the city morgue for two days. Kahn also left behind three different families unaware of each other's existence, a somber legacy that seems comparable to the brooding, mysterious monoliths he created. In this, the story of László Tóth and Louis Kahn share a common thread, as the brutality of László's own story implicitly drives the monumental structures he creates. In The Brutalist we follow László through his version of the American Dream: from his horrific experiences in the Holocaust, to his first view of Ellis Island and the Statue of Liberty, through the years of rigorous study and work that finally establish him as a global leader in architecture. Yet, this entire journey is underscored by László's suffering, which bleeds into his behavior and his work. Even as Harrison continues to abuse and demean László , the up-and-coming architect refuses to halt construction on his projects, taking out his anger on his construction team and his wife, framing his personal struggles as sacrifices for his art. The movie seems to imply that his architecture itself is an embodiment of the pain he's endured, their brutality a reflection of the sacrifices he's made to get them built in the first place. Appreciating Brutalism is appreciating the construction of America itself. At its core, The Brutalist is a movie that asks the audience to change their perspective – recontextualizing not only the American Dream, but the architectural style in its name. Brutalism is primarily viewed as an ugly architectural style: soulless, overpowering buildings that always seem out of place. The Brutalist invites audiences to see Brutalism with new eyes, and asks that Brutalism shouldn't be considered 'ugly' when you consider the suffering that the architects went through to create their buildings. The film humanizes this often-dismissed architectural style and asks you to look beyond the aesthetic appeal of these buildings, to the profound personal costs embedded in their structures. The movie simultaneously challenges the view that the American Dream is some infallible benchmark for the country, pointing out the injustices and prejudices that batter men like László as they fight for their creations. The Brutalist is more than just a cinematic epic, it is a compelling call to shift our perspectives – on architecture, on the American Dream, and on the narratives we construct around them. By recontextualizing these topics, the film cultivates a deeper understanding of the humanity and lives that undermine them, challenging us to appreciate the stories of resilience and sacrifice that helped build this country we call home. Related