After surviving the Holocaust, a visionary Hungarian-Jewish
architect (Adrien Brody) and his wife (Felicity Jones) come to
America in 1947 to rebuild their legacy. Eventually, his dream is
offered to him on a silver platter by a mysterious, very wealthy
industrialist (Guy Pearce), who asks him to design and build a
modernist monument to his deceased mother. (The title refers to
a severe architectural style that emerged in the 1950s,
characterized by exposed building materials and a general lack of
charm).
Well, be careful what you wish for. He is soon beset by problems
ranging from antisemitism to a lack of understanding of his vision
to a vague lack of honor (and eventually worse) on the part of his
employer and his privileged son (ring a bell?), and, oh yes, he’s
become a functioning heroin addict. Ain’t America grand?
It’s an astounding cinematic achievement, all the more so for
being directed by a guy (Brady Corbet) just 35 years old. I’m glad I
saw it, all three and a half grim hours of it. But it’s not an easy sit.
In its attempt to be meaningful, which it is, it sometimes gets lost
in its own importance. I think the industry term is “Oscar bait.”
It seems this strategy has worked, as it has garnered 10 Oscar
nominations, including Best Picture as well as nods to all the
major players. But it’s one of those films that critics rate much
higher than audiences. It will undoubtedly take home a few
statuettes, the Academy being what it is, but, and here’s the rub, it
will not be especially remembered, and that, after all, is what
makes a great movie. (214 min)