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)