Saturday, November 9, 2024

Chasing The Gold (NYFF 2024): The Cinematography of ‘The Brutalist’ Breaks All The Rules in the Best Way

Around midway through Brady Corbet’s The Brutalist, celebrating its U.S. Premiere in the Main Slate of the 62nd New York Film Festival, László (Adrien Brody) and Harrison Lee Van Buren (Guy Pearce) sit down to have lunch. Van Buren pulls out a manila envelope containing images of László’s architectural achievements back in Budapest after being forced out during World War II. László begins to become teary-eyed. Van Buren apologizes for upsetting him, but László reassures him that the tears are a mix of shock, pride, and happiness. Of the pictures, he says, “I didn’t realize these images were still available, much less of any consequence.” It’s a touching exchange of dialogue with much to unpack. The Brutalist is full of dense scenes much like this one. But, in this single line, one of the primary lenses through which to view the film is discovered. It certainly rings true when contemplating this film within the context of the state of cinema. It’s hard to believe that a film like this was even possible to be made anymore, let alone be one that cinephiles (and hopefully general audiences) will rabidly flock to. And, of course, the imagery of this film wouldn’t exist without Lol Crawley, the Director of Photography of The Brutalist and frequent collaborator of Corbet’s. The only thing that is able to match the scope of Corbet’s script seems to be his vision. And Crawley seems to have brought it to life in sprawling and exciting fashion courtesy of VistaVision. Looking at a later conversation between László and Van Buren, this sentiment is reaffirmed. László explains he was drawn to architecture because his work could remain standing as a testament to artistry. With The Brutalist being shot on film, the same holds true: There is now an essential, tangible, and lifelong quality to Corbet’s staggering feat of filmmaking.

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As the first of many reels of The Brutalist begin to unspool, the audience is sent into a bit of a visual tailspin. Crawley focuses on a sleeping László, and in tandem with the score, jolts the audience out of the overture and directly into the film. It’s a dizzying and claustrophobic form of table setting for any film. But to do so for a 215-minute film, one can sense that the filmmakers trust the audience to come on board at the sheer scale of everything occurring. Trapped within the frame, both literally and within the circumstances László finds himself in during his journey to America, he finally makes it onto one of the exterior decks of the ship he’s aboard. Crawley captures the burst of light with blinding effect, and what was once chaotic now takes on a form of triumph. Still relying on the use of a whirling camera, we see László and a colleague cheering with excitement, but the audience remains unsure as to what they’re looking at. Only after the camera essentially flips backward, do we see a glimpse of what Crawley will reveal: It’s the tip of the torch on the Statue of Liberty. Barely able to take in the full scale of such an iconic landmark, Crawley’s camerawork captures the larger-than-life symbolism the statue came to represent for those coming into the country. It’s through these images that range from subtle to direct that  Crawley’s brilliant work on The Brutalist shines bright.

Take, for example, one of the many times Crawley utilizes deeply intense framing or one-takes, sometimes in conjunction with one another, to pull attention to the moments that might come to define a life. It’s often working hand-in-hand with the edit (masterfully done by Dávid Jancsó), but how Crawley manages to get up close and personal with the subjects without necessarily feeling like a close-up is staggering. It’s as if we’re standing an inch from whoever is on screen, focusing intently on them as they consider what their next action may or may not be. One scene that comes to mind like this takes place early on in the film. László is sharing a post-dinner celebration with his cousin Attila (Alessandro Nivola) and Audrey (Emma Laird), Attila’s wife, who have lived in Philadelphia for some time and have warmly taken him in. For the first time in the film, there’s an enveloping warmth to the imagery. Whereas everything in the first 30 minutes or so is made up of cold, stark imagery, this dining room is basking in the glow of dusk. But one gets the sense that László, still becoming acclimated to the life he escaped and the new life he has found himself in, is a bit out of his depth. The warm glow coming in through the shades is merely meant to offset this emotional dissonance we feel in our lead character. It’s this push and pull of the cinematography that makes it clear Crawley is working completely in line with the ideas present all throughout The Brutalist. So much of this film is about the internal and external conflicts we face on a daily basis, and whether the changes that inevitably come with a life lived force us to change. Is it even possible to hold onto our present selves when the past and future are both waging war on the choices we make? It’s one of the many juxtapositions present in the film, and of course, it doesn’t stop there. In fact, it only kicks into high gear from here on out. Once László begins bringing his brutalist architectural designs to life, Crawley is allowed the freedom to let loose and work beautifully alongside the script.

That’s not to say that at any point the first chunk of this film feels restrained. In fact, quite the contrary could be argued. The shot-on-VistaVision-film choice is such a bold undertaking at any level, but it pays off exponentially with each passing scene. Aside from being a visually rich film that works wonders alongside the thematic core of The Brutalist, it’s also straight-up one of the most aesthetically stunning films of the year. Despite the harsh, at times intentionally rough edges of brutalist architecture, Crawley captures the designs with a beauty and grace that is second to none. And the same can be said for the opposite notion. There’s such visual beauty in the scenes depicting ugliness and deplorability. The cinematography of any particular scene works in complete tandem with the thematic elements at play. One frequent technique Crawley returns to throughout the film is an extreme use of shadows. Rather than being another example in the all-too-often contemporary occurrence of a scene being underlit, Crawley very intentionally relies on deep shadows to convey a sense of dread and frustration.

During one unexpected, and unjust, confrontation between Attila and László, Crawley shrouds Attila’s face completely. The expressions Nivola is making cannot be made out in any capacity, but his tone is felt. For László, having been panickily awoken in his small storage room serving as living quarters, this scene takes the form of a claustrophobic nightmare in his mind.  There’s also a deeply shocking scene in the second half of The Brutalist that relies heavily on shadows. László and Van Buren travel to Italy in search of a piece of marble for the altar of László’s project. Everything filmed in Italy arguably forms the centerpiece of The Brutalist. There’s a staggering, otherworldly beauty in how Crawley captures this location. He reverts back to a shaky handheld camera, following these characters shrouded in complete fog. It’s as if this location, where many of the overarching ideas of The Brutalist coalesce and crystallize into a clear, devastating picture, exists in another realm. Crawley captures these massive, immovable blocks of marble with both reverence and horror. There’s an unexplainable beauty to them. And yet, seeing the sharp edges form tight alleyways and labyrinthian passages to walk through gives them a frightening quality. Crawley’s imagery gives them a form representing the cold interiors of men and the harsh exterior of a world that allows for such evil to exist within. In the pivotal scene of this sequence, and arguably the film, the empty halls being explored come to take on pure metaphor: such intrigue and menace exists amidst the emptiness, which could represent the true darkness found in banally evil mindsets.

NYFF: 'The Brutalist' is the movie epic of the year – The Pace Press

The Brutalist is sprawling in its scope. Yet, Crawley finds a way to unify the visuals of the entire film. Impressively, he also does so by utilizing a varied visual language. As such, the film can excite and engage at a moment’s notice. Whenever there is a massive shift in tone or visual identity, it’s wholly intentional on Crawley’s part. It’s a prime example of the cinematography of a film working in complete tandem with the vision of its director. The Brutalist was, by all accounts, a complete labor of love and determination. One scene takes the form of what feels like a 1980s pop music video. In another scene, Crawley intentionally shatters the 180° rule. With that term, it’s time for a quick cinematography lesson! The 180° rule is one of the fundamental building blocks of cinema. In the most basic of definitions, it’s a guideline of sorts that filmmakers can use to help orient their audience. In any standard dialogue scene that follows the 180° rule, the characters will always be facing the same direction for the duration of a scene. If a character is on the left side of the screen and another is on the right, they will each be looking toward the opposite end of the frame. And the camera will remain this way for visual consistency. This is so the audience will know which way each character is facing in relation to the space they’re inhabiting.

In The Brutalist, Crawley breaks this rule as a way of highlighting an immediate loss of identity due to outside influence. It’s disorienting by design. At one point, Crawley even forms a sequence out of imagery and style that can often be seen in typical home videos. These shifts in stylistic endeavor all dazzle, but they also serve a thematic purpose. All in all, The Brutalist is practically a peak example of what this column highlights from a cinematography perspective. Cinema is a visual medium. At a very fundamental level, when the images that make up a film look stunning, it’s cause for excitement and joy. But when those images also feed into the very essence of a film, forming a symbiotic relationship between our eyes and our emotions, that’s what elevates a film from beautiful to powerful. Crawley’s work on this film is exceptional and is just one of the many elements that come together to make The Brutalist one of the finest examples of American filmmaking this decade.

The Brutalist celebrated its U.S. Premiere in the Main Slate of the 62nd New York Film Festival.

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