“Liking” a film isn’t a matter of feeling good vibes from it. I don’t need a film to soothe or caress me, or to alleviate my fears.

It’s a matter of whether or not a film is bullshitting you or not…whether or not it’s conveying some kind of a full or fair understanding of the basic realities of life…whether or not it’s passing along a certain proverbial truth…whether or not it’s projecting a perceptive, fully considered sense of how things really are out there…kind or radiant or ungracious or brutally unfair…the take-it-or-leave-it rules of the game.

If I know one effing thing in my life right now, it’s that The Brutalist doesn’t do this.

One of my ideas of hell is living in (i.e., being trapped inside of) a world that’s been created, ordered and defined by Brady Corbet.

But hey, it runs 3 hours and 35 minutes and includes an overture and an intermission so it must be on to something…right?