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Bold, confrontational and oversized in every way imaginable... The Brutalist represents a near-perfect symbiosis of subject with film-making style. It’s a huge, uncompromising cinematic statement about the creation of a huge, uncompromising architectural statement.

A work of staggering mystery and power, with an epic scope and a visual style to match, Brady Corbet’s The Brutalist is old school in the best possible sense... It requires a viewer’s commitment and devotion, and repays them with triumphant artistry.

Crackling with a mad, visionary energy that will outlast any awards cycle, Brady Corbet’s postwar epic eclipses every new release I’ve seen since The Zone of Interest.

It’s not a film to devour, but to be devoured by. There’s such a weight to it that it creates its own field of gravity – which, coupled with the same fierce cynicism of Corbet’s previous films... turns a traditional historical epic into an existentially disturbing monster movie. The monster in question, of course, is America.

If The Brutalist were not so wedded to audiovisual effect, it might play like a lost Great American Novel... This is a cold-eyed film that allows the possibilities of the United States while admitting the Faustian costs paid. Happily, so overpowering is the technique that it will, over the years, invite constant rewatches that will unveil endless nuances.

It’s all too easy to assume you’re watching a true story because everything about The Brutalist feels genuine. A three hour and thirty minute biopic about art, history, money, sex, trauma and concrete, it’s heavyweight in every sense: a monument to its own greatness that stands a good distance from anything else you’re likely to see at the cinema this year.

An austere, novelistic, self-consciously important film that unfurls in a measured sprawl, [The Brutalist] nonetheless exerts an iron grip... Just as Dostoevsky’s doorstop novels bristle with brio, Corbet’s myth-making saga propels as it soars.

Tragic and wry and gorgeous and disturbing – any number of hyperbolic terms might apply to the beast that Corbet has created in The Brutalist. But what really remains, amid the rubble of the auditorium after all the cinema patrons are gone, is the echo of something mournful: this is a eulogy for a world in an eternal death rattle, brilliant and bleak – and as Louis Kahn demanded it – true.

[The Brutalist] is novelistic in the best of ways – in its thematic ambition, its finesse with the interiority of these complex characters. But the experience of [the film] is an intensely cinematic one. Shot on VistaVision, a mostly obsolete widescreen format, The Brutalist wants to pummel you with what cinema can do: in sight, sound, scope.

The Brutalist is [Corbet's] grandest cri de coeur yet, a gamble with the audience’s attention that on the whole pays off... Much of the credit goes to Brody. The actor’s performance as Tóth is pained and lived-in... The highest compliment I can bestow on it is that Corbet’s drive has paid dividends, leaving much for me to puzzle through.

[The Brutalist] is a surprisingly fleet and involving saga, maybe not a masterpiece but a good, meaty, provocative story with complicated characters and tricks up its sleeve. Corbet is an actor turned writer-director who, at 36, has ambition to burn... but you can feel the movie love coursing through his veins.

[The Brutalist] is an imposing structure that fills the entire span allotted to it. Yet even with its exceptional length and its ample time frame... it seems not unfinished but incomplete. With its clean lines and precise assembly, it’s nearly devoid of fundamental practicalities, and, so, remains an idea for a movie about ideas, an outline for a drama that’s still in search of its characters.