The American Dream, a concept popularized in 1931, transcended its cultural roots to become a universal aspiration, symbolizing success for anyone in North America—especially for immigrants, regardless of their cultural or ethnic identity. 

For some people, this dream represents achieving greatness in an unfamiliar environment; for others, it’s a patriotic ideal where the pursuit itself becomes a testament to the virtues of freedom and opportunity promised by their new homeland. Yet, beneath its promises lie false assurances—illusions that often mask the dangers of chasing this dream. Brady Corbet’s 2024 historical epic, The Brutalist, delves into these complexities, revealing how migration, with its promises of opportunity and prosperity, can fragment one’s identity.

The film chronicles the life of László Tóth (Adrien Brody), a Hungarian-Jewish architect and Holocaust survivor who emigrated to the US in pursuit of the American Dream. The narrative begins in post-war Philadelphia, spanning over three and a half hours and divided into two parts: The Enigma of Arrival and The Hard Core of Beauty. Tóth struggles to adapt to American society while reconnecting with his wife Erzsébet (Felicity Jones) and niece, Zsófia (Raffey Cassidy). Despite his talent, he faces significant challenges securing architectural commissions, particularly from affluent industrialist Harrison Lee Van Buren (Guy Pearce).

The second half delves into Tóth’s professional and personal struggles, particularly after he accepts a monumental project that Van Buren commissioned. While this opportunity seems like a career breakthrough, it ultimately exposes the fractures in his identity and relationships, highlighting the harsh realities of migration.

Parallels with personal history

Watching The Brutalist evoked memories of my grandfather’s immigration to Canada in the late 1960s. Leaving Amritsar, India, after the partition of British India into India and Pakistan—a traumatic event that caused widespread suffering and division among communities—he sought a fresh start in a country that promised “freedom of opportunity.” However, the realities he faced deviated significantly from the idealized narratives. Despite being a skilled engineer, racial discrimination from white-dominated companies hindered my grandfather’s job search, as they often prioritized race over skill, mirroring the challenges Tóth faced in America.

Tóth’s status as a “foreigner” diminishes his opportunities, forcing him to initially consider more blue-collar work, like construction. Similarly, my grandfather endured rejection before finally securing a position at McDonnell Douglas, a former aerospace manufacturing corporation. His role involved certifying airplane airfoils, a task critical to aviation safety. While this achievement seemed prestigious, it took a heavy emotional toll.

Identity, integration, and erasure

Both Tóth’s and my grandfather’s journeys underscore how migration often demands assimilation at the cost of one’s identity. Tóth’s obsession with societal norms and perceptions leads to imposter syndrome and a fragmented sense of self. His pursuit of acceptance within a money-oriented capitalist society, where individualism overrides collective identity, mirrors my grandfather’s experience. 

For both men, the process of normalization did not push them toward conformity in any linear progression; instead, it only highlighted the gaps and differences that marked their deviation from the norm. The pressure to conform—often through code-switching—reinforced the erasure of their authentic selves. 

Code-switching—altering language or behaviour to align with dominant cultural norms — is a survival mechanism for minorities, yet it perpetuates the erasure of cultural identity. For my grandfather, this meant suppressing aspects of his South Asian heritage to navigate a predominantly white environment. Similarly, Tóth’s journey highlights how capitalism’s emphasis on individual achievement often undermines and devalues the shared histories and collective struggles of minority communities.

Reflection and legacy

Through Tóth’s story, The Brutalist prompts profound self-reflection. It emphasizes the importance of honouring one’s roots and cultural legacy over societal definitions of success. A friend once wrote that photography captures moments to preserve identity, fearing that time erases our authentic selves. This sentiment resonates deeply, reminding us that every version of ourselves remains within us, regardless of life’s challenges.

My grandfather’s resilience taught me that migration can shield against visible discrimination, but it doesn’t eliminate prejudice. Canada’s reputation as a haven is complicated, revealing how migration adds layers of bias that profoundly affect lives. His courage, strength, and dedication to his craft—much like Tóth—serve as a testament to the enduring struggle for acceptance and self-identity in a foreign land.

Ultimately, The Brutalist is more than just a film; it’s a reflection on the complexities of migration, identity, and resilience. It urges viewers to appreciate the sacrifices and legacies of those who came before, challenging us to redefine success—not by material achievements, but by the authenticity of the lives we lead and the impact we leave behind.