Douglas Mercer
September 9 2024
The art house crowed is thrilled, well the effete pansies are not too happy that they have to sit on their keisters for three plus hours but a la Vincent Van Gogh does not one have to suffer for art? The movie is The Brutalist and in Cannes (the home of the beautiful people) hot off losing their collective loads last year over the rank propaganda film The Zone Of Interest they have another Jew movie (this one admittedly in a more minor key) to stand up and give an ovation to. The Brutalist tells the story of a fictitious Holocaust survivor (is there any other kind?) who comes to America as it seems damn near every so-called survivor did, they somehow all managed to miraculously escape the evil clutches of the big meanie Adolf Hitler and his sadistic henchman Heyrdrich, Himmler and Goebbels and crawl on their bellies into our formerly pristine homeland. For some odd reason they did not think to trek to Somalia, Outer Mongolia, or El Salvador where they could have pined for the dark man; no, it was nothing but the once good old US Of A that they had their beady eyes on, so to beef up the numbers of kikes here as they were on the point of tipping the scales in favor of themselves for good. The Brutalist is being compared to the Godfather, that is a summation of American history in the grand sense, the summing up of an era; a man travels from just in the nick of time being burnt to cinders in an oven alongside Sheckey Greenfield, and shows up at (of all places) Ellis Island where they should have had a sign reading White People Abandon All Hope Now That You Are Entering Here, as the scum that floated in from Europe in the horrifying form of the Yid made our country the lowest circle of hell. When the man (played by big Jew Adrian Brody who is said to have wept like a woman when the movie got thunderous applause by the wicked jet setters) comes to America he is an architect commissioned to build a library in the brutalist mode. Naturally issues of “assimilation” and the unjustness of America come to the fore (it’s a about a Jew) and the library looks suspiciously like one of those camps the “Nazis” concocted to turn the hooked nosed into rising flames. You see, all the slavering Jewish press will talk about it being about the big issues of American history, and art and such; but it’s not. It’s about Jews. If you have any doubt take one long and good look at Adrian Brody’s nose, for like Pinocchio the Jews are chronic liars and their noses show it.
“The Brutalist is a towering paean to the American dream, in all its force and folly. Set over several decades, Brady Corbet's post-World War II immigrant saga is — like the architectural achievements of its protagonist — constructed with meticulous consideration, resulting in a work of multifaceted technique and piercing humanity. The film, arresting from its first frames, spends three-and-a-half engrossing hours on the tale of László Tóth (Adrien Brody), a fictitious Jewish Hungarian architect and survivor of the Holocaust, whose arrival in America yields both rigorous struggle and tempting opportunity.”
To repeat—the phrase “fictitious survivor” really gives the game away, does it not, it’s the kind of phrase that one has to have an awfully hard heart not to burst out laughing when one hears it. And when one says that anything in this degraded world is a “towering paean” to anything other than the White race color me suspicious. It’s probably a movie that is decently made and it has a “long story” but that does not make it powerful, that just means the Jews were able to drum up scads of money and the director was not a retard---but you have to look at the story and why they tell it. Sure, there’s no mad German picking off Jews from his bedroom window just for the hay of it, and there’s no bawling little brat in red while the rest is black and white, it’s not the ugly and affected Meryl Streep forced to decide between her children by a (fictional) sadistic “nazi”—no it’s more subtle than that but that does not mean it’s subtle. It’s the piercing humanity that raises the hackles and makes me want to stick a finger down my throat—there’s nothing piercing about this tripe and as for the humanity, who cares. A dirty Jew (fictional mind you) comes to America and finds he has to struggle a bit due to being a Jew. Boo hoo. It’s nothing to write home to mother about, that’s for sure.
“It is not a forward-thinking film like Orson Welles' Kane — but this is, in fact, a key piece of its aesthetic and thematic puzzle. The immediacy with which it conjures past masterpieces is part of its enormous thesis on the purpose of art, which it smuggles beneath a soul-stirring saga of survival, one that exists in conversation with, of all things, Ayn Rand's The Fountainhead. They become about leaving the past behind and shaking off the influences of Graeco-Roman styles, in favor of a form flows from function approach. This function-first belief, though it has older origins, was notably espoused by Adolf Hitler, who abhorred stupid imitations of the past.”
So now they want to wrap it up in an “architecture” story, so let’s tell it as it is. In the Fountainhead we have a Jew tell a bona fide story of a noble Aryan—and creative thinker and great artist. But let’s take that Hitler quote seriously—as we always should. Hitler himself was an architect and there is no doubt that Hitler was not a traditionalist, in fact he was a radical and free thinker in every aspect. He knew that the culture of the West had become sclerotic and he wanted to make a clean sweep of it and (as Ezra Pound said) make it new. But his architectural style, though related distantly to brutalism, was of another ilk. It was monumentalism. The figures and buildings that his artists crafted were grand and imposing but they were not brutal they were majestic. And Howard Roark, for all his (fictional) genius was a maverick and a loner and an individual, whereas the art that flourished under Hitler was communal and was for the volk, for the people, something Rand abhorred. As for brutalism, well, think of rank utilitarianism, and concrete slabs of no character at all. It’s squat and ugly and without art--come to think of it is quite Jewish in spirit, the blank and monolithic stare looking back at you in a drone world.
“The Brutalist begins in 1947, in a time of reconstruction and uncertainty. When László arrives on Ellis Island — an intimate, disorienting scene that begins in his darkened ship bunk and moves above deck — his wife Erzsébet (Felicity Jones) and niece Zsófia (Raffey Cassidy), from whom he was separated during the war, remain stuck in the Soviet Union. All the while, the film also explores the fraught corners of post-World War II Jewish identity in the West. From the moment László arrives on America's shores, he's presented with questions of assimilation. His cousin Attila has married a Catholic woman, Audrey (Emma Laird), and has converted. The store he runs is called Miller and Sons, even though his last name is (or was) Molnár, the Hungarian equivalent — and as László quips, You have no sons! Before long, news of the infant state of Israel reaches him, leading to other Jewish characters in his vicinity wrestling with their rights and obligations.”
You see this is the new “American Saga” for our age; it is the new Godfather—but you will note that movie is about Italians but this one is about Jews---they are the new American success story, the new immigrant, the ones that need to be enshrined in lore; and what better symbol than the good old Statue Of Liberty the one with the noxious poem by that noxious Jew. Though it is inadvertently appropriate that the Jew emerges from a dark hold, as a rat might move up from its cellar; as for the fraught corner of Jewish identity in America in the 1950s, well, you can be sure, those are code words for the “rise of anti-semitism”; never mind that in 1880 the Jews (as they will be the first to vociferously tell you) were in mortal peril as the White world of Europe was (as the Jews will be the first to tell you) on another of its periodic quests to kill Jews en masse (so they say); and in that purported dire situation America took them in (stupidly) with open arms. You would think that a people saved from grave danger would have some gratitude but the Jews are not like that, suffice it to say; before you could say gefilte fish sandwich they formed the communist party which was dedicated to overthrowing America; the Jews always bite the hand that feeds them, and as they do it they moan and whine they are oppressed. In today’s world they will cover that history up, not make a grand saga about Jew treachery, and instead make a great drama about the immigrant experience and put it in the context of a story of building; when everyone knows all the Jews do is destroy, being the demons of decomposition.
“As the film proceeds, it centers a key question that applies to every facet of its construction: What is strength? László's vision for the Van Burens' building — a blocky, pyramidal structure few others seem to understand — is uncompromising to a fault, even if it means pushing other people away in the process. But as the film proceeds, it centers a key question that applies to every facet of its construction: "What is strength? What is its nature? Is it the materials and the deep concrete foundation László builds? If so, must this come at the cost of the shakier foundation of his roots in a new country? He is always seen as an outsider, whether because of his Jewish-ness, his foreign-ness, or both. Does strength involve living with the physical and psychological pain he's endured, and the strain it puts on his marriage? Or does it involve numbing that pain at any cost?”
In the movie it is said the prior to the war the Jewish architect was considered un-Germanic by the National Socialists—in fiction of course, but that just makes it all the more pointed. They want to be sure that even the laggards in the cheap seats get the message that Hitler was bad and, well, from the Jew point of view, America was pretty rotten too. They give the Jewish architect the profile of having worked for the infamous Bauhaus and the trajectory of Jewish life in the 20th century can be summed up, with apologies to the great Tom Wolfe, from the Bauhaus to the outhouse. They say this movie is an “echt” American tale of immigration, the much too fabled immigration of the Jewish experience. They were welcomed in and immediately began to attack, that’s what is “echt” about it. Meanwhile the Jewish press will fawn over this movie and swoon over hook nosed Adrien Brody’s performance, they have a Jewish movie of their own now in the great American Pantheon; and the Jews and their self-blazoned trouble are now etched in the “greats” of the silver screen. But beneath all the ballyhoo and the hoopla it’s just another front in the war, and though they are massively overconfident you know in their heart of hearts they think this one is a big win mostly because few on our side see that it’s a war
Notes:
Ayn Rand was going to use Nietzsche’s quote as to the noble soul having reverence for itself but scotched it due to the philosopher’s supposed irrationalism.
