With Harrison Lee Van Buren (Guy Pearce) fast rising up the ranks of Most Evil Capitalists Ever Rendered to Film (move over, Duke Brothers from Trading Places), Brady Corbet and Mona Fastvold’s script for The Brutalist arrives at a time when it’s never been more obvious that it is not as Gordon Gekko said in Wall Street. That’s right, greed is not good. It’s killing us all. Of course, right-wingers and those who think anti-capitalism means pro-socialism remain convinced that’s not the case. Descendants of men like Van Buren never admitting that they’re the problem, the root cause of all things fucked.
And, speaking of fucking, there’s no arguing that the scene that will stand out most to viewers amid the three hours and thirty-five minutes’ worth of footage that makes up The Brutalist is the one where Van Buren takes advantage of a defenseless László Tóth (Adrien Brody). The violation occurs in Carrara, where László has taken Van Buren (though, technically, it’s Van Buren who’s taken László there by paying for the trip) to look at the signature marble of the Italian town in consideration for the materials of the community center that László has been designing in honor of Van Buren’s late mother. Because the only relationship more fraught than the one that a rich man has with his father is the one he has with his mother.
In any event, the two men have reunited to work on the project after a years-long break implemented by Van Buren. This in the aftermath of a train operated and owned by Van Buren’s company (likely called something to the effect of Van Buren Corp. or Van Buren Inc.) derailing. Due to the destroyed costly materials for the building, as well as the impending lawsuits for the injuries, Van Buren pumps the brakes on the whole operation, having no regard whatsoever for the workers that have been relying on the supposed steadiness of this construction job. Not to mention having no regard for László, who is derisively told by Van Buren not to beg him to keep working, for it’s unbecoming. After all, the rich man can never know the “shamelessness” that comes with having one’s livelihood threatened. Even though, for László at this point, it’s less about the money than it is the joy of creating, of building something that he not only knows will endure long after he’s gone, but will also assist in exorcising some of his demons.
Though, of course, there are some demons that will never go away as a result of what László was subjected to in the concentration camp. A horror that, in the midst of raping him, Pearce insists is his own fault. That “his kind” brings on their own persecution because they’re nothing but leeches on society. Itself an “age-old” (or as old as colonized America) argument among conservative ilk falsely painting immigrants as “the root of all evil” in “their” country, despite relying on them for literally everything. Including, first and foremost, cheap labor that allows them to fully enjoy the advantages (limited only to a few at the top) of capitalism.
Which brings one to the appropriately-themed song that is The White Stripes’ “Icky Thump.” Released in 2007, long before Donald Trump, in his unfathomable role as U.S. president, would take anti-immigration laws and sentiments to new heights, Jack White aimed his vitriol at the Bush II administration, which, at the time, had been among the worst of the worst (little did Americans know…there was going to be still another Republican administration even more reprehensible than they could ever imagine).
For instance, in a 2006 “Address to the Nation on Immigration Reform,” Bush declared, “For decades, the United States has not been in complete control of its borders. As a result, many who want to work in our economy have been able to sneak across our border, and millions have stayed. Once here, illegal immigrants live in the shadows of our society. Many use forged documents to get jobs, and that makes it difficult for employers to verify that the workers they hire are legal. Illegal immigration puts pressure on public schools and hospitals; it strains State and local budgets and brings crime to our communities.” Just more fear-mongering about the “other” as usual. A type of fear that is clear and present in The Brutalist, and further distilled by The White Stripes’ “Icky Thump” lyrics, “White Americans, what?/Nothing better to do/Why don’t you kick yourself out?/You’re an immigrant too/Who’s using who?/What should we do?/Well, you can’t be a pimp and a prostitute too.”
Alas, as many a real-life industrialist/capitalist/business mogul has paraded, that’s not true at all. Van Buren is but one prime symbol of the kind of double-dipping into each “role” that rich blancos indulge in. Hence, the audacity of Van Buren berating László with the now infamous line, “You’re just a lady of the night.” Aren’t we all, to be honest? But what rich people get to be is both: pimp and prostitute. Claiming to be the victims of their wealth being “stolen” when they themselves stole that wealth in the first place (first, from indigenous peoples, and then by siphoning their workers’ wages—which was, of course, after getting rich off the slave labor of Black people). Being cutthroat with others and then expecting nothing but capitulation and docility in return. Feigning the part of “generous patron” for an artist like László when all he really wants to do is leech off his greatness, his actual talent. Having no real contribution to society of his own, other than engaging in acts which will eventually destroy it.
Yes, pimps like Van Buren get off on placing “lesser” folk (a.k.a. broke-ass non-WASPs) in the part of “prostitute” because it contributes to their feeling of having unbridled power. Ergo, the presence of a scene that takes place just after László’s wife, Erzsébet (Felicity Jones), at last arrives in America to join her husband. At the table, Van Buren compliments her English, but then laces it with an insult lobbed at László, who he berates with the comment, “Perhaps you can help your husband sound less like he shine shoes for a wage.”
To accent (no language pun intended) how he sees László as both “shoeshine boy” and “whore,” he tosses a coin at him for good measure. Then has the gall to ask for it back because, “A penny saved…” Appropriately, he doesn’t actually finish reciting the platitude with, “…is a penny earned” perhaps because he knows, somewhere deep down, that he’s never earned shit. He’s a man who has coasted his entire life on the privilege of what it means to be a white man in America (building their fortunes off those who are not). A non-immigrant white man, that is. And immigrants, of course, continue to signify, to those in control, being nothing more than prostitutes designed solely for their sick exploitation. Never seeming to understand that those who bend over for more profit (i.e., industrialists) so gleefully are the biggest prostitutes of all.
Thus, the impudence they display in also taking on the role of pimp while claiming not to be prostitute (because that would be an admission to a form of powerlessness) is among the most outrageous American phenomena of all.
