Moses, Robert

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    Why Is Hollywood Obsessed With Architects? ‘The Brutalist’ Gives Us a Hint.

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    The trope of the embattled auteur exerting their will is too tempting for filmmakers to ignore.Now that the White House has decreed that all new government structures be made in a classical style, let’s cue up the original film of buildings and hubris — King Vidor’s “The Fountainhead” (1949), based on the 1943 novel by Ayn Rand.In the film’s final shot, the architect Howard Roark (Gary Cooper) stands squinting atop his latest skyscraper, the tallest in the world, with the wind popping his shirt. Inspired in part by Rand’s admiration for Frank Lloyd Wright, Roark has battled decades of herd mentality and bland neoclassical buildings in order to assert his vision of a gleaming, geometric Modernism upon America’s skyline. He has behaved ruthlessly, even sexually assaulting his eventual wife (Patricia Neal) in her mansion on the outskirts of a quarry. As he surveys Manhattan from his new perch, Roark seems a terrible demigod of will.What he doesn’t seem is an actual designer. Like the novel, Vidor’s film (which Rand wrote the screenplay for) spun an influential but misleading myth of architects as solitary artists. In the interwar period, conceptual-minded architects — from Wright in America to the Bauhaus school in Germany — turned the formerly public language of pediments and arches into a canvas for non sequiturs of personal expression. For decades that evolution helped turn the profession into a shorthand for greatness. The Museum of Modern Art began exhibiting models and plans in 1932: Buildings had become sculptures. Paul Simon was able to write a convincing (and spine-tingling) paean to Frank Lloyd Wright without any deep knowledge of his work. Time magazine put Philip Johnson, a Roark incarnate, on a 1979 cover, looking like a Batman villain.Lately that world seems to want reappraisal. A housing crisis, an epidemic of cheap development and luxury glass, red tape and a postpandemic “return to office” movement have called into question the use and feasibility of new construction. A recent play, opera and exhibition on New York’s most influential master builder, Robert Moses, decry the toll bridges and expressways he erected at the expense of the people they were meant to serve. In various outlets, the debate has resurged over the human effects of brutalism, the imposing concrete style that possessed architects from the early 1950s to the late 1970s but alienated more of its users than perhaps any modern style. (See: the Robert C. Weaver Federal Building in D.C., by Marcel Breuer, or Boston’s City Hall.)In a world where building seems difficult at best and oppressive at worst, what’s the point of being an architect at all? That question unites two of last year’s most talked-about movies: Brady Corbet’s “The Brutalist” and Francis Ford Coppola’s “Megalopolis.” To be sure, both films peddle the trope of the embattled auteur. In “Megalopolis,” the gloomy genius Cesar Catilina (Adam Driver) battles philistines in his quest to renovate New Rome, a thinly-veiled Manhattan. (There is even a skyscraper scene to match Vidor’s.) Corbet’s tortured architect László Tóth (Adrien Brody), too, a Jewish-Hungarian survivor of the Holocaust based roughly on Breuer, obsesses over a bunkerlike civic chapel that will brood over 1950s Pennsylvania in reinforced concrete, again recalling Roark, who in Rand’s “The Fountainhead” (the book, but not the film) builds a secular Temple of the Human Spirit for a rich financier. When Tóth’s wife, Erzsébet (Felicity Jones), finds his blueprints and tells him, “I’m just looking at you,” she’s voicing the old belief: Buildings are extensions of their authors.But these movies flip that formula, as if to explain how we’ve changed our minds about it — one bleakly, the other romantically.We are having trouble retrieving the article content.Please enable JavaScript in your browser settings.Thank you for your patience while we verify access. If you are in Reader mode please exit and log into your Times account, or subscribe for all of The Times.Thank you for your patience while we verify access.Already a subscriber? Log in.Want all of The Times? Subscribe. More

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      ‘Turn Every Page’ Review: It’s Not Done Yet

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      This affectionate documentary about the writer Robert Caro and the editor Robert Gottlieb sets out to shed light on their 50 years of collaboration.Don’t ask Robert Caro when he’s going to finish his next Lyndon Johnson book. In the documentary “Turn Every Page — The Adventures of Robert Caro and Robert Gottlieb,” that question becomes almost a running joke. “I don’t think it does me any good to think about that,” Caro, now 87, says of the possibility that he might not live to finish the final book of his five-volume Johnson biography. “I don’t want to rush it.”He could write more quickly, he says. He could leave things out, and no one would know. But his process is his process, and he sees it as crucial to having his work endure.Not asking when he’ll finish is also, according to an anecdote from Caro, the policy of Robert Gottlieb, who started as Caro’s editor with “The Power Broker” (1974), the author’s influential biography of Robert Moses, and has stuck with him for roughly 50 years. “I would love to be able to hang up my pencil on the last page of the last volume of his Lyndon Johnson,” Gottlieb, now 91, says in the film.“Turn Every Page,” directed by Gottlieb’s daughter, Lizzie, sets out to illuminate a working relationship that both men believe should stay private; that’s part of the trust between an author and an editor. To an extent, they succeed in hiding, or at least in not making news. Many stories here, about their fights over punctuation or about how they chose Johnson as a subject, have surfaced before, including in Charles McGrath’s 2012 look at both men for The New York Times Magazine.Caro, understandably, is self-conscious about having his progress recorded. Early on, he gives Lizzie Gottlieb permission to film two pages with tallies of how many words he’s written and then quickly changes his mind, hiding them from view. We get to see the precariously overstuffed cabinet above his refrigerator in which he shoves carbon copies after each day’s work. He still writes in longhand and on a typewriter; at one point, the camera catches sight of an index card at his desk that reads, “The only thing that matters is what is on this page.” When Lizzie Gottlieb succeeds, finally, in getting permission to film Caro and her father working together, there is a condition: She cannot record sound.Even these small glimpses into Caro’s methods and compulsive revisions are bound to induce anxiety in anyone who has ever tried to finish a piece of writing. The idea that he and Robert Gottlieb, who have edited thousands of pages together, still meet prepared to go to war over semicolons defies any rational partitioning of time. Gottlieb says that he worked on “The Power Broker” for a year, longer than most other books he has edited, but that still seems short considering they cut one-third of it, and it still runs almost 1,200 pages in paperback.“Turn Every Page” is one step away from turning into a Herzogian monument to obsession or plunging into crazed psychodrama. Instead, it is merely a great profile, filled with wit, affection and detailed stories of how the books came to be. While the film is nominally a dual portrait, the overall impression is that Lizzie Gottlieb has gravitated ever so slightly toward the Caro mystique, which might be inevitable. (Her father, as an editor, is supposed to work more invisibly.)She may even have captured another of Caro’s great revelations in the making. At the L.B.J. Presidential Library, she films Caro researching alongside his wife, Ina. He tells Lizzie Gottlieb about rereading a telegram that he had passed over decades earlier. “It has a great significance,” he says.The tantalizing “Turn Every Page” doesn’t reveal what that significance is. But it makes waiting that much harder.Turn Every Page — The Adventures of Robert Caro and Robert GottliebRated PG. Running time: 1 hour 52 minutes. In theaters. More

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      in Theater

      Ralph Fiennes to Star in Play About Robert Moses at the Shed

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      The production of “Straight Line Crazy,” by David Hare, will begin preview performances Oct. 18 and have a nine-week run.“Straight Line Crazy,” the play by David Hare about the contentious urban planner Robert Moses, directed by Nicholas Hytner and Jamie Armitage, is coming to New York this fall.Following a buzzy spring run at the Bridge Theater in London, the play about Moses’s legacy of power and divisive creations of highways, parks and bridges will premiere at the Shed’s Griffin Theater for a nine-week run with preview performances starting Oct. 18 and an opening night slated for Oct. 26.“Straight Line Crazy” follows Moses’s rise to influence in the late 1920s as one of New York’s most powerful men, and then his devolution in the late 1950s, when grass-roots organizers and public transportation advocates decried his public works for displacing residents and disenfranchising communities who stood (or lived) in the way of his vision.“I think what this play evokes for us, and evokes here in New York, is who gets to shape our city spaces, who gets to shape our public spaces? What voices are engaged in these processes that affect so many?” Madani Younis, chief executive producer at the Shed, said in an interview.Moses will be played by the Tony Award-winning and Oscar-nominated actor Ralph Fiennes (also known for playing Lord Voldemort in the Harry Potter movies), returning to New York theater for the first time since 2006, when he starred as the gaunt miracle worker (and possible charlatan) in Brian Friel’s “Faith Healer.”The theater critic Matt Wolf wrote in The New York Times that in the London run of “Straight Line Crazy,” Fiennes had “enough barrel-chested authority to sustain interest in what might otherwise seem arcane,” adding that he almost wished the play were longer.Younis, of the Shed, said, “This is the rise and fall story of a very divisive figure and it stirs up questions for our present about civic responsibility, about values and who shapes cities.”“This is what great art should always do,” he said.The production will run through Dec. 18. More

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      in Theater

      Trump and Moses: American Power Brokers on London Stages

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      In new works by English playwrights, the 45th U.S. president plots to become the 47th, and the New York urban planner Robert Moses loses his mind.LONDON — Donald J. Trump won’t surrender the spotlight easily. But few could have guessed that he would find renewed life on the London stage, where Mike Bartlett’s scattershot satire, “The 47th,” opened last week at the Old Vic and will run through May 28.Why the number 47? Because the play takes off from America’s 45th president angling anew for top office in 2024. His appetite for attention remains undimmed, as does a fondness for golf. Bertie Carvel, whose portrayal of Trump is the play’s banner achievement, is first seen chugging into view on a golf cart: an impressive entrance that starts the play on a high.Dismounting to launch into a lengthy soliloquy bemoaning “four years of lonely exile,” the character before us looks and sounds uncannily like the man himself. Embodying a public figure 30 years his senior, Carvel — clearly padded — captures Trump’s outsize swagger and bullishness, alongside his ever-busy hands and that strangely fey voice. The tilted head and near-constant squint are perfectly caught, too.But those expecting the sort of “Saturday Night Live”-style broadside familiar from Alec Baldwin are in for a surprise. Within minutes, the audience is aware of a character, not a caricature, and one with a lot on his mind. The opening monologue depicts a vengeful figure acutely aware of how he is regarded: “I know, I know, you hate me,” this Trump remarks at the start.Promising “plans and plots aplenty,” Trump comes across as a Richard III for our time in a blank verse play that tosses out Shakespearean allusions like confetti. Seething with resentment but mindful of his dynasty, Trump gathers his three eldest children to search, like Lear, for an heir to a political kingdom he won’t lose without a fight.The play, to its credit, views Trump in three dimensions, and grants him a way with words you certainly wouldn’t expect from those lips in real life. “It’s not like you to coyly act the mute,” he tells Ivanka (a sleekly coiffed Lydia Wilson), a Cordelia equivalent reluctant — as in “King Lear” — to voice the affection that her father should already know. And I laughed out loud at this Trump’s dismissal of Machiavelli’s “The Prince” as too long — as if he would have opinions about a 16th-century political treatise.Joss Carter as the Shaman and Lydia Wilson as Ivanka Trump in “The 47th.”Marc BrennerWhen Carvel is center stage, “The 47th” entirely grips. The problem comes with a rambling, shapeless narrative that soon loses its way. It’s as if Bartlett were so busy trying to cover all bases that he leaves too many untended. (He’s certainly busy, with three plays running simultaneously in London.)The family drama, for instance, soon gives way to a portrait of an increasingly turbulent America whose anger has only intensified since the storming of the Capitol last year. Bartlett concocts a new slogan — “America rules” — that is emblazoned on banners spilling from the upper reaches of the theater to put us in a rallying state of mind. Miriam Buether’s set is itself quite plain: a blank canvas for a bellicose electorate.The imagined 2024 presidential race finds a sleepwalking, ailing Biden (a raspy-voiced Simon Williams) ceding center stage to Kamala Harris (the American actress Tamara Tunie), whom Trump duly treats with contempt. “You’re an ugly person,” he tells her. “I’m sorry but you are.” In fact, Tunie is so immediately classy and capable a presence that you wish she were given more to do.As well as characters we all know already, Bartlett presents some new ones, including Rosie (Ami Tredrea), a Republican, who derides her brother Charlie (James Cooney), a Democratic journalist, as “desperate and corrupt.” Rupert Goold’s production elsewhere brings on a QAnon-style Shaman (a furious Joss Carter) as a reminder of the darker forces that threaten democracy. Thrashing about in fury, he signifies a gathering anarchy that is also summoned by Ash J. Woodward’s video projections depicting mob misrule.Reuniting the team behind another play that peered into the immediate future, Bartlett’s “King Charles III,” this latest exercise in prophesy sags whenever Trump leaves the stage. His energy — however malign — is the motor that keeps it going, and Carvel certainly has my vote.Trump requires little introduction. But that might not be the case with Robert Moses, the Yale- and Oxford-educated urban planner and designer who died in 1981, age 92. His story famously informed the vast 1974 biography “The Power Broker,” by Robert Caro, and has now spawned a more streamlined play, “Straight Line Crazy.” Written by the English playwright David Hare, this exposition-heavy drama brings Ralph Fiennes roaring back to the stage as Moses and is running at the Bridge Theater through June 18.Ralph Fiennes as Robert Moses in David Hare’s “Straight Line Crazy,” directed by Nicholas Hytner at the Bridge Theater.Manuel HarlanAnyone who has made use of the highways and bridges in the greater New York area has probably traveled a route made possible by Moses, a hugely renowned figure in his day. A visionary who overflowed with ideas about how to reshape public spaces and the ways people obtain access to them, Moses attracted criticism as well. Although he didn’t drive himself, he was hostile to public transportation, not to mention casually racist and heedless of the communities displaced by the realization of his grand schemes. (One highway included bridges with deliberately inadequate clearance, so buses couldn’t use them.)Hare chooses two decisive points in Moses’ life to tell a story of vaulting ambition that devolves into the madness hinted at in the play’s title: 1926, as Moses, not far from 40, proposes building two parkways to link New York City to Long Island, and, after the intermission, 1955. The idea then was to build a sunken expressway that would cut through Lower Manhattan’s Washington Square Park.Fiennes has enough barrel-chested authority to sustain interest in what might otherwise seem arcane. You almost wish that the play, and Nicholas Hytner’s adroit production, were longer and amplified the material more. Moses’ nemesis, the urban space activist Jane Jacobs (Helen Schlesinger, struggling with the accent), gets a crucial speech at the top of the play, but this self-described warrior isn’t shown putting up much of a fight.The other characters — various employees of Moses included — largely pale next to the momentum that builds as Moses starts to break down. “I’d rather be right, and alone, than soft, and with other people,” he admits toward the end, showing the Trump-like megalomania that brings a piecemeal play to hurtling, powerfully acted life.The 47th. Directed by Rupert Goold. Old Vic, through May 28.Straight Line Crazy. Directed by Nicholas Hytner. Bridge Theater, through June 18. More