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A disclaimer: I am not a fan of modernist architecture. It is ok in some settings; if you have an Architectural Digest-worthy house cantilevered off a cliff overlooking the ocean, or perched on a bluff with miles of mountain or desert vistas stretching in all directions, a modernist structure might work: simplicity of line; expanses of glass to admit the out-of-doors; a structure that depends on its setting for effect. But modernism usually seems barren in more ordinary settings, and it tends not to play well with other styles. Most of us have neighbors next door and across the street, and I would be embarrassed to trash their view with a sterile modernist structure.

That said, I will still put in a plug for my favorite movie discovery of recent years: Columbus (Kogonada, 2017). The film is not "about" architecture, exactly, but it uses the modernist architecture of Columbus, Indiana to great effect. An architectural exploration becomes an important narrative prop in an unlikely emergent friendship (John Cho and Haley Lu Richardson, both excellent), and modernism becomes a metaphor. It is very well done. The film itself is an exploration of family, loss, loneliness, relationships and moving on. It is contemplative; there are no zombies, aliens, explosions, terrorists, sex scenes or car chases, and nobody dies. It is brilliantly acted and beautifully shot. It starts very quietly and builds; give it 15 minutes for the story to come to you, and you will be hooked.

The Columbus architecture story is worth knowing. J. Irwin Miller was for many years president and then chairman of Cummins, a big company that stayed home in Columbus, Indiana. Somewhere along the line, Miller got interested in modernist architecture. Under his guidance, the Cummins Foundation offered to pay the architectural fees for any Columbus institution willing to invest in a prestige building designed by an architect drawn from an approved list. As a result, Columbus has an astonishing collection of buildings designed by the top modernist architects of the mid-20th century. I had the opportunity to drive through Columbus earlier this year. The modernist buildings there are moderately scaled, in a way that is appropriate for a smaller, low-density midwestern city. At this scale, good landscaping makes a big difference and they blend very nicely with their more traditionist neighbors. (The biggest and ugliest modernist building, not surprisingly, is a school, which the film mocks as "brutal.") Anyone who wants to hate on modernist architecture should visit Columbus and see what can be achieved if done right. At larger scales, however, massive concrete, steel and glass buildings that can't be balanced by landscaping turn me off.