Originating in the 1950s and continuing through the 1970s, Brutalist architecture is a style that has lived up to its name. It undoubtedly inspired several generations of architects, some of whom have become a source of reference (see note at the end of this analysis). This trend, its aggressive forms, whatever one may think of it from a strictly aesthetic point of view, the dimensions with which it was associated, often inhuman, were really a form of brutality done to the inhabitants of the cities in which it was deployed. There was a world between Christopher Foss’ colourful, futuristic visions on the covers of science fiction novels of the time and the massive, grey, crushing, cold reality of concrete. Brutalism will undoubtedly have materialised the gap between the vision of the architectes and the stark reality of the achievements left as a legacy to the ‘passers-by’.
Skateboarding, that little plank on wheels, born of Californian coolness, was and still is an urban vehicle by nature. It allowed and still allows you to create movement, your own movement. To free yourself from the city, which isn’t systematically brutal, let’s not exaggerate, but sometimes disarming, sometimes confusing, dehumanizing. Skateboarding was a way of appropriating public space, the very architecture of the city, of creating a link with one’s own living space. This is what the film suggests, and precisely what the developers, and even less the local authorities, did not understand at the time. Yet skateboarding was the best way for young people to free themselves from the “brutality” of the city. It was also a way to love it, to discover it, to appreciate the architecture itself, and even to learn about it.
