The Glassworker (2024) Review
Directed by first-time director Usman Riaz and written by Moya O’Shea, The Glassworker is a Pakistani-produced film that follows the life of a young glassworker named Vincent Oliver. Vincent is raised in the fictional town of Waterfront, known for its rich soil and unique sand quality, which Vincent and his father, Tomas, use to make their signature glass objects. One day, a young girl named Alliz visits the shop out of curiosity and inadvertently rescues Vincent as he almost drops an intricately made glass rose. This little meet-cute sparks an unlikely friendship between the two of them, prompting Vincent to even bring her over to the furnace in the shop’s basement to show her how to make glass objects. However, when Tomas—a staunch pacifist—discovers that she is Colonel Amano’s daughter, he forbids her from coming over to the glass shop again.
Right off the bat, The Glassworker does its absolute best to resemble a Miyazaki production. I can see it in the big-eyed character designs, the blend of traditional watercolor with 2D animation, and the passionate anti-war message. At the same time, the film also liberally borrows stylistic elements from Makoto Shinkai’s work, as seen with the emphasis on soft, earthy tones and warm lights in tandem with the bold and unique colors of the glass works in the shop, along with containing a small magical element that connects our two protagonists in the form of a Djinn (flame spirits). However, the film also suffers from crucial animation errors. Character movement will sometimes look very flat, wooden, and stilted. I’m not sure if this was a mere oversight on the production team’s part or due to budget constraints, but these animation hiccups are not only jarring; they take you out of the heartfelt story right as it sucks you in. And even though the Djinn serves as a recurring motif showing the connection between Vincent and Alliz, it’s quickly forgotten about until the final 15 minutes of the film, making it feel more like an afterthought than a motif.
Fortunately, the film makes up for any slight hiccups with its superbly written characters. It’s always a joy seeing Vincent and Alliz’s interactions as they learn more about each other and their respective lives. Even though Alliz is Colonel Amano’s daughter, she has a deep abiding love for the musical arts as a violin prodigy. This passion was instilled in her by her father, who is an art connoisseur himself. Her curious, carefree, and empathetic personality and his warm and caring exterior, along with their shared artistic passions, are what bridge the gap between their strict societal classes. Unfortunately, the cruel, cold tendrils of reality mercilessly tear them apart despite their destined and innocent love for one another. This is present in the form of Malik, Alliz’s fellow classmate, who has taken a romantic interest in her. He also develops a rivalry with Vincent, seeing him as cowardly due to his and his father’s pacifism.
When Malik joins the army, he admits doing so for Alliz, hoping that by bravely serving his country, he could win her affection. This only infuriates Vincent more, especially when Alliz reveals that she and Malik have been writing to each other. It’s here, where the film takes a turn to explore the complexities of masculinity and insecurity. Vincent wants to prove his feelings to Alliz yet doesn’t feel worthy to be in a relationship with her because he feels that being a pacifist in a militarized nation makes him less of a man. Meanwhile, Malik’s hyper-willingness to serve along with his obnoxiously pseudo-alpha male behavior makes him come across as a near parallel to Beauty & the Beast’s Gaston. Despite this off-putting behavior, Malik does prove his mettle with honor, heroically rescuing Colonel Amano and several other soldiers during a disastrous and bloody battle, winning Alliz’s affection, much to the envy of Vincent.
But Malik isn’t the only character who experiences this duality and depth. In fact, Colonel Amano (who is occasionally incorrectly referred to as “General”) is almost portrayed as the antithesis of a stern military father. When we first meet him, we see him through Alliz’s eyes. Unlike, say, the initially cold and distant Captain Von Trapp from The Sound of Music, Colonel Amano frequently encourages Alliz to pursue her passion for music and frequently showers her with gifts from the war. You might think that he’s an exceptionally kind man, but even the friendliest bull shark is no less dangerous than the rest of its ilk. To propel their war efforts ahead, Colonel Amano pays a late-night visit to Tomas’ glass shop and requests his help to build them a superior glass rectifier. When Tomas refuses, he threatens to send him to boot camp and place him on the front lines without any consideration for his son’s well-being, showing just how far he is willing to go to see his desired end to the war.
There are so many foreign films that we would never think of giving a chance. But if you look past the dull and uninspired slop flooding your recommendations, you’ll find quaint gems like this film. Does The Glassworker stand apart from its inspirations? If you love Miyazaki’s art style but wish for an animated film more along the tragic lines of The Notebook, you will love The Glassworker. Despite some occasional choppy animation and pacing, along with a somewhat slow second act, The Glassworker is a decent directorial debut for anyone to have under their belt and serves as an aesthetic wonder of Pakistani animation.
