The Glassworker review: flashes of beauty and brilliance
Usman Riaz's The Glassworker is a sensitively rendered and beautifully drawn story about love and war.
Vincent Oliver (Sacha Dhawan) is a glassblower who lives in the fictitious town of Waterfront. His father Tomas (Art Malik) is having a moment of pride as he paints a poster for Vincent's solo exhibition of glassworks in the shop he has mentored his son in. Tomas is proud that his son has followed in his footsteps and furthermore has made a name for himself as a glass artist.
The story casts back to Vincent's boyhood when he first started learning the art of glasswork from his father, a loving but sometimes rigid disciplinarian. The father and son's favourite pastime is to recall how Tomas met and fell in love with Vincent's mother Mehr, who passed away due to a lung condition. This is a regret expressed by Tomas later in the film; he blames himself for pushing his beloved wife to continue glassblowing despite her weak lungs.
The film is entrenched in the mysterious nature of love that is both fragile and enduring. We see this in not just the delicate but eye-catching glass objects that fill the shelves of Oliver Glass shop, but also in the evolution of Vincent's relationships with both his father and the object of his affection from the first time he lays eyes on her. In fact, this running theme is so sensitively rendered in moments that it comes across as a personal fixation of the filmmaker. Despite other story arcs, lifelong love that is elevated as an overarching theme.
From the get go, viewers will be impressed with the romantic drawing style and the picturesque scenes of the setting of Waterfront. The 2D animation certainly takes its artistic licence and runs with it. Don’t expect it to be set in a desi familiar surrounding. Of course the name of the protagonist is indication enough of that. The film, available in English and Urdu, stretches the imagination to draw the viewer into a completely fictitious world without boundaries. In the English version, there are diverse British accents the characters speak in; the names of people are predominantly Pakistani other than the protagonist and his dad. The place names too are English but that is not an anomaly for us given our history. The wardrobe is inspired by Pakistani dress but mostly the characters are clad in Western garb. Riaz has explained in interviews that the inspiration for most of the setting is Karachi, for example the music academy which is a prominent setting of many events in the film is drawn after the image of the Victorian style Empress Market building. Finding such ‘Easter eggs’ in the film is an endearing touch that will delight all Pakistani viewers. Names of the Mano Studios crew are also slipped in throughout the film in a kind nod to the teamwork that enabled the materialisation of Pakistan's first-ever hand-drawn film.
The story of Vincent the boy growing up into a man took shape over 10 years in the making at Mano Studios in Karachi. The Glassworker thus is an example of not giving up on your dreams no matter where you come from and what comes your way. Riaz even had to go to the length of convincing the parents of the team he was hiring locally to allow their grown children to come on board. Such was the scepticism he faced when he even talked about his whimsical project (#onlyinPakistan).
When a colonel's daughter, Alliz, comes to Waterfront, Vincent's world changes. They begin a friendship, which transforms into life-changing love. The star-crossed lovers grow up together against a background of war and social class differences. Vincent's father is a known pacifist, a shop owner and not a well-to-do man. He has his own ideas of life, which entail rejecting formal education for his son and home-schooling him instead. Alliz belongs to the upper crust of society and is a gifted violinist. When she and her parents come to live in Waterfront, the family is given nothing less of a royal welcome. Only Tomas Oliver resists. He wants the jackboots to stomp back to where they came from. His dismay is validated later as the entry of the Colonel literally brings a war home to the glass shop's town. The conflict is over “the deep ravine”, an area which two parties lay claim to, much like the Kashmir conflict.
The war and strife is depicted in some of the most magnificent illustration and accompaniment music in the film. Menacing red skies with grey clouds of smoke and bursts of flames create the complete impact of war imagery. The music rises and crashes, keeping tempo with the violently fast confusion of missiles dropping from the skies.
Most of the war scenes are heavily inspired by Ghibli Studio films and are executed quite well. The element of rain that usually appears in Ghibli films is employed in most of the war scenes, as army men defend against an attack in the night rain. The play of light and shadow is similarly delightfully accomplished in The Glassworker, especially when the missile planes cast a foreboding darkness over the faces of Alliz and Vincent as they lie in a green field under the bright sun. The night scenes are depicted in lovely bluish-grey hues.
In the aftermath of a bomb, ash falls from the sky like soft rain and the visual of small embers floating down on Vincent and Alliz inside a devastated building is beautifully haunting.
The scene is also a turning point in the story and may surprise the viewers about the trajectory of the young lovers’ path. There are bigger surprises in the last half-hour that come out of left field. The storyline overall becomes hard to grasp and unwieldy.
For example, a jinn is introduced in the beginning, which only Vincent can see. It piques your interest as a clever idea for bringing in a supernatural presence, which is explained in Islamic terms by Vincent. However, the jinn's presence is not explored while it keeps appearing at random moments. By the end, the jinn is a big question mark left in your mind.
At the same time, some viewers could perceive that as successfully maintaining the sense of mystery that the film begins with. Some of the cinemagoers were discussing how the ending is left open to interpretation. Personally, I was left confused rather than mystified. There were too many strands to gather as the narrative rushed to conclude, in contrast to its rather sluggish first half.
Riaz said in an interview to BBC Urdu that he is grateful that he has seen his labour of love materialise eventually because there were years when he thought the film would never be completed or see the light of day. This may be the problem behind the irregular flow and disparate story arcs that come across as disorienting. The masterful frame-by-frame drawings take precedence over the cohesion of the plot line. This is no great sin, for The Glassworker has set a rare precedent in cinematic art of Pakistan. Having accomplished the dream of making the first hand-drawn Pakistani film and bringing it to reality is feat enough. The Glassworker has been recognised at various international film festivals already. It is curious for such a work of art to come out in the strange times we are living in, times which present no escape from harsh realities as anything imaginary or creative is deemed suspect or sinful.
One hopes the next 2D film on offer will not take as long to come to the starved audience of Pakistan. Kudos to Mano Studios for its determination and artistic skills.