Equal parts Victorian melodrama and post-apocalyptic COVID-19 paranoia piece, Kelsey Egan’s Glasshouse offers much but delivers little. Hiding somewhere just under the surface of its wonderful set-up and premise (concerning an airborne toxin that causes its victims to lose their memory), the film squanders much of its potential by spreading its focus too thinly across varied themes.
Instead of narrowing in on heavy or topical issues like pandemic politics or patriarchy, Egan widens her lens to include a mish-mash of tangents and underdeveloped plot lines that deviate from her film’s core concepts. While I have no inherent misgivings about melodramatic elements included in movies — or even letting them dominate, should that be appropriate for the story — its use in Glasshouse forces an imperfect balance between an interesting examination of modern gender hierarchies and run-of-the-mill sibling jealousies.
However, Glasshouse does remain well-shot and well-acted, and the politics that stick do have value. Had it found a way to put some of its more disparate components on a better footing with what works well, I’d likely be singing a different tune.
Originally published by ASHEVILLE MOVIES.
James is a writer, skateboarder, record collector, wrestling nerd, and tabletop gamer living with his family in Asheville, North Carolina. He is a member of the Southeastern Film Critics Association, the North Carolina Film Critics Association, and contributes to The Daily Orca, Razorcake Magazine, Mountain Xpress, and Asheville Movies.