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In a world so rapidly growing and, in some aspects, decaying, it’s become even more difficult for humans to understand our own role — what, ultimately, makes us human? Our endless potential to create, or our unrestrained capacity to destroy?

That is just one of the many questions The Glassworker plants — and in this aspect, firmly answers — in our minds. Admittedly, this is one of those works of art which takes root in your heart unexpectedly deeply to the point where you have to actively dig those emotions out and force yourself to translate them into words. An experience no one should have to miss out on, it’s not just a glorious animated feature debut, but the first in Pakistan — our first hand-drawn feature length film.

That’s not something to be taken for granted. Usman Riaz, Mariam Pracha, Khizer Riaz — the director, art director and producer — as well as the other creators have quite literally made history and achieved something not just for Mano Animation Studios, but for the whole of Pakistan and the countless people who will be inspired, healed and simply touched by this monumental work of art.

It would be a must-watch for that feat alone, but I am so, so happy to report that on top of everything else, The Glassworker has even more to offer.

The undoubtable highlights are its masterpiece of a soundtrack and absolutely breathtaking animation, as well as the symbolism and motifs using glass, music and art to reflect the story and themes, but we’ll get into that a little later.

Considering Usman’s background in music, it was expected the soundtrack would be phenomenal, but even those with the highest expectations must have been blown away by how magnificent it truly was. Utterly enchanting and reflecting each scene perfectly, the music of The Glassworker is genuinely flawless.

Ethereal and intimate all at once, it allows us into the characters’ hearts and draws out our own emotions in a way so connected to the story on screen that our own world starts to drown out. This is made all the more impactful as the soundtrack itself is pivotal to the storyline of one of the main characters, Alliz, a skilled violinist who struggles expressing her own emotion except through music — her art, if you will. And the art of The Glassworker cannot be understated.

The gorgeous animation, along with the visual storytelling, is one of the most well done aspects of the film, bringing everything to life in a way that bursts out of the frame. Everything from the character design to the intentionality of the colours to even the magnificent backgrounds work together to make the world feel not just vibrant and whimsical, but lived in, especially with the parallels to Pakistan — every bazaar scene had me internally squealing, and the obsession with gulab jamun was all too relatable, but I digress. It just felt so… surreal to see such small yet big parts of our world, of us, reflected on screen.

If I had one word to describe it, the animation is simply whimsical. If I had another, it would be raw. Either way, breathtaking.

Usman, who has been working on the film since 2014, had mentioned in a clip at the beginning of screening how The Glassworker is a love letter to all the art that previously inspired him up to that point. I believe one of the biggest influences in particular to be Studio Ghibli, and if that is what the movie is reminiscent of, you can trust the animation holds up. However, even as someone following Mano Animations’ progress for quite a while, the movie astounded me.

At its heart, it’s a love story of multiple forms; between a young girl and boy, a father and his child, an artist and their creation, all encapsulated by perhaps the most important aspect — war, or, more specifically, the decay and destruction that it brings. However, this is no Grave of the Fireflies, for all you Ghibli fans out there — it is much more akin to The Wind Rises; essentially a much softer story than what most might expect from an anti-war movie, but just as profound.

It follows a young Vincent learning the art of glasswork from his father, Tomas, honing his skill while having to navigate growing up amidst a war. Already quite a lot for a boy, but there is also his developing relationship with his pacifistic father in their ultra patriotic town. Then there is Alliz, the musically-skilled daughter of Colonel Amano, who enters Vincent’s life almost as abruptly as the war itself. Their friendship serves as an escape and eventually seems to grow into something more, which is complicated considering how Alliz’s father is a highly respected officer, instrumental in their country’s wartime efforts and Vincent’s is, well, a pacifist. Alas, that isn’t even their biggest problem because, just as it seeps into every other aspect of their lives, the ongoing war manages to interfere even here, spreading “like a disease,” in Alliz’s words.

I’m trying my best to avoid spoilers here, so just trust me when I say the characters are all incredibly endearing. Because of how wonderfully the animation and storytelling allows the audience to connect to their depth, we are able to naturally connect to the fantastical world by extension and be truly drawn into the story. Balancing multiple themes such as grief, loss, innocence and childhood, it’s safe to say the two most prominent themes are the travesties of war and the beauty of creation; art.

The ability to create, to be able to impact and craft something of meaning for the world, is conveyed as something through which the characters not only reflect their own emotions and complexities but also that of the world around them. Since two of the most important characters are artists, Vincent with his glasswork and Alliz with her violin, it’s no surprise that their crafts and journeys are paralleled, intertwining and reflecting each other’s growth and inspiration as well as communicating their deepest feelings through their respective arts.

With Vincent and the glasswork especially, it conveys the way war has been affecting his world as much as his art, even corrupting it to an extent. This motif extends past just Vincent to overall story, allowing some of the side characters more depth.

A moment worth highlighting is when Colonel Amano ends up in Tomas and Vincent’s workshop and, despite being a war man who knows little of art beyond that which his daughter shows him through her violin, a particular glass sculpture catches his eye, made by rising prodigy Vincent himself. Most would have likely missed the importance of the sculpture, unless they have some knowledge about sculpting or, like my father, happen to remember a very similar statue in their own house. The sculpture that Vincent made and the Colonel was drawn towards is a well-established abstract interpretation of a mother and her child. To think that this soldier, preparing to go off for war and who must have difficulty understanding art and creation, although not for lack of trying, felt a connection to a sculpture that represents the one thing he does know is just beautiful, especially as he gifts it to his own wife and daughter before leaving for war.

Implicitly, it’s not just about how the sculpture represents what he knows, but what truly matters. The Colonel couldn’t have known about the meaning behind the sculpture — it’s not something stated nor given much weight in the movie itself — but that is the glory of animation; no matter how wonderful a movie may already seem, there is always more in the details.

Regardless, the symbolism was my favourite part of the film, but that may just be because I personally prioritise storytelling and this aspect of it was handled phenomenally. Any issues I have overall just boil down to certain acts or moments feeling rushed, and if the biggest issue with a film is wishing there was more of it, that’s not too bad. I believe the movie was originally meant to be closer to two hours long before around half an hour was cut in the earlier years of production — before longer movies like The Batman or Oppenheimer became more acceptable — and can’t help but wonder how the original uncut production would have turned out.

I will say, having seen both English and Urdu versions, the Urdu version brings out the emotions more viscerally and is the one I would recommend, with the highlight performance from both versions being Tomas’s Urdu voice actor, Khaled Anam. Tomas also happens to be my favourite character, and the way Anam manages to bring him to life gives me chills even just thinking about it now. However, there is also a particular line in the English version regarding “a spoil of war” that sadly isn’t captured in the Urdu translation, so both dubs have their values.

However, if I’m being honest, the best thing to do would be to watch both. Tragically beautiful, longingly haunting and still utterly whimsical, The Glassworker is a wonderful film about the value of creation, the brutality of war, and is more than worth your time.