Glassland smartly plays off Jean's unhinged disintegration against John's tense, subdued control. In that contrast lies the power of this film.
A downbeat serving of kitchen-sink social realism with the sink itself thrown in for good measure.
Glassland is a small film with an emotional punch that wallops above its weight class.
Matt Zoller Seitz
This is a hard, spare, tough movie, at times nearly jarring in its lack of adornment.
There's much in the movie to admire until it runs headlong into a stone wall.
In the movie's best scene, as mother and son dance to an old pop song, the look on Reynor's face speaks volumes about loss and hope. It's a look that's going to be breaking hearts on screen for decades to come.
The film is an intensely descriptive, head-to-the-ground mood piece, and when it's not talking too much, Glassland is the satisfyingly tangled love story of a boy and his mama.
Jean is such a monster, and John such a put-upon sweetheart, that Glassland offers little more than undiluted bathos for over an hour.
Bring plenty of Kleenex. A nickel pack won't do.