The Glass Wall (1953)

Locarno Film Festival 2024

Pardo Daily 2024 Edition, Film Review p.8-9

In this fast-paced ‘50s film noir thriller, it’s easy to get swept up in the hectic plight of our protagonist, Peter Kuban (Vittorio Gassman). While his struggles drive the plot, there’s something equally important happening along the sidelines: the background story of the secondary characters. At first, it might seem a little random, maybe a little unnerving – why so many details of their lives? But if you stay with it, I promise these will reveal something essential about the film – mainly the connection it makes between one’s social class, one’s moral compass, and the human condition, which makes Maxwell Shane’s The Glass Wall (1953) both universal and timeless.

Meet Peter. Peter is a stowaway, a displaced person, a refugee, a nationless, penniless man with only eight dollars to his name. He is at the absolute bottom of the social hierarchy, a pariah in every sense of the word. Not to worry, Peter will get what is coming to him; the events that unfold will be merciless. Peter has only known war since childhood. Peter has committed no crime. Peter is fundamentally good, with a purity typically reserved for saints and animals. Peter is a war hero, an uncertified, undocumented war hero. Also – and importantly – Peter wants to live, to live, to

live with an ounce of dignity.

Then there is the border, this all-encompassing entity, this machine that needs to be fed. It needs the proper documentation, the proper passports, the right stamps, the convincing story, the certified story. (I had a little déjà vu of Lisa Gerig’s The Hearing [Die Anhörung, 2021], showing in this year’s Panorama Suisse, and I was rooting for him to flourish his story a little better.) It spits out the law, the law, the law. “That’s the law,” and that’s final. But is there a chance to…? NO! THE LAW! Peter jumps out of the window. The bureaucratic maze of a senseless obsession with technicalities triumphs over Peter’s reality and transforms him into a criminal.

Meet Maggie (Gloria Grahame), Peter’s romantic counterpart. She is one step above him in the social hierarchy, if only because she has a nationality. Maggie is a single woman, an unskilled laborer, a member of the working poor. Maggie faces sexual harassment both at work and at home. Maggie underwent a minor operation, which led to her losing her job. Maggie is hungry. Maggie is cold. Maggie is broke, and on the verge of becoming homeless. Maggie is fed up, fed up, fed up. Maggie wants to strike back at somebody. Anybody. Maggie makes the choice to help Peter.

In a failing social system that lacks universal healthcare and the right to adequate housing, Maggie becomes a criminal.

Director Shane offers a thesis: as individuals ascend the social ladder, their moral standards tend to decline. The myriad of secondary characters illustrate this, as their positions in the social hierarchy directly influence their actions and words regarding Peter’s situation.

Tanya (Robin Raymond), a first-generation American and single mother of two, works nights at a cabaret. Despite her relative stability– she has a family and a job– she only helps Peter after finding out why he’s on the lam. Tom (Jerry Paris), whom Peter once rescued, benefits from even more security as a member of the musician’s union. This detail is subtle but significant, yet Tom initially turns his back on Peter. We also see Tom’s fiancé, Nancy (Ann Robinson), a well-dressed woman whose profession is never revealed but who is affluent enough to support Tom. Although she finds Peter’s situation troubling, she quickly dismisses it and instead focuses her energy on getting hitched.

All these individuals live against the backdrop of two grand forces pulling the strings of destiny: the city and the United Nations. The film’s New York is a harsh, impersonal entity. This portrayal reflects a broader reality applicable to any bustling city where rest is elusive – a city that neglects its inhabitants, with scarce public spaces, contrasting the oppressive streets with the relative sanctuary of private homes.

As for the United Nations, it is omnipresent throughout the film and mentioned constantly. However, at the pivotal moment when Peter barges into the human rights commission, looking for sanctuary, the camera lingers on the empty seats of the supposed guardians of human rights. The irony is clear, both in 1953 and in 2024, as Peter, hanging his head, says “You come here to bring peace to the world, but what is the world as long as there is one man who can’t walk free? As long as there is one displaced person without a home? There

won’t be peace.”

In a system designed to keep the poor impoverished, immigrants excluded, and those who don’t fit the mold criminalized, the vulnerable remain unprotected. The law, though portrayed as unyielding, is inconsistent, raising questions about justice and fairness. In the current political climate, marked by the rise of the far right and political unrest, the film serves as a reminder: before acting and speaking on world affairs, maybe we should remember Tanya’s mother’s words that most of our own forefather were “good-for-nothing immigrants”.