Review: The Glass House

Ruby Baker (Leelee Sobieski) is a tough teen. She’s an E-poppin’ raver who thinks most horror films are patently frightless, oblivious that her cradle will soon rock. When Mom and Dad die in a mysterious car accident, she and her brother, Rhett (Trevor Morgan), are left to play a lame game of architectural Twister in the home of Terry (Stellan Skarsgård) and Erin Glass (Diane Lane). Although the house is made of glass, director Daniel Sackheim skimps on the obvious—only minds shatter in this foster home. Terry and Erin are typically refined, anal-retentive ghouls (they just don’t understand that everyone doesn’t like calamari!). Ruby and Rhett are wards of the state slowly adjusting to the unadjustable. Rhett, though, is a little rough around the edges, letting Ruby do all the problem solving. Was Terry reaching for the girl’s vagina or was he really trying to fasten her seatbelt? Discuss. Glass House is best when at its sleaziest. Ruby goes for a nightly swim in the Glass pool only to have her breasts leered at by the creepy Terry. Even better is Erin’s living room stupor—whether she’s a diabetic or a druggie is beside the point, Lane plays it like the character is doing yoga. For a morally unscrupulous duo seeking to squeeze the Baker children of their inheritance, Terry and Erin are remarkably stupid. It’s only a matter of time before Ruby’s first hunches are realized. Erin’s insulin addiction and Terry’s mob debts are revealed just in time to push the plot along. The film superficially evokes the tale of Hansel and Gretal and while there are some nice scares throughout, François Ozon did this kind of thing better with his Criminal Lovers.