Dancing on Glass (Las Niñas de Cristal) — Review

Spanish director Jota Linares offers his take on the ballet thriller genre with Dancing on Glass (Las Niñas de Cristal), starring María Pedraza (Money Heist, Elite) and Paula Losada.

When the principal dancer of a prestigious ballet company dies by suicide, everyone assumes Ruth (Olivia Baglivi) will replace her in the upcoming production of Giselle. To everyone’s shock, the company promotes Irene (Pedraza) instead. While Irene struggles with self-doubt and a fear of failure, particularly under the cruel tutelage of Norma (Mona Martínez), the company director, Irene finds a confidante in the shy Aurora (Losada). New to the company, Aurora lacks social confidence because of a large birthmark on her face and instead leans into her undeniable ballet talent by transporting herself to a secret, solitary world in which she feels completely safe. She shares her secret world with Irene, and together they use it to escape the mounting challenges and pressures of the outside world as opening night of Giselle draws closer.

The film incorporates several high performance art/sports movie tropes in which the protagonist’s intense commitment has a heavy psychological toll (the mind immediately jumps to Black Swan). There’s the overbearing parent who lives vicariously through their child, pushing them to succeed in their place; the controlling director who pushes their charges too far; and the mounting pressure and paranoia that lead to the protagonist’s descent into madness. The choice of Giselle is a little on the nose as well. What stands out in Dancing on Glass, however, is the strength of friendship between Irene and Aurora and their spiritual connection.

Magical realism plays an important role in the film. In Aurora’s fantastical, dreamlike secret world, she dances alone amongst crystal glass figurines—human-sized versions of the miniatures that decorate her bedroom. When she shares this special place with Irene, it forges a bond between them. Irene, who tends to literally stumble under pressure, always dances phenomenally when Aurora is there, transporting them into that safe realm. It shifts into a place that truly belongs to them both when they find a reservoir oasis and dance across the glassy water’s surface in a magical sequence. Their friendship is somewhat undefinable; Aurora clearly desires more and idolizes Irene, but Irene keeps it platonic. And yet, it goes deeper than regular friendship as their spiritual connection grows stronger.

The unintentional consequence of the secret, safe place is that without it (and the calm confidence it provides), Irene becomes a bit unhinged. As rehearsals intensify, an unfortunate incident keeps Irene and Aurora apart. Alone, Irene becomes increasingly on edge, struggling with self-doubt and paranoid that the other dancers are out to get her. She continues to spiral, isolating herself further from her peers and family while simultaneously becoming more susceptible to Norma’s cruel influence as the director reinforces Irene’s seclusion.

Pedraza and Losada give solid performances, and the film does an apt job transferring the narrative tension onto viewers, making us feel Irene’s paranoia even while we doubt the rationality of it. In part this is due to narrative expectations stemming from the film’s predecessors, like Black Swan, in which the lead ballerina spirals out of control to her death. We see the same signs, similar tropes, and so expect the same outcome. The film throws in a few twists that truly surprise viewers, but the finale leaves us wanting as it concludes much the same old way.

The English title, Dancing on Glass, seemingly refers to the reservoir oasis where Irene and Aurora danced on the glass-like water; alternatively, however, the title speaks to the pain of dancing on shards of glass and the physical toll of ballet. More than once, characters in the film mention the idea of placing shards of glass under a dancer’s feet as a means of sabotaging her, and Irene herself experiences one such prank. We repeatedly see the ballet dancers’ bleeding and broken feet (not from any glass but from ballet itself), and realize they dance through unimaginable pain. It’s a broader observation about the nature of high art, and ballet in particular, as a double-edged sword, beauty and cruelty on either side.

There’s something disquietingly captivating about the sheer physical and mental commitment ballet demands, requiring such obsession and sacrifice to reach even just a moment at the peak—or at least, that’s what the movies tell us. And it keeps filmmakers and audiences returning to the subject time and again. Written by Linares and Jorge Naranjo, Dancing on Glass is currently streaming on Netflix.