The director of The Glassworker talks with us about storyboarding the whole film himself, building Mano Animation Studios from nothing, and finally seeing his dreams premiere at Annecy.
For more than a decade, Usman Riaz has been working on a single film. The Glassworker, the first feature from Mano Animation Studios, took ten years to move from an early idea to the screen, and the journey says as much about perseverance as it does about craft. This question lies at the heart of Ten Years to Make a Film, a talk at SACC26 that follows the long road behind an animated feature.
When you look back at the person who started The Glassworker ten years ago, what would surprise that version of you most about the film you eventually made?
I think he would be surprised that we actually finished it! When I started The Glassworker, I understood very little about what it truly takes to make a feature-length animated film, and I was operating largely on instinct, ambition and probably a healthy amount of naivety. What began as drawings and ideas eventually became a film involving hundreds of people, years of work, and an entire studio that had to grow alongside it. I think the younger version of me would also be surprised by how much of the original feeling survived that journey, because despite everything we learned and everything that changed, I can still recognize the film I wanted to make all those years ago. What I could never have imagined was seeing it completed and then watching audiences experience it around the world. Making even one film is a miracle, and I understand that now in a way I simply couldn’t when I began.
What does it mean to you that The Glassworker was made in Pakistan and then entered conversations at festivals like Annecy? Did you ever feel pressure to make a film that would “represent Pakistan” internationally, or did you deliberately try to avoid that expectation?
It means an enormous amount to me, particularly because when we began there was no established hand-drawn feature animation industry in Pakistan for us to step into. To make the film there and then have it premiere at Annecy, alongside films from some of the most established animation cultures in the world, was incredibly emotional. But I never wanted The Glassworker to carry the burden of representing an entire country or 250 million people, because no single film possibly can.
I wanted to make something truthful to us, and naturally our experiences and where we come from found their way into the film alongside my influences from Japanese animation, European cinema, art and music from around the world. I think artists from Pakistan, the Middle East, South Asia and elsewhere should be able to tell whatever stories compel them rather than feeling obligated to explain where they come from to an international audience. Perhaps the most meaningful thing The Glassworker can represent is simply the possibility that a film like this can come from Pakistan at all.
While working on it, you were also building the infrastructure and team needed to make that film. What did you have to learn about running a studio that you never expected to? How did you build a team around a creative vision without making everyone feel like they’re simply executing one person’s idea?
We weren’t only making The Glassworker, we were building Mano Animation Studios and figuring out how to make a film of this scale at the same time. I learned that having a clear vision is only the beginning of directing; you also have to communicate it so that hundreds of people across different disciplines understand not only what you want, but why you want it. I storyboarded the entire film, so the staging, performances, compositions, camera movement, atmosphere and many of the smaller details were already established as a detailed visual foundation for the team.
My job was then to maintain and guide that vision through production while giving each artist room to bring their own skill and expertise to how it was realized. Giving artists ownership over their particular discipline doesn’t mean relinquishing the larger vision; it means communicating it clearly enough that everyone understands what they are working toward and can bring the best of their abilities to it. I’m incredibly grateful to every artist who brought their talent, craft and dedication to realizing what I had drawn and envisioned on screen.
