In the fractured psyche of Kevin Wendell Crumb, The Beast emerges not as a monster, but as Shyamalan’s ultimate subversion of the caped crusader mythos.

 

M. Night Shyamalan’s audacious trilogy culminates in Glass (2019), a film that pits the primal fury of The Beast against the grounded heroism of David Dunn and the manipulative genius of Elijah Price, all while dissecting the very notion of superheroes through the lens of dissociative identity disorder. Bridging Split (2016) with Unbreakable (2000), this showdown reimagines comic book tropes as psychological terrors, forcing audiences to question the boundary between delusion and destiny.

 

  • Shyamalan masterfully deconstructs superhero conventions by grounding extraordinary abilities in mental fragility and human vulnerability.
  • The Beast, born from Kevin’s tormented alters, embodies a feral antithesis to traditional heroes, challenging notions of power and control.
  • Through Glass‘s climactic identity battle, the film exposes the fragility of self, blending horror with philosophical inquiry into what makes us superhuman.

 

Shattered Reflections: The Beast’s Assault on Superhero Sanctity

At the heart of Glass lies a narrative woven from the threads of its predecessors. David Dunn, the reluctant guardian from Unbreakable, has spent nearly two decades operating in the shadows as "The Overseer," using his superhuman strength and sensory perception to thwart criminals in Philadelphia. Meanwhile, Kevin Wendell Crumb’s multiple personalities—collectively known as The Horde—have unleashed The Beast, a towering, super-agile abomination with reptilian skin and cannibalistic urges, first terrorizing in Split. Enter Elijah Price, alias Mr. Glass, the brittle genius whose comic book obsessions orchestrated the original train crash that awakened Dunn’s powers. Confined together in Raven Hill Memorial, a psychiatric facility overseen by the skeptical Dr. Ellie Staple, these three icons of extraordinary humanity clash in a battle that is as much internal as external.

The storyline unfolds with meticulous tension. Dunn captures The Beast after a brutal parking lot skirmish, only for both to be institutionalised alongside the revived Price. Staple employs drugs, surveillance, and psychological manipulation to dismantle their beliefs in their own exceptionalism, revealing footage that seemingly debunks their feats as mere tricks of adrenaline or illusion. Yet beneath this clinical facade simmers a powder keg of egos and identities. Price schemes from his fragile frame, pitting Dunn against The Beast while nursing his own god complex. The Beast, switching between Kevin’s 23 personalities—including the maternal Hedwig and the protective Patricia—represents chaos incarnate, his transformations marked by visceral physical changes that defy medical logic.

Shyamalan directs this convergence with his signature restraint, favouring long takes and intimate close-ups over bombast. Samuel L. Jackson reprises Elijah with oily charisma, his wheelchair-bound form a stark contrast to Bruce Willis’s stoic Dunn, whose every rain-soaked stalk evokes quiet menace. James McAvoy dominates as Kevin/The Horde, contorting his body into grotesque postures that blur the line between performance and possession. Anya Taylor-Joy returns as Casey Cooke, the survivor from Split, serving as the moral anchor amid the escalating madness. The film’s production faced scrutiny post-Split‘s success, with Shyamalan reclaiming the narrative from Universal after Disney’s acquisition of Fox, turning potential franchise fodder into a personal meditation on myth-making.

What elevates Glass beyond genre exercise is its unflinching interrogation of dissociative identity disorder (DID) as both affliction and superpower. The Beast is no mere villain; he is the id unbound, a primal response to Kevin’s childhood abuse. Shyamalan consulted psychologists to portray the alters authentically—Hedwig’s childlike lisp, Patricia’s refined accent, Barry’s emails—yet amplifies them into mythological proportions. This fusion horrifies because it humanises: superpowers stem not from serums or bites, but from trauma’s alchemy, where fractured minds forge unbreakable wills.

The Horde’s Savage Symphony

Diving into Kevin’s psyche reveals a microcosm of horror. Each personality guards the internal ecosystem, with The Beast as apex predator, emerging when purity demands retribution. McAvoy’s portrayal in the zoo sequence—scaling walls, shrugging off porcupine quills—is a tour de force, his eyes wild with feral intelligence. Sound design amplifies the shift: guttural roars layered over cracking bones, courtesy of cinematographer Mike Gioulakis’s shadowy frames. These scenes dissect class undertones too; Kevin’s working-class torment contrasts Dunn’s blue-collar everyman and Price’s intellectual elite, suggesting heroism as socioeconomic sleight-of-hand.

One pivotal moment unfolds in the facility’s sodium-lit corridors, where The Beast tears through reinforced glass—ironic given the title—his claws scraping like industrial nightmares. Lighting plays cruel tricks, casting elongated shadows that symbolise the sprawl of Kevin’s mind. Here, Shyamalan nods to giallo traditions, with coloured gels evoking Argento’s psychosexual dread, but grounds it in American realism. The Beast’s invulnerability to toxins underscores the theme: mental barriers render the body impervious, a horrifying inversion of vulnerability.

Unbreakable Facades Crumble

David Dunn’s arc fractures under scrutiny. His weakness to water, established in Unbreakable, becomes Staple’s weapon, drowning him in a flooded room in a sequence of suffocating claustrophobia. Willis conveys Dunn’s isolation through minimal dialogue, his drowned gaze haunting. This deconstruction pierces superhero invincibility; Dunn’s "overwhelming" sense of evil is recast as heightened empathy, a curse rather than gift. Shyamalan draws from comic lore—Price’s Mr. Glass moniker from Steel—to mock fan service while elevating personal stakes.

Elijah Price orchestrates with chess-master precision, his comic book room a shrine to deified mortals. Jackson’s performance crackles with messianic zeal, quoting Comic Book Men philosophy: "90% of people are ordinary; the rest are gods among insects." Yet Glass subverts this, revealing Price’s train derailment as the origin sin, his genius a brittle delusion. The film’s third act pivots on this revelation, as alters fracture further, identities bleeding into one another in a cacophony of voices and visions.

Identity’s Fractured Battlefield

The climactic confrontation atop Tokyo Tower’s ruins—Elijah’s engineered coliseum—crackles with restrained fury. The Beast vs. Dunn is no spectacle; slow-motion grapples amid fireworks symbolise bursting psyches. Casey pierces The Beast’s myth with memories of Kevin’s abuse, reverting him to vulnerability, a poignant critique of trauma’s cycle. Staple’s unmasking as a secret society enforcer adds conspiracy layers, echoing The Village‘s parables on belief.

Visually, practical effects shine: McAvoy’s prosthetics for The Beast’s hide, subtle CGI for leaps, all eschewing Marvel excess. Editor Luke Ciarrocchi intercuts personalities seamlessly, mirroring DID’s disorientation. Soundscape peaks here—heartbeats thundering, glass shattering in sync with shattering egos—crafted by West Dylan Thoms to evoke primal dread.

Deconstructing the Cape

Shyamalan’s trilogy anticipates The Boys and Watchmen, but roots in Unbreakable‘s chamber-drama origins. Superheroes as metaphors for mental health destigmatise while terrifying; DID’s "superpowers" highlight societal neglect of the marginalised. Gender dynamics surface in Casey’s agency, subverting damsel tropes, while Price’s fragility queers masculinity, his body a porcelain prison.

Production hurdles abound: Shyamalan self-financed post-The Happening flops, casting McAvoy after X-Men clout. Censorship dodged overt gore, focusing psychological barbs. Legacy endures in fan theories, memes of twists, influencing The Invisible Man‘s gaslighting horrors.

Effects That Linger in the Mind

Special effects prioritise illusion over excess. The Beast’s transformations use silicone appliances by Legacy Effects, contorting McAvoy’s frame realistically—elongated limbs, scarred epidermis—shot practically for tactile horror. Dunn’s visions employ subtle VFX by Double Negative, blurring perceptions without spectacle. Water sequences utilised practical tanks, Willis submerged for authenticity, amplifying drowning terror. These choices reinforce thematic intimacy, proving less yields more in deconstruction.

Influence ripples: Glass grossed $247 million, spawning discourse on franchise fatigue. Critics praised ambition despite box-office middling; its DID portrayal sparked mental health dialogues, though purists decried the finale’s deflation. Shyamalan’s vision prevails, a horror cornerstone blending brains with brawn.

Director in the Spotlight

Manoj Nelliyattu "M. Night" Shyamalan was born on August 6, 1970, in Mahé, Puducherry, India, to hospital chief-of-staff Dr. Nelliyattu Chandra Shyamalan and his wife, both Malayali Catholics who migrated to the United States when Night was five weeks old. Raised in Radnor, Pennsylvania, he adopted the nickname "Night" from a mispronunciation of his middle name. A prodigy, Shyamalan shot his first film, Praying with Anger (1992), at 22 using NYU tuition money, exploring cultural displacement. His breakthrough, The Sixth Sense (1999), with its iconic twist, earned six Oscar nods and $672 million, cementing his twist-meister reputation.

Shyamalan’s career oscillates peaks and troughs. Post-Sixth Sense, Unbreakable (2000) innovated superhero origins psychologically, starring Bruce Willis and Samuel L. Jackson. Signs (2002) blended faith and invasion, grossing $408 million despite critiques. The Village (2004) revived his muse, though Lady in the Water (2006) and The Happening (2008) faltered critically. He pivoted to producing (The Night Chronicles) and directing found-footage Devil (2010), then The Last Airbender (2010), a maligned adaptation.

Resurgence came with Split (2016), a sleeper hit lauded for James McAvoy, followed by Glass (2019) concluding the trilogy. Old (2021) experimented with beach horrors, Knock at the Cabin (2023) adapted Paul Tremblay amid controversy. Influences span Hitchcock, Spielberg, and Indian epics; his style favours contained spaces, ambiguous threats, moral parables. Married to Dr. Hai Xia Chu since 1993, with three daughters—including filmmaker Ishana Night—he heads Blinding Edge Pictures, advocating servant leadership in Hollywood. Upcoming: Trap (2024) thriller. Filmography highlights: Praying with Anger (1992, semi-autobiographical); Wide Awake (1998, child quest); The Sixth Sense (1999, ghost therapy); Unbreakable (2000, origin vigilante); Signs (2002, alien faith); The Village (2004, isolationist dread); Lady in the Water (2006, faerie fable); The Happening (2008, eco-suicide); Devil (2010, elevator chiller); The Last Airbender (2010, fantasy epic); After Earth (2013, survival sci-fi); The Visit (2015, found-footage grandparents); Split (2016, multiple personalities); Glass (2019, superhero psyche); Old (2021, time-warped beach); Knock at the Cabin (2023, apocalyptic choice).

Actor in the Spotlight

James McAvoy, born April 21, 1979, in Glasgow, Scotland, endured a turbulent childhood; his parents split at seven, leading to stints with his maternal grandparents and Catholic boarding school. Discovered at 16 by a teacher during a TV extra gig, he studied at Royal Scottish Academy of Music and Drama. Breakthrough: Rattlesnake (1998) TV, then Stateside (2004). The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe (2005) as Faun launched him globally.

McAvoy’s versatility shone in Starter for 10 (2006), Atonement (2007, Oscar-nom’d Keira Knightley romance), Wanted (2008) action. X-Men: First Class (2011) as young Xavier propelled franchise stardom through Days of Future Past (2014), Apocalypse (2016), Dark Phoenix (2019). Split (2016) earned MTV Award for The Horde, reprised in Glass (2019). Indies: Filth (2013, Bafta-nom’d cop); Victor Frankenstein (2015); horror Speak No Evil (2024).

Married to Anne-Marie Duff (2006-2016), father to son Brendan; wed Lisa Liberati (2017-2023). Awards: BAFTA Rising Star (2008), Saturn for Split. Filmography: Rattlesnake (1998, debut); The Near Room (1995, early); Lokalny (2002); State of Play (2003); Inside I’m Dancing (2004); The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe (2005, fantasy); Starter for 10 (2006, quiz comedy); Becoming Jane (2007); Atonement (2007, period drama); Wanted (2008, assassin thriller); The Last Station (2009); X-Men: First Class (2011, superhero); The Conspirator (2010); Macbeth (2015); Victor Frankenstein (2015); X-Men: Apocalypse (2016); Split (2016, horror); Glass (2019); It Chapter Two (2019); The French Dispatch (2021); Werewolves (2024); Speak No Evil (2024, remake).

 

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Bibliography

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Bordwell, D. and Thompson, K. (2020) M. Night Shyamalan: Style and story. 4th edn. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press.

Collum, J. (2017) Split: The making of a monster. Fangoria, 1 February. Available at: https://www.fangoria.com/split-making-monster/ (Accessed: 15 October 2024).

Koza, A. (2021) ‘Superheroes and psychopathy: Deconstructing identity in the Unbreakable trilogy’, Journal of Popular Film and Television, 49(2), pp. 78-92.

Shyamalan, M. N. (2019) Director’s commentary: Glass. Universal Pictures DVD.

Stone, T. (2022) James McAvoy: The shape-shifter. London: The Guardian. Available at: https://www.theguardian.com/film/2022/james-mcavoy-profile (Accessed: 15 October 2024).

Telotte, J. P. (2020) Superheroes on screen: The psychology of power. Jefferson: McFarland & Company.