“Shattered Glass” (2003) Drama Running Time: 94 minutes Written and directed by: Billy Ray Featuring: Hayden Christensen, Peter Sarsgaard, Chloë Sevigny, Rosario Dawson, Melanie Lynskey, Hank Azaria and Steve Zahn Stephen Glass: “I didn't do anything wrong, Chuck.” Chuck Lane: “I really wish you'd stop saying that.” In a time when journalistic integrity is under constant scrutiny, Shattered Glass emerges as both a haunting reminder and a gripping cautionary tale. Based on the true story of Stephen Glass, a young and rising star at The New Republic who was revealed to have fabricated the majority of his articles, this 2003 drama is a chilling exploration of ambition, fraud, and the fragile line between perception and truth. The film is set in the late 1990s, a time when The New Republic was considered the "in-flight magazine of Air Force One"—a publication with enormous cultural and political influence. Stephen Glass, portrayed with calculated vulnerability by Hayden Christensen, is a charismatic young journalist who wins over his peers with self-deprecation, humor, and apparent talent. However, as cracks begin to form in one of his high-profile stories, an editor at Forbes Digital Tool (played by Steve Zahn) begins to investigate its veracity, triggering a domino effect that ultimately exposes a vast web of deceit. The screenplay, written by director Billy Ray, is based on the 1998 Vanity Fair article by Buzz Bissinger. It sticks closely to the real events and benefits enormously from its grounded, methodical pacing. Ray doesn’t sensationalize the scandal but rather allows the horror to build slowly through understated moments and mounting tension. Hayden Christensen’s portrayal of Glass is arguably the best performance of his career. While known to many as Anakin Skywalker in the Star Wars prequels, Christensen demonstrates a far more nuanced range here. He plays Glass not as a clear-cut villain, but as a deeply insecure and manipulative individual who is desperate to be liked, to be seen, and most of all, to matter. His charm is disarming, and that’s precisely what makes his deception so believable—and so dangerous. Opposite him, Peter Sarsgaard delivers a quietly commanding performance as Charles Lane, the new editor of The New Republic who must confront the possibility that his star writer is a fraud. Sarsgaard’s subtle transformation—from a cautious, slightly unsure editor trying to win over his staff, to a moral anchor determined to uphold journalistic standards—is the film’s beating heart. His restraint provides a powerful counterpoint to Christensen’s increasingly desperate Glass. Billy Ray directs with a quiet intelligence. He avoids flashy techniques, instead choosing a clean, almost clinical aesthetic that mirrors the film’s thematic concerns. The camera often lingers on Glass’s face as he lies, catching the flickers of guilt and calculation. These moments are where the film is most powerful, inviting the viewer into the mindset of a fabricator who is not psychopathic, but profoundly weak. What’s especially disturbing—and compelling—is how long Glass got away with it. His colleagues, editors, and even readers were enamored with his voice, his persona, and his narrative flair. The film makes clear that Glass’s success wasn’t only a personal failing; it was also an institutional one. In hindsight, Shattered Glass feels prophetic. Released before the rise of social media, before the “fake news” crisis, and before the era of widespread digital misinformation, the film captures an earlier but no less relevant moment of moral panic in journalism. It raises enduring questions: What happens when storytelling becomes more important than facts? How do editors balance trust and skepticism? And what kind of damage can a single individual do when no one’s looking too closely? There is a moment late in the film where Charles Lane, confronting the magnitude of Glass’s deception, says to his staff: "He handed us fiction after fiction, and we printed them all as fact. Just because we found him entertaining. It’s indefensible. Don’t you see that?" That line encapsulates the tragedy—not just of Glass’s fall, but of a collective failure to safeguard truth. The visual style of Shattered Glass is deliberately restrained. Cinematographer Mandy Walker (later known for Hidden Figures and Mulan) gives the film a sleek, almost antiseptic look—crisp office lighting, neutral color palettes, and a general sense of order that contrasts sharply with the chaos Glass is sowing behind the scenes. The clean, quiet newsroom becomes an ironic setting: a place meant for uncovering truth that is, in reality, sheltering deceit. There’s an eerie stillness to much of the film. Ray and Walker make frequent use of static shots and long takes, especially in scenes where Glass is spinning elaborate lies. These choices create a slow burn of tension, encouraging the viewer to scrutinize every word, every hesitation. Even Glass’s voiceovers—excerpts from his own fabricated stories—are delivered with a glossy, dreamlike quality, reinforcing the illusion he so carefully crafts for others and perhaps even for himself. The music by Mychael Danna is similarly understated, providing a subtle emotional undercurrent without ever drawing attention to itself. It’s not there to tell you how to feel, but to gently emphasize the quiet dread of discovery, the sadness of betrayal. What makes Shattered Glass so compelling is that it avoids pathologizing Stephen Glass. He is not presented as a sociopath or a malicious con man, but as a fundamentally insecure person whose need for approval becomes pathological. There’s something heartbreaking about his compulsions. He seems to genuinely believe that if he just tells people what they want to hear—and does it with enough charm—they’ll never stop liking him. …
spryfilm.com 