Will Gluck wants you to believe his films are held together by a thematic thread—relationships, the specific contours of how people connect to each other across genres and decades.
But this framing only works because relationships exist in literally every film ever made. They're the default substrate of narrative itself.
Saying you're drawn to relationship dynamics is like saying you're drawn to character development or plot momentum—true of everything, therefore explaining nothing. What actually unifies Gluck's work is the opposite of principle. It's permission.
Watch what he actually does between projects. In Easy A he commits to a specific tonal texture, a teen comedy where intelligence and self-awareness are the currency. In Annie he pivots completely toward a family-musical register where sincerity and earnestness govern every frame. In One Night Only he's working in thriller mode, suspense and revelation—and the relationship premise changes just enough that nobody notices the tonal whiplash underneath.
The real insight is this. Gluck uses "relationships" not as an artistic conviction but as a conceptual alibi. The word lets him justify the lack of a consistent voice or point of view. Each film can inhabit a completely different tonal universe because the relationships are different, and therefore require different registers. The framework explains away inconsistency by calling it flexibility. It's the opposite of a unifying principle—it's permission to have no principle at all, as long as you can name the interpersonal dynamic.
This is where it gets uncomfortable. Most of us do something similar when we're building a body of work—we call the absence of a consistent aesthetic a "range," or we describe our willingness to follow different clients' visions as "versatility." We're avoiding the harder question. It is whether our choices reflect conviction or whether we're simply good at rationalizing whatever comes next. Gluck's just honest enough to put it on camera.