M. Butterfly (1993)

Directed by David Cronenberg. Starring Jeremy Irons, John Lone, Ian Richardson, Barbara Sukowa, Shizuko Hoshi, Annabel Leventon, Vernon Dobtcheff, David Hemblen, Damir Andrei. [R]

Is “she” deceiving him or is he deceiving himself? That’s the central question of this period romantic drama, adapted from the hit Broadway play, and how one responds will be critical to its success on a case by case basis. Irons brings a lot of the lyrical repression he’s so good at to his role as a French diplomat in 1960s Beijing, infatuated with a Peking opera singer (Lone) who’s secretly a spy for the Chinese government, although it’s more of an obsession with the tragic Butterfly character that Lone portrays onstage. And so it goes: is the male singer deceiving the diplomat by pretending to be a woman (despite it being not-uncommon knowledge that all female parts in Peking opera are played by men), or does the diplomat know the truth deep down but still cling to the fantasy because it suits his desires? Methodical but hazy atmospherics linger like a carnal fog during the interactions between Irons and Lone, which are almost languorously hypnotic to the point where everything else disappears, including plot specifics that strain credulity. The political intrigue is of such little concern that it’s a shame that Cronenberg didn’t excise even more from this translation, and somewhere along the way reality blurs into the facsimile of stage performance, coming to a head in the dream-like final scene in prison. And so it goes: does the viewer think the movie is tricking him or her with its far-fetched face-value details (like how the affair could last for so long without Irons ever fully undressing and exploring his lover’s body), or is the viewer so seduced by the aura that he or she abandons logic in favor of emotion and longing? Howard Shore’s sumptuous score and Peter Suschitzky’s evocative photography offer immeasurable aid to the efforts of the director and both stars.

73/100