Immersed in lush colors, subtle irony, and quick-witted sound design, while simultaneously dealing with surreal horrors, dramatic emotional turmoils and the question of misogyny, Don’t Cry, Butterfly is a film that spans across genres, generations, and nations.
At the core of the film, Don’t Cry, Butterfly is concerned with middle-aged Tam, a wedding planner whose husband cheated on her, and her youthful daughter, Ha, who is currently in the uncomfortableness of her twenties and fantasizing about a better life in Europe with her neighbor. Following the reveal of her husband’s infidelity, Tam desires for a new love and turns to desperate attempts at saving her marriage when her outreach for alternate lovers proved fruitless. At the same time, the premise of a patch of leaking water on the ceiling of Tam’s bedroom threatens to manifest itself in the form of a long lasting horror and jumpscare thrills.
For Tam, the mother, she is easily influenced by her friends and social media, and is prone to obscene methods of religion when it comes to her marriage. Her mentality serves as comedic means for effective social commentary on the ridiculous results of the widespread misogyny and religious mass hysteria traditionally prevalent in Vietnam.
This disapproval for the harmful traditional ways of thinking is also skillfully shown in the architecture of the film. The building where most of the story takes place, is in drastic decay as opposed to the tall buildings in its surroundings, reflecting the pullbacks misogynistic mindsets and religious hysteria have imposed on Vietnamese society.
For Ha, the daughter, she imitates the mentality of her mother despite their stark differences in personality. Tam deceives herself with the notion she can fix her marriage and Ha is guilty of the same self-deception to an extent, with her infusing herself in a dreamscape when faced with uncertainties of the future and the departure of her neighbor. As complex as the theme of self-deception sounds, Don’t Cry, Butterfly has greatly utilized surreal elements to show that self-deception in romantic relationships is inherently a generational cycle and exists as a monster, seeking to gnaw away at women.
Albeit the comedic elements prevalent throughout the film, there is still sincerity in the portrayal of the struggles of the stereotypical “nagging woman”, as well as the daughter who has her head in the clouds. The monologue from Tam reminiscing about the honeymoon period of her relationship and the scene with Ha confessing that she has applied for overseas studies to her parents will no doubt pull the heartstrings of middle-aged and young audiences alike.
Lastly, in spite of the story taking place in Vietnam, its central themes remain shockingly common in most places. Women around the world gaslight themselves to stay in relationships because of misogynistic beliefs still deeply rooted in today’s society, and Don’t Cry, Butterfly has successfully portrayed the terrifying yet ridiculous reality of this through taking jabs at its protagonist’s actions and a slimy, skillfully CGI-ed monster.
Written by Maris Cheng
