Venice 2024 (Settimana Internazionale della Critica): Don’t Cry, Butterfly | Review
A cocooned and desperate woman in a loveless marriage metamorphoses into a dark butterfly in Dương Diệu Linh’s surrealistic and mystifying spectacle.
So, how does a butterfly survive? asks director Dương Diệu Linh while hiding a butterfly at the back of the curtain. There isn’t a fixed answer to this peculiar question, yet Dương Diệu Linh reframes the concept of survival by focusing on its fundamental elements—where it cocoons the deviation of its patience, the manifestation of thoughts amidst all the mysteries. The question now is, does it actually work? The butterfly eavesdrops, and progressively, grins.
The 2024 Settimana Internazionale della Critica’s official competition entry, Don’t Cry Butterfly (Mưa trên cánh bướm), sets its foot on the cinematic lens, zooming into a family in Hanoi, Vietnam, who has an assortment of absences in their living space. Tam (Lê Tú Oanh), the sole breadwinner, works as a wedding venue staffer with a loud gesture that doesn’t hold any form of engagement with her clients. She is somewhat alienated by the foundations of her job, sticking to the profession in a robotic manner. Her husband (Lê Vũ Long) is a taciturn man who retreats into his own world of silence, treating himself as an ornament in the house. Ha, Tam’s daughter, is seeking liberty and a voice to guide her life, whether it be in her education or love life. Ha is more of a resemblance to the typical adolescent predicament of transitioning into maturity. The family’s structure doesn’t appear dysfunctional, yet each member grapples with unique challenges—until Tam receives news about her husband’s affair, which causes everything in the family to crumble, escalating the already turbulent world. Ultimately, Tam makes a decision that goes beyond normality.
Dương Diệu Linh’s feature debut doesn’t disappoint; in fact, it transcends into an engaging triumph in the field of supernaturalism. The screenplay, with the help of Daniel Hui’s crafty editing, is the trick here. The components of harmony are juxtaposed with absurdism, introducing a bizarre blend of humor and horror within a dynamic, coruscating atmosphere. The use of bright sun rays that mask the protagonists’ negativism, the commotions that emerge from distinct sources that induce pressure in erratic aspects, the metaphoric echo of inner psyche through songs and statements, and the uncanny discussions on taboo subject matters involving birth and attractions are all gracefully dissected. In fact, the film involves personified retrospectives on philosophical queries through cultural influences and unites it with magical realism—an enchanting method that ignites the film like hot magma.
In the region of highlighting women’s plight, Tam finds herself trapped in a loveless relationship, fueling her uncanny desperation to explore the supernatural world. Lê Tú Oanh’s performance is just remarkable, as she embodies the fundamental characteristics of loneliness, the yearning for recognition and visibility, and most crucially, the need for care and respect. The director stages Tam’s life system that lacks the micro and macro of women’s desires, which diminishes her soul and will. The lingering rationale hints that Tam’s primary concern is not the affair, but rather the process of navigating and enduring life. Alternately, Ha represents the early stage of women discovering the essence of love and commitment, the position of being oblivious to the depth of affairs, and the truth that lies at the core of its complications. Ha sees her mother as a silent victim and a helpless individual, but she doesn’t tell her. She is in a state of her own happiness, yet she gradually encounters reality as she progresses.
Don’t Cry Butterfly, which will receive its North American premiere at the 2024 Toronto International Film Festival in just a few days, is amusing and gradually liberating in an offbeat take on marital affairs, the constitution of marriage, and the dark world of mystics and spells. I believe Dương Diệu Linh has successfully placed herself as part of the Vietnamese new wave of filmmakers, comparable to directors Phạm Thiên Ân and Trương Minh Quý, through her exceptional vision of horror in the most unprecedented technique.
Some butterflies may liberate, while others might just fade away. Tam may have undergone a metamorphosis that creates a fresh connection between desires and dreams, but certain decisions may come with a significant cost. Beyond the beauty and vibrance, the butterfly shed tears in the midst of all the suffering that is targeted, gradually fading its color while slowly decomposing itself in the murky muds of desolation.
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