M. Butterfly (1993), A Timid Adaptation That Flattens the Real Story

December 14, 2023December 15, 2023 Matthew Jones

I’m not sure how I came across the true love affair between French diplomat Bernard Boursicot and Chinese opera singer Shi Pei Pu, but it was a story so bizarre that I had to learn more. When I discovered that David Cronenberg had made a film adaptation of the story, M. Butterfly, I knew I had to see it. For the uninitiated, Boursicot was a French diplomat who fell in love with a Chinese opera singer, Shi Pei Pu, and believed that the opera singer was genetically female, when in fact Shi was a male who merely portrayed women on stage and used Boursicot to feed information to the Chinese government.

To make things even crazier, their affair lasted throughout part of the 1960s, 1970s, and 1980s, during which time Bouriscot (supposedly) did not know that he was having an affair with a man. Just to make sure you’re still paying attention, Shi was actually a spy on behalf of the People’s Republic of China, collecting information from Bouriscot about French national secrets and operations in Asia. Toward the end of their affair, Shi even claimed to have birthed a child and convinced Bouriscot that he was the father. Finally, when the French government found out about all of this, it came to light in a courtroom in 1987, when Shi was forced to show Bouriscot his genitalia to prove that he had been lying for years.

M. Butterfly (1993) generally follows this story, and approaches it with a surprising sense of earnestness and respect, especially for a film made in the early 1990s. The problem lies in the fact that Cronenberg, despite doing a technically admirable job with the film, was not meant to direct melodramas. The whole thing focuses on all the details we don’t really care about and skims over the details that were most fascinating about the story. The script was based on the play of the same name by David Henry Hwang, which in turn took its name from the famous play, Madame Butterfly. But regardless of the source material, M. Butterfly is a perfect example of reality being far more interesting and entertaining than fiction.

Early in the film, Bouriscot (Jeremy Irons) tries to subdue his love for Shi (John Lone), all while trying to balance increasing responsibilities at the French embassy in Beijing. Shi sees him as just another Westerner fascinated with the submissive, hyper-sexualized ideal of Asian women. Bouriscot claims this to be untrue, and we sit through a few moments of Shi criticizing Bouriscot’s lack of interest in Chinese people as human beings. However, the two eventually begin an affair, though Shi is very careful to limit and control their sexual encounters (for obvious reasons).

Jeremy Irons kissing scene M. Butterfly — *M. Butterfly* (1993)

With time, we discover that Shi is a spy for the People’s Republic of China, despite his real feelings for Bouriscot. As Bouriscot is forced to work with the Chinese government for fear of losing Shi forever, the French government catches on, and arrests both Bouriscot and Shi. They are brought back to France for trial, and sentenced to prison time. Spoiler alert: we are subjected to an overly theatrical scene with Jeremy Irons imitating the clothing and makeup of Shi in prison before slitting his own throat.

M. Butterfly isn’t really a bad film because it shows too much or too little. Once again, it should be celebrated for giving its subject matter at least a modicum of respect. But the issue is that it drags on and on as a somewhat boring soap opera. They meet, they have problems, they fall in love, they spy, they get caught, they go to trial, Jeremy Irons does a weird and suicidal retelling of the story, roll credits. In reality, the relationship between Shi and Bouriscot was far more complex. Bouriscot broke ties with Shi at one point, but worked to bring their “child” with him to France to live as a family. After the trial, Bouriscot and the child had no contact with Shi until his death in 2009, even though Shi had continued to work in Paris as a stage performer. Bouriscot, who is still alive as of this writing, continues to live out his days happily with a Frenchman by the name of Thierry.

Part of what goes wrong with Cronenberg’s adaptation is the lack of truly bizarre drama. Out of respect for source material, he shies away from how absolutely insane it is for someone to have a two-decade affair with another person without ever knowing their true gender. He also puts very little emphasis on the child subplot, which played a big part in the latter half of their relationship. Most egregiously, Cronenberg decides to cut the film short after they are sent to prison. We don’t see their lives in France, the national scandal and public shaming of Bouriscot, the continued life of Pu, and even the growth of their son.

There was so much material to work with, but the film spends most of its hour-and-40-minute runtime (which feels much longer) with Jeremy Irons and John Lone exchanging little quips and vague platitudes about sensuality, the nature of love, and Eastern vs. Western culture. It’s not that it’s some terrible film that is unbearable to watch, it’s just such a misfire that should have taken greater advantage of the real story on which it was based.