M. Butterfly – Reduced to Its Lowest Common Denominator
I saw M. Butterfly in its 1988 Broadway debut. My overriding memory is of having experienced something discomfiting and magical. Incredulous questions as to how French diplomat Rene Gallimard (the real Bernard Boursicot) carried on a 20 year love affair with Beijing Opera diva, Song Liling (the real Shei Pei Pu) apparently believing him to be a woman were skillfully examined by playwright David Henry Hwang and Director John Dexter. Our audience found themselves surrounded by the then exotic spell of China and watched Gallimard’s emotional history sympathetically illuminated. (The backdrop of radical social change never overwhelmed.) “This playwright… does not tease us with obvious questions such as is she or isn’t she? or does he know or doesn’t he? … Frank Rich New York Times review 1988.
Jin Ha
Unfortunately, as rewritten by Mr. Hwang and directed by Julie Taymor, the piece is so cheapened that this curious tale of love and betrayal now drowns in weighty realism, down market visuals (in a Taymor production?!) and Chinese Opera numbers that have all the grace of a second tier touring company. Despite best efforts of the talented Clive Owen, we stop caring long before the lovers’ confrontation and court scenes that should be wrenching. (Is it necessary to hear the details of Liling’s physical simulation of shallow penetration!?)
The story: Rene Gallimard (Clive Owen), uncomfortable with sex, marries an older, ostensibly less demanding woman (Enid Graham) whose father gets him into the diplomatic core assigned to China. At a party one night, he sees Bejing Opera star Liling (Jin Ha) performing as a woman and transfers his obsession of Madam Butterfly to her feminine form. The artist is, in fact, a man, pretending to be a woman who’s pretending to be a man in order to work in the Opera.
The Opera
Liling makes up a story as to why “she” must hide her real gender and the two begin a lengthy affair. Conscripted by the government in an espionage “honeypot” scheme, she passes on political information, even going to far as to secure a baby Gallimard believes is his in order to retain loyalty under questionable circumstances. Long after the unwitting, demoted bureaucrat is transferred back to Paris, truth comes out. He’s sent to prison an object of derision.
Actor Jin Ha has a fairly short haircut. Immediately after changing out of performance costume, his character dresses as a male. Ha walks and moves like one even when attired, in the privacy of Liling’s home, as a woman. Immense grace and delicacy are required for us to join the besotted suitor in suspending disbelief. Except for Ha’s soft voice, we don’t find it here. Poorly singing a few lyrics doesn’t help. The die is cast early.
I don’t remember Gallimard’s appealing to the audience for understanding and arguing with Liling as to what should be dramatized. If the original version used this device, it must’ve been a great deal more solicitous. Poor Mr. Owen is weighed down with self consciousness when what we should be sharing is the protagonist’s hypnotized vision. We’re constantly taken out of the story and jolted back to our theater seats. Nor do I recall the amount of specific reference to Vietnam that appears in this iteration.
Clive Owen and Jin Ha
The role of Comrade Chin (Celeste Den), Liling’s Party contact, seems to have been expanded throwing off balance. Cocktail party conversation and coarse gossip is also given too much space as is a terrible dance number depicting entertainment that replaced traditional opera. (Choreography Ma Cong) If Hwang wanted to effect positive revision, he might’ve done away with Gallimard’s womanizing friend, Marc (Murray Pinkerton, excelling in the role) who becomes a thorn-in-the-side illusion, cropping up everywhere.
Not only is our perception of China notably different today, but issues of gender identity and sexuality are overtly more in our consciousness than they were when M. Butterfly was written. Though still relevant, its lack of magnetism is disappointing.
Julie Taymor, a director/designer who has built her reputation doing just the opposite, here divested the play of romance, smoke and mirrors paramount to its success.
Scenic Design by Paul Steinberg is underwhelming.
Constance Hoffman’s Opera and Soldier Costumes appeal.
Photos by Matthew Murphy
Opening: Clive Owen; Jin Ha
M. Butterfly by David Henry Hwang
Directed by Julie Taymor
The Cort Theatre
138 West 48th Street
