[CFF 22 Review] ‘Giving Birth to a Butterfly’ finds solidarity in uncomfortable places
In Theodore Schaefer’s Giving Birth to a Butterfly, freedom of choice is unattainable within the confines of a nuclear American family. The dreamy photography of Matt Clegg and music by Meade Bernard are deceptive in their gentleness. Each sequence is framed within an ornate aspect ratio, drawing the viewer in beat by beat before the film truly goes off the rails. There’s a haunted home movie aesthetic bolstered by practical effects (a la Michel Gondry) throughout the picture, and its tone doesn’t stray too far from the horror genre. From the beginning, it feels as if every moment is on the verge of combustion. This is especially readable in the body language and expressions of one of our main characters Diane (Annie Parisse).
Diane is a mother of two kids who are navigating young adulthood, despite their father who takes every opportunity to make himself the center of attention. When her son brings home his pregnant girlfriend Marlene (Gus Birney), the idyllic facade of the family begins to come apart. Parisse is wholly compelling as a woman who has built a lifetime of emotional callouses in an unhappy marriage and a growing anxiety for her family’s future. She isn’t hesitant to voice her concerns, such as the fact that her son is not the father of Marlene’s baby, but the menace that engulfs the screen whenever her husband takes control of the conversation is undeniable.
Under Schaefer’s direction, conflict between Diane and Daryl (Paul Sparks) plays out naturally. His style is understated, letting tense moments sink in before segueing into the mundanity of a dinner conversation. Short on plot (as any good movie should be), Schaefer invites his audience to share in this discomfort until the seemingly incongruous relationship between Diane and Marlene develops. The film has an ease with which it balances a frigid suburban setting and the quiet resentment of Tenessee Williams, but it isn’t long before the whole thing goes full tilt into the warped sandbox of David Lynch.
A comparison between the two filmmakers has been made since the film’s showing at Fantasia 2021, and it couldn’t be more apt. Beyond casting Judith Roberts as twin older women and elaborate dream sequences, the film echoes Eraserhead from the other end of the tunnel. Whereas the 1977 film is an odyssey of restlessness centered on fatherhood, Giving Birth to a Butterfly is about angry and unsatisfied women with no outlet. Without betraying the mystique of both films, it’s safe to say that obligations to a family unit play a dominant role in how these subliminal horrors are mediated.
In Schaefer’s film, Diane and Marlene are positioned as opposites who share the same weariness about what their lives have in store outside of their responsibilities. The script is invested in them as people beyond the role of mother and daughter, though it does interrogate these roles through the prism of identity. As the two embark on a journey to help Diane recover stolen funds, they engage each other with questions about who they aspire to be and commiserate about their family history. The film contrasts the side of Diane that wishes to unburden herself of her family life with Marlene’s hope that her child will serve as a new beginning. But this does not cause friction between the two women.
What makes Schaefer’s film an effective portrayal of two complex women is its refusal to play a morality game. It is difficult, especially now, to view this film apart from the current political milieu in the United States. And while the hostility of this moment doesn’t pronounce itself too loudly in the script, the message is sharp: what good is a world where people can start families if those who are forced to assume the role of caretakers can’t live fulfilling lives? Without giving the film away, suffice to say Diane finds resolve in this question by rejecting it entirely.
Among other things, Giving Birth to a Butterfly is a delicate tone poem of yearning and angst. Its performances are curiously perturbed, especially that of Constance Shulman as Marlene’s mother Monica—a character who lends immense poignancy to the film. Though the film isn’t centered on access to abortion like the excellent Never Rarely Sometimes Always, it nonetheless examines the waning autonomy experienced by different generations of women in intimate relationships. And it does so with a flare for the surreal.
