The problem is not simply that Lone's drag wouldn't fool a baby. In the magnified intimacy of the camera's eye, it's clear Hwang doesn't really know who these unlikely lovers are. Metaphors can't carry a movie-flesh and blood is what's required.

All of this is interesting, in its way, and yet the film of M. Butterfly does not take hold the way the stage play did.

Jeremy Irons and John Lone are both doing great work, but the film's reticence to engage with its gender, queer, and even political themes is frustrating. The film is a bad marriage of director and material.

On stage, M. Butterfly was quite possibly the best drama since Equus. On screen, it's an embarrassment and a bore.