Catching Butterflies with Bare Hands

How does M. Butterfly subvert the dynamics of Puccini’s opera Madama Butterfly in terms of both the characters’ relationship and the cultural landscapes they navigate?

Krystian Lada — Huang’s opera, and the original play by David Henry Hwang, are anchored in a specific historical context: the geopolitical circumstances between East and West in the 1960s and early 1970s. This setting is a source of rich detail about the relationship between the Chinese and the French or, by extension, European governments while also inviting reflection on political questions that remain relevant today.

However, the real events behind the story are meaningful on a personal level as well. They revolve around two people: Bernard Boursicot, a diplomat at the French embassy in Beijing, and a Chinese opera singer he fell in love with. Their affair developed into a long-term relationship, continuing in both China and Paris. Two decades later, it was revealed that the woman was actually a man, acting as a spy for the Chinese government. The story sparked widespread public debate and became a sensational court case. Everyone wondered, ‘How could he not have known?’.

What interests me more, however, is the following question: what if this diplomat, who later identified as queer, actually knew all along? Back then, I can understand why he might have denied it. For him to say, ‘Oh, of course I knew it was a man I loved!’ would have made him even more of a culprit in the eyes of public opinion. In the 1960s and 70s – the period of the M. Butterfly story – homosexuality was not illegal, but it was still socially stigmatized and homosexuals did not have full equal rights. So, all my empathy goes to Gallimard, the protagonist of the opera that is based on this man, imagining him as someone who consciously chose not to see or label certain things.

Huang Ruo — I agree, and I think this sense of ambiguity is also present in the historical Shi Pei Pu – or in their operatic counterpart, Song Liling. Were his feelings of love sincere, or was he acting solely out of duty to the Chinese government? In the opera, I do not want to provide clear answers to these questions. I believe that the ambiguity in the characters’ motives is what makes it so compelling. It is also something which I try to emphasize through the music, for example by having a countertenor sing Song Liling’s role.

KL — I feel like that musical ambiguity is also very apparent in your treatment of Puccini, Huang. There are striking moments in the score where you quite literally turn his music on its head. While working on the piece, I remember wondering where I had heard a specific melody before. It was the overture from Madama Butterfly, inverted. You can still recognize it, but it is like seeing someone’s face upside down, at once familiar and strange.

Should we interpret this transposition as engaging in a dialogue between East and West, or as questioning the very idea that they stand in opposition?

HR — It is about creating a new cultural space, one that is neither strictly Eastern nor Western. Of course, Puccini’s work inspired the piece, and elements of his music have been incorporated, but M. Butterfly is an entirely new creation, blending different elements into a unified whole. Take, for example, Puccini’s choice for the word ‘butterfly’ to describe an Asian woman, a term carrying rich references in Chinese literature and culture. Librettist David Henry Hwang and I use two of these references in M. Butterfly. First, we draw on the Butterfly Lovers story from Chinese opera, which also involves a gender identity switch. The second appears in what we call the ‘I Woke as a Butterfly’ aria, sung by Song Liling. This references the famous ‘butterfly dream’ of Chuang-tzu, an ancient Chinese philosopher. One night, he dreamt that he became a butterfly, experiencing the freedom of flight. When he awoke, he was troubled to find himself without wings again. This led him to wonder: was he, Chuangzi, dreaming he was a butterfly, or was he a butterfly dreaming he was Chuangzi? On a fundamental level, can we ever truly be sure of our identity?

What does the metaphor of the ‘butterfly’ mean to you, Krystian?

KL — I remember that, as a child, I always wanted to catch butterflies. I also vividly recall the only one I ever caught: something so beautiful, yet when I opened my hands, I saw a crushed, frightening creature. That memory captures for me the trial in M. Butterfly: an almost violent moment of catching, naming and trying to understand. Some things must remain ungraspable, ambiguous. Beauty lingers longest in the spaces where meaning remains uncertain. On a broader level, the opera makes a very political statement: it examines the cost of choosing illusion over reality and asks us to question what reality truly is. During the trial, what unfolds on stage is Gallimard’s perception of his own reality as opposed to the reality imposed by society, represented by the chorus. In today’s world, this is particularly relevant: what the masses dictate is not always the reality you should follow. Or when the masses tell you that you are living in an illusion, you can also consciously decide to keep living in that illusion, because it is a healthier, more caring place. In general, we are living in times where the question of what is real is an important and dominant one: seeing a picture of a friend on social media, reading a news report – you have no idea whether these are true depictions of reality. Addressing this tension in opera feels urgent today.

Some things must remain ungraspable, ambiguous.
Beauty lingers longest in the spaces where meaning
remains uncertain.

Illusion vs reality: how does this tie back to the depiction of masculinity in the opera?

HR — When Gallimard is confronted by the naked Song Liling for the first time, he cries – like a child, overwhelmed by the reality before him. But in an instant, his tears give way to laughter, and from then on, he asserts his own agency, taking his fate into his own hands. Krystian, do you think this reflects something fundamental about Western notions of masculinity?

KL — I think this is simply the nature of being in love: it proves that his emotional involvement with Song Liling is real. Interestingly, we notice how Gallimard’s feelings change him, how they make him increasingly conform to the stereotype of a Western male. But is this truly him, or is it Song Liling’s vision of him shaping his transformation? It works the other way as well: if M. Butterfly, the stereotypical beautiful female Chinese opera singer, ever truly existed, it was in his eyes, through his gaze. I cherish every chance we get to show a more nuanced depiction of masculinity on the opera stage. When we look at the core of the popular opera repertoire, that representation is too often overly simplistic: men are either tyrants or idiots, either full of themselves or only there to provide comical relief. Here, on the other hand, we have two protagonists who enter a continuous dialogue on Eastern and Western notions of masculinity – of what it means to be soft or decisive. The power dynamic between these two men, biologically speaking, is so multilayered, so contemporary, so subversive. To me, this makes M. Butterfly absolutely unique in the world of opera.

Huang, you mentioned the crucial moment when Gallimard first sees Song Liling naked. What shift occurs in Song Liling then?

HR — This is the moment Song Liling stops performing and just wants Gallimard to see the person he truly is. In China, one of our favourite dishes is soup. We simmer it for hours, layering flavours until, in the end, a tiny bowl holds a richness beyond measure. That’s how I see Song Liling’s visit to him. Everything that happened before has been distilled into this intimate confrontation.Song Liling shows up in Gallimard’s cell dressed in male clothes, representing a biologically male identity; then, layer by layer, the clothes are removed. In that moment, Song Liling really is like a butterfly, emerging from its cocoon – a symbolic transformation into one’s true self. For Gallimard, that moment is equally pivotal. He is forced to confront reality and recognize that his beloved butterfly is, biologically, a man. That confrontation scene – raw, layered, intimate – is very dear to me.

I am already looking forward to the moment someone in the audience
thinks they bought a ticket to Puccini’s Madama Butterfly. ...
For an audience to come– and to be totally blown away by it!

The moralistic potential of this opera is quite clear. Can opera inspire us to be sensual in our political engagement?

KL — Yes! Opera forces you to engage through emotion. Historically speaking, it has often been the strategy of opera to address political questions, not by creating distance through rational criticism, but rather the reverse, by exploring the emotional depth of these questions, which almost doesn’t allow us to take a critical stance. In opera, there is no safe space. The music manipulates you to empathize with the protagonists on stage regardless of the perspectives they represent, to recognize within yourself universal human feelings you didn’t know you had. To exaggerate, you don’t have to die because of love, you have for instance La traviata as a kind of real-time simulation of that emotion, of that process; and this is delivered to the audience not as a dry hypothetical text but as an immersive multisensory experience of live sound and images on stage. Of course, this approach is often misinterpreted as being overly sentimental or pathetic, but most of the time, it is actually a conscious decision of composers who are politically engaged themselves.

As a final thought, what kind of encounter do you hope the audience will have?

HR — When I began studying at Oberlin College in the US, the first play I went to see there was a school production of M. Butterfly. Of course, funnily enough, I was confused, because I had expected to see Madama Butterfly. But I was totally blown away! So, I am already looking forward to the moment someone in the audience thinks they bought a ticket to Puccini’s Madama Butterfly, only to discover that that is not at all the case. For an audience to come with their own illusions to be crushed brutally by reality – and to be totally blown away by it! (laughs)