DON’T CRY, BUTTERFLY: DO EVERYBODY DESERVES OUR LOVE

I. Opening:

Have you ever been hopelessly in love with someone who doesn’t feel the same way, so much so that you’d do anything for them, no matter how irrational? If you’ve never experienced it but are curious about the depths of such devotion, then Don’t Cry, Butterfly, the debut feature by director Dương Diệu Linh, is a film you won’t want to miss.

Don’t Cry, Butterfly follows the tragic story of Bà Tâm, a woman whose world crumbles when she witnesses her husband’s unfaithfulness broadcasted on live television. Desperate to repair what is broken, she turns to supernatural intervention, seeking the help of a TikTok shaman to bring him back. However, what she awakens is far more sinister than she ever anticipated.

Themes of infidelity and gender bias are not new to Vietnamese cinematography, yet Don’t Cry, Butterfly dares to be different. If you have finished the movie, you would probably be wondering: “Is any of that real, was there any monster at all?” Yes and no. Perhaps what make Don’t Cry, Butterfly truly different from any typical family drama is how the director gave us viewres the chances to have our own perspective and view on the movie. This marks a daring step forward for Vietnamese cinema, no more cringy ending, no more straight-forward lessons that viewers could guess before they even watch the film. Don’t Cry, Butterfly pushes the Audiences to truly delve deep into the movie, there is no defenite answers or lessons at the end of the movie, we will all have different routes that will lead to different destination in this journey. Whether there are monster or not, it is up to us. So, without further ado, let’s dive into the haunting world of Don’t Cry, Butterfly.

II. The monster is real

At the heart of the film is Tam and Ha, a mother and daughter trapped in a suffocating household, where the weight of sexism looms large. Despite its modern setting, the story underscores the lingering belief that a woman's worth is tied to bearing a son. The father, cold and distant, barely speaks—a presence more like an absence. When his infidelity is exposed on live television, he offers no excuses, no apologies. His neglect breeds something far more sinister: a monster born from Tam’s longing for love, an entity that doesn’t just haunt but feeds on despair.

Blinded by jealousy, Tam initially believes her failing marriage stems from external forces. Desperate to win her husband back, she turns to beauty treatments, And tricks that was recommended by her friends that help win back her husband, however, only to watch their love decay further. A chance encounter with a shaman’s disciple convinces her that supernatural forces are at play. She agrees to an exorcism, hoping it will restore her family, but instead, it enrages the entity, worsening their nightmare.

The monster preys on pain, twisting reality into cruel illusions. It tempts Tam with a vision of rekindled intimacy, only for her to wake encountering face to face with the entity. It whispers freedom into Ha’s mind, manipulating her desire to escape. When Ha confesses her dream of studying abroad, Tam feels betrayed—the last thread of love in her life unraveling. Knowing it was the monster doing, in desperation, she attempts another ritual, but it is too late. The monster has already won.

In its final act, the father came home to have lunch, only to find his meal has not been prepared yet. Calling for his wife but to no avail, the man left not knowing his wife has been consumed by the monster. Only when Ha came running back did she find out that the entityhas consumed her mother waiting only for her to complete its mission, drowning their home in the torment it has fed upon. Though swallowed by all the trauma, Tam and Ha instead feel a sense of relief, finding solace in dreams made by the monster: Ha finally escapes from her cage, and Tam, in another life, bears the son she was once incapable of.

III. The monster isn’t real

The true horror of the film does not lie in the existence of a supernatural entity but in the deeply ingrained suffering of Tam and Ha. The Vietnamese have a saying: “Tức nước vỡ bờ”, which means that when one's endurance is pushed to its absolute limit, resistance becomes inevitable. There was no monster, no supernatural force—only two characters whose emotions had been repressed for far too long.

The monster is nothing more than an illusion—a desperate manifestation of their pain, an excuse to justify the misery they cannot escape. Its most chilling aspect is that only the female characters can see it, highlighting how men, particularly the father, remain oblivious to the emotional state of their own household. His indifference reflects a society that deems a woman's happiness unworthy of attention, reinforcing the idea that it is not a man's role to care.

If there was no monster, then this begs the question: Are humans truly better than the monsters we fear? It is the father who chose to abandon his family, fully aware of the pain he would inflict on them. Deep down, Tam knew there was no monster, but she would rather believe that an external force was manipulating her life than accept the truth—that her own husband, the man she vowed to dedicate her life to, was the one who had betrayed her. She sought the shaman’s help because it was easier to fool herself into thinking that supernatural forces were at play, that her husband was merely being controlled by something beyond his will.

In the final scenes, the house was never destroyed, Ha does get to study abroad, and Tam—having conceived a son after their intimate night—begins a new life with her husband. Yet, despite these seemingly happy outcomes, the father remains unchanged, as shown in the last moments of the film. Even though Tam has finally given birth to a boy, she still has to resort to the deceptive trick her friend suggested just to keep her husband's love. His apathy lingers, proving that no matter how much Tam and Ha strive to break free, they remain trapped in a cycle of loneliness and neglect in this failing society.

The monster, then, becomes a powerful metaphor for the oppression women endure. It is not an external force that preys on them but one they create from years of neglect and silent suffering.

This haunting revelation serves as the film’s ultimate tragedy, showing how pain, when left to fester, can wreak havoc. It convinces us that horrors come in all forms—not always as grotesque creatures, but sometimes as something as small yet devastating as everyday indifference toward the people we claim to love. In the end, the monster was never the true antagonist—it was the silent suffering that shaped it.

VI, Cons

While the film excels in its atmosphere and psychological depth, it is not without flaws. Certain narrative choices, particularly regarding the pacing, may leave audiences yearning for a tighter resolution. The film takes its time establishing the emotional gravity of Tam’s plight, but the climax, when the supernatural forcefully takes hold, feels slightly rushed in comparison. Especially in the scene when Tam come face to face with the entity, the character only got a few secconds before being taken out completely by the monster, being such an experienced actress like Tu Oanh, we would all have preffered if she has more emotional and in depth scene with the monster, since this mysterious entity has been pulling string on her anh her family all this time, it is only right that Tam become emotional or upset not just a few line of questioning it.

Another flaws we coud find is in the inexperience of the charater Trong played by the yound actor Bui Thac Phong. Trong is a character who feels constantly trapped in the tragedy of his family, particularly with his mom, knowing that his mom was a ballet dancer but left him and his father for another man. Trong despice his mother, and ballet dancers as it can be shown when Ha sai her dream was to become just like his mom. However, he failed to show his hate and grudge that he so called feel about his mom. Eventhough he used heavy words that promotes sexism in it towards his friend, his face in the full interaction seem rather dull, as its fell short of our expectation of how Trong would really feel about his mother.

VII. Conclusion

Don’t Cry, Butterfly is a bold and unsettling exploration of love, longing, and loss, wrapped in a chilling supernatural thriller. It refuses to hand its audience easy answers, instead inviting them to engage in their own interpretations of its eerie, symbolic world. Whether you believe the monster is real or merely a manifestation of deep-seated trauma, the film’s emotional weight is undeniable. Despite its minor shortcomings in pacing and certain performances, Don’t Cry, Butterfly remains a significant achievement for Vietnamese cinema. It pushes beyond conventional storytelling, moving away from predictable narratives. By doing so, it challenges societal norms and forces viewers to confront uncomfortable truths about gender roles. Don’t Cry, Butterfly is not just a film to be watched—it is a film to be felt, debated, and remembered long after the credits roll.