M. Butterfly

By now, you've no doubt heard the basis for "M Butterfly": A French diplomat, played by the very British Jeremy Irons, falls in love with a Beijing Opera diva, played by John Lone. Of course, the Frenchman is unaware that the performer he adores is actually a man in drag — despite their long-term sexual relationship.

Obviously, denial plays a big part in this picture.

And you've also no doubt heard that "M. Butterfly" is a true story . . . well, inspired by a true story, anyway . . . though certain liberties have been taken by David Henry Hwang, who based the script on his Tony award-winning play, and director David Cronenberg, who previously put Irons through the paces in another bizarre true story, "Dead Ringers."

"M. Butterfly" begins in 1964 in Beijing, with Irons as Rene Gallimard, a married accountant working at the French Embassy (where everyone speaks with a British accent). He first spies Song Liling (Lone) in a performance of "Madama Butterfly" on the stage, and gradually finds himself romantically obsessed, referring to Liling as his "Butterfly."

Encouraging the relationship, and watching as Rene unexpectedly rises in the diplomatic ranks, Liling uses him to gain information for the Chinese government. But Rene is as blind to the real motives at work here as he is to Liling's gender. And over the years, Liling works at keeping up the deception — eventually even producing a baby and claiming it is Rene's!

Ultimately, the truth will out, of course, and, forced to confront reality, the arrogant and obsessed Rene instead retreats into fantasies, even while answering for his part in Liling's spy work.

There's no question that this is undeniably fascinating, in an "Inside Edition" kind of way. And Irons' sincere performance is initially engaging — he's so lost in his own world that it's impossible not to believe that he believes it.

But Cronenberg and Hwang seem to have conspired to dull the material at every turn. For one thing, Lone seems terribly miscast, never really convincing as a woman either in looks or demeanor, though he is certainly game in giving the role everything he's got. And though Irons fares better, Rene comes off as such a dolt that at some point audience sympathy is bound to go south.

Cronenberg also uses far too many night scenes, dark and dreary lighting that suggests an eeriness that often acts as a counterpoint to the material. And the potential for fascinating character exploration drowns in the boring monologues, laced with dialogue by Hwang that might have seemed equally as outrageous and flamboyant on the stage, but which on the screen becomes too literal, even ridiculous at times.

And the ending is so over-the-top and unbelievable that it almost seems as if Cronenberg is lampooning all that has gone before.

All of which is enough to make "The Crying Game," in retrospect, seem less and less overrated.

"M. Butterfly" is rated R for violence, sex, nudity, profanity and vulgarity.