Behind the lies are the truth. and behind the truth is nothing, but a man.

Behind the lies are the truth. and behind the truth is nothing, but a man.

I have finished M Butterfly.

i will admit it was confussing, but now i am sitting here...crying about the ending.
Beautiful.
wonderful.
magical.

I loved it.

The last scene is Guilmard prepairing to commit Hara-kari (honnorable sucide). Dressed in Butterfly Drag.


"My name is Rene Gallimard...also known as Madame Butterfly" (Hwang 1458).

That last line hit me like a stack of bricks.
I mean, think about how DEEP that is. Here is this tale of sorrow, and love, and secrets, and trechery and lies. its truely, beautiful.

Every story has its lies. We all tell lies. Some more interesting than others. Some darker, some more volguer than others.
But a lie is a lie.

Acting: being truthful under imaginary circumstances.

it is really all just lying, isnt it? lying to yourself, to your audience, to your character, to your soul.
Song, is an actor.
Song...is a lie.

And to fall in love with lie.... is worse then death its-self.
I respect Gallimard. At first, i tohguht him to be...sort of a douche.
But i repspect him.
I resect his mistakes, his desscions: though mainly bad choices he has made. I respect his fate, i respect his stupidity, i respect his blind love for butterfly.
The imaginalry "perfect" woman.
a lie.
a butterfly.
A sweet, sweet butterfly. Gliding on the innocence of the wind, landing softly on the peice of heaven, located in the center of hell. In the depths of your blackened soul.

Hayley Michelle