A Short, Sweet Dream: Theodore Schaefer’s Giving Birth to a Butterfly (2021)

By Thomas M. Puhr.

Pleasantly rough around the edges and anchored by two strong female performances, the co-writer and director’s feature debut offers a bit more than homage but never quite escapes its influences.”

David Lynch has become a convenient (and sometimes lazy) point of comparison for any film with surreal flourishes. But when a new release includes lines such as “It’s like in a dream,” doppelgangers who may or may not be the same person, deluded Hollywood wannabes, and a soundtrack replete with “ominous whooshing sounds” – all wrapped up in a package that both celebrates and gently mocks small-town America – it’s difficult not to think of Twin Peaks, Blue Velvet, and the like. Theodore Schaefer’s Giving Birth to a Butterfly (2021) undoubtedly fits this profile. Pleasantly rough around the edges and anchored by two strong female performances, the co-writer and director’s feature debut offers a bit more than homage but never quite escapes its influences.

The plot (as much as there is one) concerns unhappy suburbanite Diana (Annie Parisse), who goes on a road trip to track down those responsible for stealing her identity and depleting her savings account. Accompanying her is Marlene (an ethereal Gus Birney), her son’s pregnant girlfriend. The duo’s journey culminates with their arrival at a mysterious estate occupied by a pair of elderly twins, both named Nina (a scene-stealing Judith Roberts). Other characters – mostly members of Diana’s immediate family – come and go, but the narrative revolves around the two mothers. Occupying two ends of the parental spectrum – one a soon-to-be empty nester, the other preparing to welcome a new life into the world – their burgeoning friendship provides the film’s emotional core.

Giving Birth to a Butterfly features a veritable treasure trove of “I know I’ve seen this person before” actors. Roberts, who last appeared as Joaquin Phoenix’s mother in You Were Never Really Here, played the “Beautiful Girl Across the Hall” in – you guessed it – Lynch’s Eraserhead. Here, her matter-of-fact delivery of lines like “we’ve lived here for all the time we’ve been at this address” offers some much-needed levity. Paul Sparks, whom you may recognize as the smarmy stepdad in Cory Finley’s Thoroughbreds, is Diana’s aloof husband, Daryl. But the biggest treat is seeing Parisse – a former regular on TV shows like As the World Turns and Law & Order, as well as something of a staple in mid-aughts romantic comedies – take center stage. Her emotional journey toward self-actualization anchors the narrative, even at its most derivative.

Patterns emerge, and we realize Schaefer isn’t just throwing things at the wall. His and co-writer Patrick Lawler’s alliterative naming – Diana and Daryl’s children are Danielle (Rachel Resheff) and Andrew (Owen Campbell), though everyone calls him Drew; Marlene’s mother is Monica (Constance Shulman, whose distinct voice will provoke some ’90s nostalgia for those who grew up on Nickelodeon’s Doug), and she plans to name her unborn child Maggie – underlines their focus on diffuse identities, on how personae can overlap and intermingle in strange ways. That all of their adult characters are in some way delusional – Daryl fancies himself a cook, but he is really a cashier at the fast food joint where he works; Monica, an amateur actress forever clinging to a role she lost decades ago, holds interviews with imaginary tabloid reporters – points to a thematic interest in parents foisting lost dreams on their children. In this way, Lawler and Schaefer gently invite viewers to make some intriguing associations.

Some of their surreal elements practically write themselves. A throw pillow embroidered with a white rabbit summons Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland to mind; instead of going down a rabbit hole, though, Diana and Marlene just go for a long van ride across rural New York. Recurring visual and aural references to trains as well as a character whose head is wrapped in a white cloth had me thinking of René Magritte. The question, then, becomes whether or not Giving Birth can stand on its own two feet, notwithstanding these sometimes on-the-nose allusions.

The closest thing to an answer I can provide is “sort of yes.” When Schaefer lets his film breathe a bit – consider the lovely punctum of his camera panning away from Diana’s car to observe a passerby chasing after oranges that have fallen from a shopping bag – we can sense a desire to further explore his voice (unless the oranges are another allusion; my cursory Google search, however, says otherwise). But, for now, his aim feels modest; he’s not trying to dig deep into your psyche as much as he seems to like hanging out with his and Lawler’s strange, likeable characters. And for most of Giving Birth’s 70-odd minutes, I enjoyed hanging out – or, rather, daydreaming – with them, too. Even if I felt I’ve met them all before.

Thomas Puhr lives in Chicago, where he teaches English and language arts. A regular contributor to Bright Lights Film Journal, he has published “‘Mysterious Appearances’ in Jonathan Glazer’s Identity Trilogy: Sexy Beast, Birth and Under the Skin” in issue 15.2 of Film International. His book Fate in Film: A Deterministic Approach to Cinema is available from Wallflower Press.