Butterfly Jam, directed by Kantemir Balagov, was one of the films I was most excited to see. I’m a sucker for intriguing titles, and because I had no idea whether the title was meant to be literal or metaphorical, I was eager to find out. So I counted myslef lucky when I managed to snag a last-minute ticket the night before I left the festival.
Well, by the fifteen-minute mark, I had my answer. According to failing diner chef Azik, played by Barry Keoghan, butterfly jam is exactly what it sounds like: a jam made from crushed butterflies.
The drama follows a Circassian family living in New Jersey, particularly Azik’s teenage son, Pyteh, played by Talha Akdogan, a talented wrestler. From the moment we’re introduced to the family, it’s clear they’re close-knit and deeply affectionate toward one another.
One thing that immediately stood out to me was the apparent neurodivergence of Marat, played by Harry Melling, Azik’s partner in crime. He’s easily provoked and rarely backs down from confrontation. There were also moments when I wondered whether Azik shared some of those same tendencies. He’s the kind of father many would describe as free-spirited, which might be charming if it weren’t for his complete lack of foresight. His impulsive decision-making forces the people around him to step in and clean up the mess, and more often than not, that responsibility falls on Pyteh or Azik’s sister Zalya.
The parentification of a child almost always breeds resentment, and we see traces of that throughout Pyteh’s interactions with his father. There’s no doubt that he loves Azik, but he also wants more for him. Azik dreams of running a successful restaurant, yet he fails to seize opportunities when they present themselves. So when Pyteh grows frustrated and calls him weak, the audience can understand where that anger comes from.
One of the film’s central themes is masculinity, along with the related ideas of weakness, strength, and respect, all examined through the lens of Circassian-American culture. Setting Pyteh up as a wrestler was clever, especially because physical strength is often treated as the measure of personal worth for men and linked to how much respect he may receive.
The opening scene illustrates this dynamic perfectly. We watch Pyteh wrestle Marat, who loses and briefly passes out before Azik has to pat him awake. It becomes obvious that this isn’t the first time Marat has challenged Pyteh and failed. Yet he continues trying, determined to prove himself over and over again.
Another example of Marat’s relationship with strength and respect occurs outside a bar when a fellow Circassian acquaintance greets everyone warmly but doesn’t shake Marat’s hand in the same way. Marat takes the slight personally, and I couldn’t help but feel that this lingering sense of disrespect contributes to the poor decisions he makes later in the story.
The thing is, Marat may not be physically weak, but he is undeniably weak-minded, and I think everyone around him recognizes that. He’s easily manipulated by his emotions and, much like Azik, lacks good judgement. Perhaps some of this is beyond his control and tied to his possible neurodivergence. Still, it’s interesting to observe what both Marat and Azik choose to focus their energy on. Both men act impulsively, and both ultimately alter the course of their lives because of it.
Another relationship that stood out to me was the one between Pyteh and his crush, Alika.
When we first meet Alika, it’s immediately clear that she’s carrying some kind of burden. She rarely smiles, and there are subtle details that suggest neglect. One thing I noticed was her hair; anyone familiar with textured hair knows when it hasn’t been tended to for some time. Although she’s a top wrestler herself, we never see her family in the stands or anywhere else in the film. She doesn’t mention them, which creates the impression that she’s navigating life largely on her own. That changes when she forms a connection with Pyteh.
As their relationship deepens and they gradually allow each other into their respective worlds, we see the ways they show up for one another. Alika provides a place of comfort for Pyteh’s restless heart, while Pyteh reassures her through her insecurities. Their relationship serves another important purpose as well: it reminds us that Pyteh is still a teenager. Amid the chaos of his family life, his relationship with Alika allows him moments of normalcy. It’s also where we see the ways Azik’s parenting has shaped him and how those lessons affect the way he cares for others.
Whenever I encounter a disturbing scene in a film, I always ask myself whether it was necessary. Without spoiling anything, there is one particular scene in Butterfly Jam that initially struck me as excessive. Partially because of what happened, but mainly because of how long it lasted. The discomfort lingered to the point where the experience of being unsettled felt prolonged beyond what was needed.
Reflecting on the film now, I understand why the scene exists and how it supports the story’s larger themes. Even so, I still think it overstays its welcome.
Even though Butterfly Jam is fundamentally a drama, there were countless moments when I genuinely couldn’t tell whether or not I was supposed to laugh. I’d hear laughter from audience members around me and find myself questioning my own reaction. Sometimes I laughed with them; other times I found myself whispering, “What the hell is going on?” When I left the theater, I felt as though I had just stepped off a roller coaster and I’m not a fan of roller coasters. I can’t say I hated it but I can’t say I enjoyed it either, but what I can tell you is that my eyes never left the screen. I was invested because I never knew what was coming next.
The performances are phenomenal across the board. Barry Keoghan and Harry Melling deliver particularly strong work, and I’ll be very interested to see what roles Talha Akdogan takes on in the future.
So my verdict is simple: if you want to experience something strange, go see Butterfly Jam.
It is truly… something.
