Butterfly Jam

The opening film of Cannes Directors’ Fortnight 2026 (now known as Quinzaine des cinéastes) is Butterfly Jam by millennial Russian-Circassian auteur Kantemir Balagov.

In a front-loaded revelation, the title is dropped within a few minutes, when Azik (Barry Keoghan) claims one of his culinary concoctions to be made from butterflies. His social circle is incredulous (among them Harry Melling), but his son (Talha Akdogan) takes him at face value – just as he buys into the myth that Monica Bellucci shares their Circassian descent.

Balagov is palpably interested in the mythological, aggrandising qualities of the father figure and the perception of masculinity. The insecurities displayed by his characters are almost banal in their unmistakability. Weakness is a curse to be passed on, like in a game of hot potato, one must never end up stuck with it.

In true arthouse fashion, the camera relies heavily on handheld closeups. Occasionally it catches momentarily indecipherable details within the actors’ movements, until the image snaps back into focus. The chaotic energy complements the instability of the lives depicted.

The sonic palette makes up a large portion of the picture’s charm – opening with a rhythmic pulse, that blurs the line between score and sound design. In one standout scene, father and son set off a symphony of car alarms, which feels like a painstakingly curated collection of every imaginable chirp and siren.

Keoghan’s portrayal of a father to a teenager, while seemingly adolescent himself, feels somewhat similar to his previous Cannes stint (Andrea Arnold’s Bird) and offers astonishingly few surprises from the wild-card actor. His and Riley Keough’s asserted Russian identity demand a great deal of suspension of disbelief. Their lines insist on their cultural mannerisms more than their performances do.

Regrettably, Butterfly Jam seems afraid the viewer won’t catch on to its criticism of toxic masculinity and therefore becomes needlessly one-note, even as the script throws a violent curveball. There is something disproportionate to the rather simplistic conflict at the core of a feature presented in such an avant-garde fashion. Nevertheless, its moments of whimsy and disarray make Balagov’s English-language debut a worthwhile endeavour for devout cinephiles.