Edric Young and Dean Linnard Photo by Jessica Palopoli

M. Butterfly begins with French diplomat Rene Gallimard (Dean Linnard) slumped at center stage, his torso resting on the seat of a straight-backed chair, legs splayed across the floor, his eyes red and rheumy, as if he has collapsed after an intense bout of weeping. Gallimard informs us that this is his prison cell ("four and a half meters by five") and yet it is, for him, "an enchanted space" where he relives over and over the circumstances that have brought him to this place. Over the course of the next 2-½+ hours, Gallimard will take us on a journey as he remembers–with some advantage–his time at the French Embassy in China, when he met and fell madly in love with Song Liling (Edric Young), a star of the Chinese opera, who keeps many secrets from Gallimard–not the least of which is that Song Liling is a man who presents as a woman.

Taking place on a gorgeous, multi-tiered set by Randy Wong-Westbrooke, beautifully painted with an Asian floral theme in muted colors, we travel back to Beijing in the 1960s (when it was still called Peking in the West), where Gallimard and his wife Helga (Elena Wright) live the relatively privileged life of diplomats. One evening, Gallimard is invited to a performance where Song Liling sings the death aria from Puccini's Madame Butterfly, dressed in a stunning kimono (costumes by Keiko Carreiro) and moving with a delicate grace that inflames Gallimard's lust. Gallimard imagines himself a bit like Pinkerton, the cad who seduces and abandons Cio-Cio San (the Madame Butterfly of the opera), and Song as Butterfly herself. It doesn't take much to reach the conclusion that Gallimard's and Song Liling's romance will end as tragically as Puccini's opera.

M. Butterfly explores themes of power and gender–and the interrelation of those two–through a complex story that also weaves in geopolitics and stereotypes of dominant Western men and submissive Asian women. It's clear, however, that despite any secret desire Gallimard may have of being a powerful Occidental male with a pliant Oriental woman (although "Oriental" has come to be seen as pejorative, Hwang uses the term freely here), it is Song Liling who has the upper hand in their relationship.

Director Bridgette Loriaux has assembled a cast that includes some of the Bay Area's best talent. Dean Linnard, who is onstage for virtually the entire show, is beyond compelling in the role. When his eyes widen, it's sometimes in awe of the beauty he sees around him, but at other times his intense gaze is indicative of fear, or of his character's attempt to make sense of the foreign environment in which he finds himself. His scene partner, Edric Young, plays Song Liling with a hesitance and delicacy that belies their desire. Although Song Liling ultimately uses Gallimard for their own–and their country's–purposes, they clearly feel something akin to love for the man who will sacrifice everything–wife, career, freedom–for them.

The supporting cast are each wondrous in their roles. Stacy Ross, one of the Bay Area's signature talents, is tremendous as M. Toulon, the French ambassador. She plays the role with a puissance that perfectly embodies the Oriental/Occidental dichotomy of the play. She is simultaneously yin and yang, male and female, shadow and sun. Andre Amarotico plays Gallimard's friend Marc as the sort of bounder/ladies man Gallimard might wish he was, bringing a masculine energy to the stage as a sort of counterweight to the many feminine aspects of the characters and their actions. As Suzuki and Shu-Fang, servants to both the opera's Madame Butterfly and to Song Liling, Amanda Le Nguyen offers some brilliant comic touches at the very moment the show requires them. Her "gurrll!" to Song Liling may briefly take us out of '60s-era China, but it also perfectly expresses the emotion of that moment and the relationship between she and Song.

Despite its length, this M. Butterfly is never boring, as Hwang's text barrels along from scene to scene. Loriaux's skillful direction and her talented cast keep the pace brisk, and lighting designer Michael Oesch and sound designer James Ard do subtle yet brilliant work at supporting the other talents on display.

M. Butterfly is, like the namesake opera, beautifully-rendered sadness that compels from start to finish. This is some of the best work SF Playhouse has ever done, and deserves–and rewards–your attention and attendance. I guarantee you will remember it–with advantage.

M. Butterfly runs through March 16, 2026, at San Francisco Playhouse, 450 Post Street, San Francisco CA. Performances are Tuesdays-Thursdays at 7:00pm, Wednesdays at 2:00pm and 7:00pm, Fridays at 8:00pm, Saturdays at 3:00pm and 8:00pm, and Sundays at 2:00pm. Tickets are $52-$145. For tickets and information, please visit www.sfplayhouse.org or call the box office at 415-677-9596.