Today in 1965 the low budget drama Scream of the Butterfly premiered for U.S. audiences. The poster is simple but provocative, which is a fitting assessment of the movie as well. Its central development is a murder that occurs when a couple marries, only for the wife to embark on an affair five days after the wedding, and later be run down by a car. Viewers learn this as a district attorney and his assistant district attorney disagree over the best way to conduct a murder prosecution. The boss wants it done quietly, while the assistant wants a showy trial that generates plenty of publicity, thus the possible opportunity for self-promotion. They both vie against a confident public defender who believes he has an ironclad temporary insanity defense. The three spend the film in the D.A.’s office arguing their respective points of view, while the murder’s circumstances are related via episodic flashbacks.
Argentinian dancer Nélida Lobato stars as the highly sexed victim, her husband is portrayed by William Turner, and the legal eagles are Nick Novarro, Richard Beebe, and Robert Miller. None of this crew can act but the movie is watchable anyway because it possesses an interesting earnestness, exemplified by its tragic soundtrack and artsy tight framing meant to project high melodrama. Also, notably, Lobato shows everything that could be legally shown on a screen in 1965, so the movie has a bit of significance on that front. But on the whole, it’s too poorly put together to be called an actual success, even with its undeniably clever twist ending. At one point, bit player Alan J. Smith laments, “This is like a bad play,” as if he’s making a nostra culpa to the audience. Scream of the Butterfly isn’t like a bad play. It’s like a high-minded but ultimately mediocre play.
